“Where did you meet him?”

She looked down at the floor. “This place. Out by Stewart’s Pond. He called it the Ketchem cemetery.”

He had one of those unpleasant moments when the inside of his head tilted and everything he had assumed he knew changed. “The Ketchem cemetery? Where is that?”

Debba seemed more exasperated than upset at this point. “I can give you exact directions, ’cause he gave them to me. Take Old Route 100 north. Turn off on the Old Sacandaga Road, cross the Hudson, and go another mile and a half until you see County Road 57 on the left. Follow that past-”

“A boat launch site,” he interrupted.

“Yeah,” she said.

“You go up a short hill, then at the top you pull off.”

She was looking at him oddly. “Yeah. You know the place.”

He thought of the gravestones clustering beneath the black pines. Cold, dark water. An old woman with her hair like a shroud of seaweed, staring at him. Staring at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know the place.” He dragged himself back to the moment. “You two met there. Was he driving his own car?”

“Of course he was.” She suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth. “There hasn’t been an accident, has there? I didn’t know-” She twisted in her seat, looking up at Clare. “He hurt himself, after we talked, I didn’t tell you. He slipped in the snow and smacked his head against one of the headstones.” She twisted back, facing Russ. “I tried to help him. Really. But he wouldn’t let me drive him. He said he had a first-aid kit in his own car.” She twisted again, the very picture of concern. “I shouldn’t have left him there all alone.” Back toward Russ. “Has there been an accident? Is he okay?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” he said, his voice mild. “He seems to have gone missing.” He rose from the oversized chair. “Can I use your phone?” he asked Clare.

She nodded, still gazing distractedly at the woman on her couch.

“Maybe you can show me where it is?” He had hung up his coat less than a foot away from where the phone hung.

Her eyes sharpened. “Certainly,” she said. “Follow me.”

Once through the swinging doors at the end of the living room, she turned to him. “What’s going on?” Her voice was pitched low.

He kept his at the same level. “Dr. Rouse’s wife reported him missing. Last time anyone’s seen him was two o’clock. She really didn’t say anything to you about this alleged slip and fall?”

She frowned up at him.

“C’mon, Clare, you can’t claim priestly confidence if she’s just told both of us.”

She worried her lower lip. “No. This is the first I heard of it.”

“But she did tell you about meeting with the doctor?”

She nodded.

“Funny detail to leave out, don’t you think?”

She looked miserably toward the swinging door. “I’d better get back.”

“Go ’head. I’m going to call in that location, get one of the patrol cars over there.” He caught her arm as she stepped toward the door. “You might want to encourage Ms. Clow to dredge up any other details she forgot to mention to you.”

He reached Harlene, gave her the directions, and was relieved to hear that Mark Durkee was already up on Old Route 100, probably on his way to the nightly swing past Russ’s mother’s house. Russ told Harlene to patch Mark through to Clare’s if and when he turned up anything.

“I’d love to know how you managed to work Reverend Fergusson into this one,” Harlene said.

“Reverend Fergusson manages to work herself into these things all on her own,” he said. “She doesn’t need any pushing from me.”

“So you’re going to be staying over there.”

“Since Debba Clow, the last person known to have seen the doctor alive, is here, yeah. I am.”

He heard a snort over the phone. “Isn’t this Linda’s week to be visiting in Florida?”

He exhaled slowly, counting to-well, he didn’t make it to ten. “Don’t you have any police business you could be attending to? As I am doing, right now, keeping tabs on this witness?”

There was another snort. He gave up. “Make sure Mark calls me ASAP. Fifteen fifty-seven over.” He hung up.

Clare looked up as he came through the doors. She was sitting in the other armchair, kitty-corner to Debba Clow. She tilted her head slightly. Any information?

He shook his head. Aloud he said, “Is there any coffee?”

Clare rose. “I’ll make some up. I could use a cup, too. Debba?”

Debba nodded. Clare vanished through the swinging doors, giving Russ a look as she passed him.

He sat in the armchair. “An officer is headed for the Ketchem cemetery right now. He was up in the area, so we should hear back from him shortly.”

Debba pushed her cloud of kinky hair back from her face. “I didn’t think about the possibility that he could really have been hurt. Are you sure he’s not…” Her voice trailed off.

“We don’t know what’s going on at this point,” he said. “We’re trying to eliminate possibilities. What did you do after Dr. Rouse hit his head?”

“We went back to the cars. He was bleeding, but he didn’t want any help. He pointed out that he was the doctor, not me.” She raised her eyes, as if to say, What can you do? “He got in his car, I got in mine, and then I took off.”

His next question was cut off by the faint sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. He had half raised himself out of his chair when Clare pushed through the door. “It’s for you. Officer Durkee.”

In the kitchen, he took the phone from Clare and waited until she removed herself to the living room. “Mark? Russ. What have you got?”

“I’ve been tramping around the area. Freezing my butt off. I haven’t seen any sight of the doctor, but I found his car. It’s a good ten yards off the road, smashed into a tree. Abandoned.”

Russ faced toward Clare’s wall and pitched his voice low. “Have you called the state crime scene folks yet?”

“I had Harlene send for them and notify the mountain rescue squad. I told ’em it’s still officially a missing person. I mean, he was a pretty old guy, after all.” Russ reflected that Dr. Rouse was-or had been-maybe fifteen years older than he was. Mark went on, “But if he wandered away in a confused state when the dark came on, he’s a corpsicle by now.”

“I agree. On the other hand, maybe he didn’t wander off. Maybe he was removed from the scene.” He pressed his forehead against Clare’s calendar, right over a florid picture of an angel and the Virgin Mary. THE ANNUNCIATION OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY, the tag read. He was eyeball to eyeball with the Virgin, who didn’t look all that pleased that she was about to become an unwed mother. He thought about Allan Rouse. Confused and elderly? No way. But calling Debba Clow and asking her to meet him at some old cemetery was way out of character. If that’s what he did. Maybe she confronted him, whacked him over the head, and drove him out there in his own car to dispose of the body. No, that didn’t work. She would have had to walk at least two hours to her house to retrieve her car before driving into town to see Clare, and he would lay money that Debba Clow wasn’t the sort to go on long walks along dark, icy mountain roads. No matter what the provocation.

“Chief?”

“Sorry, Mark. I was thinking. I don’t know what to make of this. There’s too much unexplained stuff, and I hate unexplained stuff.” He pushed away from the wall, setting his thoughts in order. “We have to act as if this is a missing-person case, because if Rouse did somehow wander off, we have a chance of finding him alive if we move fast. So I’ll call out the volunteer fire department search team as well. They’ll get there faster than the mountain rescue team.”

“Okay.”

“On the other hand, when the statie gets there with the CSU kit, I want every print that can be lifted off Rouse’s car. We’ve already got Debba Clow’s prints on record, so we won’t need to get a warrant to check for a match.”