Gurney smiled, didn’t know what to say. He didn’t talk to Kyle that often, although they’d been in contact more frequently since the Good Shepherd case. “Is there any chance you might be coming up our way one of these days?”

“Sure. Why not. That’d be great.”

“You still have the motorcycle?”

“Absolutely. And the helmet you gave me. Your old one. I wear it instead of my own.”

“Ah … well … I’m glad it fits.”

“I think we must have exactly the same size heads.”

Gurney laughed. He wasn’t sure why. “Well, anytime you can get away, we’d love to see you.” He paused. “How’s Columbia Law?”

“Busy as hell, tons of reading, but basically good.”

“So you don’t regret getting out of Wall Street?”

“Not for a minute. Well, maybe for an occasional minute. But then I remember all the bullshit that went with it—Wall Street is paved with bullshit—and I’m really happy not to be part of that anymore.”

“Good.”

There was a silence, finally broken by Kyle. “So … I’ll make some calls, see if anyone knows anything about CyberCath, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Great, son. Thank you.”

“Love you, Dad.

“Love you, too.”

After ending the call, Gurney sat with his phone still in his hand, pondering the curious pattern of his communications with his son. The young man was … what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? He could never immediately remember which. And for many of those years, especially the past ten, he and Kyle had been … what? Not quite estranged, that was too loaded a term for it. Distant? Separated by periods of noncommunication, certainly. But when the instances of communication did occur, they were invariably warm, particularly on Kyle’s part.

Perhaps the explanation was as simple as the summation offered by Gurney’s college girlfriend decades ago on the occasion of her breaking up with him: “You’re just not a people person, David.” Her name was Geraldine. They were standing outside the greenhouse in the New York Botanical Garden. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom. It was starting to rain. She turned and walked away, kept walking even as the rain grew heavier. They never spoke again.

He looked down at the cell phone in his hand. It occurred to him that he should call Madeleine, let her know he was on his way.

When she picked up she sounded sleepy. “Where are you?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I was reading. Dozing a little, maybe.”

He was tempted to ask if the book was War and Peace. She’d been reading it forever, and it was a powerful soporific. “Just wanted to let you know that I’m halfway between Dillweed and Walnut Crossing. Should be home in less than twenty minutes.”

“Good. How come so late?”

“I ran into some difficulty at Hardwick’s.”

“Difficulty? Are you all right?”