The question was, where? It was too late to drive anywhere of distance. And neither of them thought it likely the detectives would apprehend Barclay over the weekend. A trip to Amish country or the Hamptons wasn't going to cut it.

They needed a place to hole up for what could be as long as a week, maybe two or more. Sheila mentioned her parents in Hoboken, though she didn't seem eager to visit. Martin had a few friends in Stratford he could call up, but anyone could discover where he'd spent his teenage years with a glance at his website.

That left one place, somewhere no one but Martin and his last remaining family knew about.

Frankly, he would have preferred to take his chances with Barclay than go back there.

"It's the best choice you've got right now," Lumsden said. "We need you close. But not too close he'll find you."

Sheila and Detective Kline agreed.

It was already far too late to wake Aunt Norma with a phone call. So instead of driving the full three and a half hours and a ferry ride to Barrows Bay, Rhode Island, they booked an overnight stay at a motel about a quarter of the way under assumed names, paying cash.

The Dovercourt Motor Inn was just off the New England Thruway in the relatively small beach community of Rye. From the second floor, where Martin and Sheila had adjoining rooms, the rainbow-bright framework of Playland roller coasters and the Ferris wheel were visible against the black waters of the Long Island Sound. He'd gone there on a school trip in the tenth grade, nearly thirty years ago. After his third time riding the Dragon Coaster he puked corn dogs and root beer into a nearby trash can while running to the washroom.

Standing on the balcony, swigging from a small plastic bottle of Stoli from the minifridge, he was struck with a sudden urge to stroll down to the beach, overdose on nostalgia. Who knew how long he had left to live? But it was late and the amusement park was closed. He doubted Sheila was interested in roller coasters, anyhow.

He suddenly wondered what she'd been like as a kid, if she'd been a tomboy or a wallflower or what. In the year they'd spent together he hadn't learned much about her past. Like him, there had been a period of her life she'd simply never opened up about. He guessed she'd been a nerd or overweight and wanted to leave those memories buried in the past, the way he'd buried his own. She definitely did not want to relive them by going home again, and neither did he. But that was exactly what they were doing, whether he liked it or not.

A black-and-white police cruiser with CITY OF RYE on the door was parked beside the Lexus in the street below. Lumsden and Kline had gotten them an overnight protective detail but had told them they would be on their own once they arrived in Barrows Bay. Having the closest local police watching over them twenty-four-seven would be more likely to draw attention, Lumsden figured.