Wolf Lake. John Verdon
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way discouraged questioning.
“Problem is, Jack, day after tomorrow Maddie and I are on our way up to northern Vermont. The Tall Pines Inn. It’s not something we’d want to cancel or postpone at this point.”
“Wouldn’t dream of asking you to cancel anything vital to the health and happiness of your marriage.” Hardwick winked at Madeleine, who was still in a world of her own. He was speaking in that jokey way of his that drove Gurney up a wall—it created such a sharp echo of the way his own father viewed everything after a few drinks. “I’m sure there’s another solution, ace. Think positively and the path will reveal itself.”
Gurney was about to tell him to stuff the supercilious tone when he heard the side door open. Jane came through the hallway into the kitchen, still wearing her jacket, her hair windblown. Her obvious distress got Madeleine’s attention.
“Jane? Is your brother all right?”
“He’s talking about people spying on him, hacking into his computer. I think the police are trying to drive him crazy, make him have a mental breakdown.”
Seemingly energized by her brother’s problems, she struck Gurney as the classic codependent. He knew that the irony of that sort of relationship is that the “fixer” would be made redundant by any lasting fix. Only by maintaining the long-term weakness of her dependent can she remain relevant. He wondered how closely Jane Hammond fit the model. “Were you getting the sense that these observations of his were . . . realistic?”
“Realistic?”
“You told us your brother suffers from exaggerated fears.”
“That’s different. That’s about things he sometimes imagines. This is about things he’s actually seeing. He isn’t psychotic, for God’s sake! He doesn’t see things that aren’t there!”
“Of course not,” Madeleine intervened. “David is just curious about the meaning Richard is giving to what he’s seeing.”
Jane looked at Gurney. “The meaning?”
“A car behind you on the road might be following you,” he explained. “On the other hand, it might just be behind you on the road. I’m sure your brother is seeing what he’s seeing, I’m just wondering about his interpretation of it.”
“I can’t answer your question. I don’t know enough about what’s happening. But that’s the whole point, don’t you see? That’s why I need you. You and Jack. I have no idea why those four people committed suicide. I have no idea what the facts are. I just know they’re not what the police say they are. But getting to the truth—that’s what you’re so good at.”
Gurney stole a glance at Madeleine to see how she was reacting to this plea for his involvement, but her expression revealed nothing.
Jane went on. “If you came up to Wolf Lake and met with Richard and asked him the right questions, I bet you could figure out what’s real and what isn’t. That’s what good detectives do, right? And according to Jack, you’re the best. Will you do it?”
He sat back in his chair and studied her expression, the hope enlivening her eyes. He answered with a question of his own: “Who actually runs the lodge?”
“That would be Austen Steckle, the general manager. He’s in charge of everything up there, especially since Ethan’s death, but even before that. Ethan relied on him totally.” She paused. “Austen’s kind of a tough character, but I have to say he’s been very fair to Richard. And he’s gone out of his way to protect him from the media vultures. The minute Fenton went public with his crazy accusations, reporters were besieging the place. Austen brought in private security for the first week, had reporters arrested for trespassing and harassment. Word got around, and they stopped trying to sneak onto the estate.”
“You mentioned that Ethan has a surviving brother? Is he active in the business?”
“Peyton? He’s on the property, but that’s about it. He’s no use to anyone.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Who knows? Even the best family can produce a bad seed.”
Gurney nodded his vague agreement. “You mentioned Peyton is in his late twenties?”
“Twenty-eight or twenty-nine, I think. Around the same age as Austen. But in terms of energy, focus, and smarts, they’re from different planets.”
“Any other siblings?”
“None surviving. Ethan and Peyton were originally the oldest and youngest of five children. The three middle ones were killed along with their father when his private plane went down in a thunderstorm. Their mother had a breakdown that led to her suicide two years later. That happened when Ethan was twenty-one and Peyton was in his mid teens. The tragedy just magnified the differences between them. It didn’t help that Ethan was appointed Peyton’s legal guardian.”
“When you mentioned ‘bad seed’ . . .?”
“Peyton has been a source of endless problems. As a kid it was stealing, lying, bullying. Then it became an endless succession of crazy girlfriends—hookers, to be brutally honest—disgusting behavior, gambling, drugs, you name it.”
“He lives at Wolf Lake?”
“Unfortunately.”
Gurney glanced at Hardwick for his reaction, but the man was flipping through screens on his smartphone.
Jane looked at Gurney pleadingly. “Will you at least come and talk to Richard, maybe have a look around?”
“If he’s opposed to getting outside help, won’t he refuse to see me?”
“Probably, if we ask in advance. But if you’ve already made the trip, he’ll feel compelled to see you.”
“You sound sure of that.”
“It’s part of who he is. When he had his practice in Mill Valley, if someone showed up at his office without an appointment, he could never send them away, no matter how busy he was. If someone was there, he had to meet with them. Let me add, in case you’re getting the wrong idea—it had nothing to do with money, with trying to squeeze in another paying customer. Richard never cared about money, only about people.”
Gurney thought it odd that a man with no interest in money would have chosen to establish his practice in Mill Valley, California, one of the wealthiest communities in America.
Perhaps sensing his skepticism, Jane continued. “Large organizations have approached Richard in the past with lucrative offers—very lucrative offers—if he would work for them exclusively. But he always turned them down.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard has always been devoted to transparency. He would insist on knowing everything about any organization that would want an exclusive right to his research. Not all institutions in the field of psychological research are as independent as they claim to be. No amount of money on earth could persuade Richard to work for any entity whose goals and backing were not 100 percent visible and verifiable. That’s the kind of man he is.” She leaned toward Gurney. “You will help . . . won’t you?”
“We have a timing problem. A short trip we’ve been planning for quite a while.”
She looked wounded. “When?”
“The day after tomorrow. So there’s really nothing I can—”
“How long?”
“How long will we be away? Four or five days. Perhaps sometime after that—”
“But things are happening so fast. Isn’t there any way—?”
“Yes, matter of fact, there is!” interjected Hardwick triumphantly, holding up his phone with the screen turned outward so everyone could see the travel map it displayed. “The purple