Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part IAnnie
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Part IIHarry
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Part IIIAnnie
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part IVHarry
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Part VAnnie
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
She hit the button on her steering wheel to end the call, then pulled over to the side of the road so that she could take her phone from her purse and shut it down completely. Once that was done, she tossed it back into her bag and hit the road.
She was clipping down a country road and sped past something that caught her eye for a millisecond. She glanced in her mirror, hoping for a better look, but whatever it was could not be determined from a distance. She hit the brakes, careful to make sure no one was behind her, put the SUV into reverse, and backed up about a hundred yards. She put the car in park, got out, and walked over to the shoulder to see what had drawn her attention.
A bicycle on its side.
She knew instantly that it was her son’s. A girl’s bike with the sloping center bar, the banana seat, the angle handlebars. She felt her legs go weak and then she went down, gravel digging into her knees and one palm as she grasped one end of the handlebars for support.
“Oh God, oh God,” she said.
And there, in the ditch, was her son’s backpack. She gasped for air, wondered whether she might faint.
Hold it together.
This did not have to be bad news. The abandoned bike showed that Charlie had somehow made it this far. Aside from a busted chain, the bike was more or less intact. It wasn’t mangled, as it would have been if Charlie had been hit by a car while riding it. There was no blood. Not on the bike, not on the road.
She managed to get to her feet and edged her way down into the ditch to get the backpack. She looked inside, found a bottle and a knife from a cutlery set and not much else. She surveyed the landscape in all directions and shouted: “Charlie! Charlie!”
No reply.
Annie tried to think it through. The bike broke down. Charlie had decided to start walking, and didn’t want to be weighed down by the backpack, so he pitched it. It was possible. And if that was the case, he might be up ahead somewhere.
She got back into the car, kicking up gravel from all four wheels as she hit the gas.
“I’m coming, Charlie. I’m coming.”
Looking for more upsides, she told herself that she’d been right all along. Charlie really was heading to Lucknow. She’d interpreted the message from that upturned toy train correctly. The invitation had been real.
But for the first time a question that had been lingering in the back of her brain moved to the forefront.
Why?