By instinct, I turn my palms forward and open my arms wide. I try my smile. “Hi! Are you the manager?”

The smile doesn’t work this time. “Manager of what?” he asks. “I sort through the junk, if that’s what you mean.” He wiggles the gun but doesn’t lift it. Not yet. “You here from the government again?” he asks.

Again? I feel a flutter in my gut. “No. I’m an attorney looking for information. Somebody told me there was an airfield here, not used much anymore.”

“That’s true. Technically decommissioned in 1945. Haven’t had anybody come through recently—until a week or so ago.”

“What happened then?”

“Lots of shit. Late one afternoon, a big black SUV pulls up. Two big dudes in suits get out. They tell me there’s an emergency government drill. Ask me the length of the runway. Walk around on it a little.”

“And then what happened?”

“Then they take my gun and my phone, put me in one of their SUVs, and lock me in.” Just remembering the events makes him outraged. “Half hour later, out of nowhere, this black military passenger jet comes in for a landing, low and smooth. Five minutes after that, three more cars pull up, two SUVs and a brand-new Corolla. Guy and a gal get out of the Corolla and walk up the steps into the plane.”

“What did they look like?”

“The lady was in a suit. All business. The guy was dressed casual with messy hair, like he was goin’ out for pizza or something. Looked a little spooked, though.”

“Who was on the plane?”

“No idea. After about two hours, the guy comes back out and drives away in the Corolla. In no time, the plane taxis around and takes off. Right after that, they give me back my stuff and let me loose. Then all the SUVs head off toward the highway.”

“The guy, the one with the messy hair. You get a good look at him?”

“Yeah. He walked right past me. Right where you’re standing.”

My heart is pounding so hard I can hardly breathe.

I pull out my phone. I scroll to a picture of Garrett, one of my favorite close-ups. I hold it up in front of the man.

“Yeah. That’s him,” he says. “You know him?”

“I do.” I can feel myself crumbling inside. “I did.”

CHAPTER
80

Salem, New Hampshire

Have a seat, Detective. Let me see what I can find.”

Lindsay Farrow, the Walmart IT director, is in her late twenties, wearing stylish jeans, a silk blouse, and a fitted jacket. Definitely designer.

“I really appreciate it,” says Gagnon, even as she’s thinking, Probably a waste of time.