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
“Uh, well, my girlfriend’s cat, like, went missing about a week ago, but she does let it wander around the neighborhood, but the guy who lives next to her, his dog’s gone, too, and he always keeps him tied up.”
Which made Harry think about Dell Peterson’s pet goat.
Eleven
It made sense to Harry that, several hours later, Bill Tracy would have been the one to leak the news about the body out on Miller’s Road. He most likely popped into the diner before his next job just busting to tell someone—maybe Jenny—about what he’d discovered, how he’d been the one to call the cops, how he was right there when it all happened. How often did you get a chance to be a minor celebrity at the Lucknow Diner?
If Harry knew anything, it was that you couldn’t count on people to keep their mouths shut. In this town, gossip was a brushfire. Once it got going, there wasn’t much to stop it. Wouldn’t be long before Rachel Bosma, that reporter for the Lucknow Leader, would be calling him.
After he’d given the bacon sandwich to Gavin and met, briefly, the owner of that train shop, he felt rejuvenated and went back to the scene. With the sun up, he’d be able to get a better look at things. He’d sent out one of his other officers, Nancy Clarkson, to relieve Stick, telling her to set up barriers about a quarter mile in each direction from where the body had been found. Not just to keep gawkers away, but to walk that stretch in case something might have been missed. Someone might have had more than just that one body to dispose of. After all, there were two Lucknow men missing.
“Hey, Nancy,” Harry said when he walked up to her cruiser. She had the driver’s-side back door open, her legs and butt sticking out as she searched for something on the floor.
She crawled back out, stood at attention, and made a brushing-herself-off gesture even though there was nothing on her. Looking sheepish, she said, “Hey, boss.”
“Lose something?”
“My stupid Palm Pilot thing. With all my phone numbers and appointments and everything.”
“When’d you lose it?”
“Haven’t seen it in a couple of days. My whole life’s in there.”
Harry smiled. “I have this thing called a day planner. I write stuff in it with a pencil.”
Nancy sighed. She been with the Lucknow Police for five years, and, lost Palm Pilot aside, she was as sharp as they came. Harry figured he’d lose her one day to someplace like Burlington or Montpelier, or maybe she’d make the jump to Boston or Albany. More money, more challenges. She was married, with a three-year-old son.
“Marty’s been and gone, took the body with him,” she said. The coroner.
“Okay.”