“They must’ve taken the access road,” said the Reverend, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to try and drive back up that thing tonight.” He threw open the door and climbed out. The police officer who was looking over the railing caught sight of him and turned around, his hand automatically resting on the butt of his gun, but then he saw who it was and relaxed. The Reverend went over and spoke to him for a few moments, the officer nodded his head, asked a question, and on hearing the Reverend’s answer turned his head slightly to the side and spoke into the radio communications microphone attached to his collar. The Reverend thanked him, and then came back to the van.

“What’s going on?” I asked as he climbed in.

“I don’t know. Looks like Joe was at the shack for a little while. He’s not around and they’re still looking for him. They’ve got Martha, though, and I guess she’s in bad shape. The paramedics had to sedate her. That ambulance down there is for her.”

“Then who’s this other one for?”

The Reverend ran a hand through his soaked hair. “Not just yet, Sam. Drive over to the other side of the bridge and pull over.”

Asking no more questions, I did as he asked, and saw there was an unmarked car idling by the curb, its cherry-light whirling on the dashboard. A beefy man was sitting inside, talking on the radio. When he saw the van pull over, he climbed out of the car, pulled up the collar on his coat, and ran over to the side door. It took Linus a moment to get it opened, but once he did the man climbed inside and shook the freezing rain from his hands. “I smell coffee. Why has none yet been offered to me?”

“And a good evening to you, too, Bill,” said the Reverend, unscrewing the top of a Thermos and pouring. Detective Bill Emerson took the cup in his thin, dainty, almost-feminine hands (he gets a lot of grief from the guys on the force about them), took a few tentative sips, said, “Starbucks charges you six bucks a shot for stuff this good,” then stared down into the dark, steamy liquid as if expecting to see some answer magically appear. “Okay, so Joe was at the shelter earlier and got upset and took off and you sent Martha after him, right?”

“Right.”

Emerson nodded his head, took another sip of the coffee, then looked at Linus. “Linus, I don’t suppose you’ve got any smokes on you, do you?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.”

“That’s all right. My wife’d kill me if I came home smelling of tobacco.”

“How’s Martha?” asked the Reverend.

“Quiet, now. They’ve got her in the ambulance.”

“Can you tell me anything about what happened?”

Emerson shook his head. “Not officially.”

“Then off the record?”

Emerson looked up; his eyes were glassy and tired and haunted-looking. “Among other things—which I can’t tell you about, so don’t ask—we found a body down there. I don’t think it’s anyone you know.”