This debate occupied him uneasily as he drove through bleak little Barleyville—finding the little café where he’d hoped to get coffee closed. He continued on over the forested hills that separated it from the village of Walnut Crossing, and on past that to his mountain road. His thoughts culminated in a chilling question: What if the Cooperstown deaths were a sign of things to come? How long could one keep confidential the fruits of a private investigation, if the war that apparently had been declared by Panikos continued to claim casualties?

The sight of his mailbox at the end of the road shifted his focus from Panikos to Klemper. Had the man delivered the requested security video, as his phone message had implied? Or did the mailbox contain a less pleasant surprise?

He drove past the mailbox, parked the car by the barn, and walked back.

He’d have bet a thousand dollars against the possibility of a bomb, but he wasn’t ready to bet his life. He eyed the mailbox and decided on a relatively low-risk way of opening it. He first needed to find a fallen branch long enough to reach the drop-lid from a spot shielded by the trunk of a hemlock several feet from the box.

After a five-minute search and a number of awkward thrusts with a less-than-ideal branch, he managed to jar the drop-lid loose. It swung open with a clank. He waited a few seconds, then circled around to the front of the box and peered inside. All it contained was a single white envelope. He removed it, brushing off a tiny ant.

The envelope was addressed to him in rough block printing. It had no stamp or postmark. He could feel a small rectangular object through the paper, which he thought might be a USB drive. He opened the envelope cautiously and saw that he was right. He put the drive in his pocket, walked back to the car, and drove up to the house.

The clock on the dashboard read 4:18 p.m. Madeleine’s car was in its regular spot, which reminded him that she’d been on her early shift that day and had likely gotten home around two. He expected she’d be inside reading—perhaps engaged in her Sisyphean assault on War and Peace. He went in through the side door and called out, “I’m home.”

There was no answer.

Passing through the kitchen on his way to the den, he called out again, and again there was no answer. His next thought was that she was out on one of her walks.