“We need to head south a bit,” Ashton said, trudging forward. Ray and Sue followed until he stopped on a promontory of dune grass. “It would be somewhere near here. It happened during that period when the lake was real high for four or five years.” He waved his arm along the coast, then he pointed with a long, bony finger at a stand of small, wind-bent trees. “Most of the beach was gone here. The water had eaten away the sand right up to the roots of those cedars.”

“And the body?” asked Ray.

“It was along here. Not at the water’s edge, more thrown up on the top. We had some big storms and the waves did break up on the shore. I guess it’s possible, but it seemed a little unnatural.”

“I know it was a long while ago, but can you talk about finding the body? What do you remember?”

Ashton scanned the area, his deep-set eyes slowly moving from right to left, then back again. “It was a day like today, much later in the spring, but about the same temperature. I had worked all morning and came over here with a sandwich and beer about noon. It was one of those spring days where you’re just filled with joy. You know, sunshine and warm air. The lake was like glass, not a ripple.

“I sat for a while and ate, then I thought I’d walk down the beach a bit. I could see something white from a long way off. I didn’t think anything much about it till I got close. Just sort of curious. At first I thought it was the body of an animal, being partially covered with sand and all. It took me a while to be sure what I was seeing. He was a skinny kid, a boy, maybe 120 pounds.

“I went back as fast as I could. I had one of the pontoon boats by that time, and I crossed Lost Lake and went to that house on the road where you parked. I called the sheriff. He sent a deputy, that Lowther guy, and an ambulance showed up, too. Lowther acted like he was really pissed about having to get in a boat and then walk out here. Maybe he was worried about his spit-polished boots.

“So he looked around, made a few notes, had the guys bag the body. Later on, on the news, I saw that they’d called it an accidental drowning. I don’t know how they came up with that. Didn’t get the sense that there was ever an investigation or anything.”

“What’s wrong with an accidental drowning?’

“Something wasn’t right about it. I mean, the lake was still real cold. They said he must have been skinny-dipping and drowned, then the body drifted up here. But I don’t think so. I don’t know about these things, but I don’t think he’d been in the water long enough to be a floater. And I never heard that they found his clothes, not here or wherever he was from.”

“What was the condition of the body? Do you remember?”

“Sure. It was white, sorta waxy looking. It wasn’t really rotting or anything. And the animals hadn’t gotten to it yet, not the crows or the gulls. I think it was pretty fresh.”

The three of them stood for a long time in silence.

“Anything else?” Ashton asked finally.

“Not for me,” said Ray. “Sue?”

“No. Thank you, Perry. That was helpful.”

“Good. I better get you back to your cars. I’ve got to start collecting my tools and stuff and packing out.”

“Before we leave,” said Ray, “I’ve heard the Hollingsfords had a family burial plot.”

“Yes, it’s just over that dune. Do you want to have a look?”

“Yes, if you have time.”

“Yep, I’ll make it, follow me.”

“I’ve got your order from Zingerman’s in a cooler,” said Sue after Perry Ashton dropped them off. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask about it immediately.”

“I didn’t have to. I have great confidence in your successful completion of every mission.”

“And you owe me about a gazillion dollars,” she said, fishing a receipt from an interior pocket.

“Not so bad,” he said, scanning it. “Life’s pleasures come with a cost.”

“So what did we learn?” she asked.

Ray looked at his watch. “I need to think about it. Let’s get together tomorrow morning around 10,” he said, passing Simone into Sue’s arms. “We’ll see if we can make any connections.”

26

Just before the economic collapse, a downstate developer purchased a large track of cherry and apple orchards on the ridgeline north of Cedar Bay and spent a few million dollars reshaping the landscape to develop 15 luxury home sites. At the entrance road stood two large fieldstone columns and a faux gatehouse. A large billboard announced, “Build your dream house in Bay Ridge Estates, a detached luxury condominium community with views of your personal piece of paradise.” A crisp, white sticker reading “Now Bank Owned” in bold red letters had been added across the bottom of the sign.

Mackenzie drove slowly up the hill and inspected the vacant building sites. There were five cul-de-sacs in the subdivision, each connected by an access road that ran at the top of the development. Mackenzie passed the first four roads, turning into the fifth, and pulled onto a short paved spur intended to be the beginning of a drive.

She had been up here once before, briefly, and knew where she could get the best view of Richard Sabotny’s house. This time she came with a camera, one equipped with a telephoto lens. Peering through the viewfinder, she first located Sabotny’s house, then focused on the vehicle sitting beyond the open garage door. She took several shots of the rear of a Range Rover, then turned her attention to the second car, a Lexus.

After checking the quality of the photos, she returned the camera to the bag. Just as she switched her car back into drive, she noticed the brake lights and then the backup lights of the Range Rover. The vehicle reversed into a turnaround, then headed out the long drive to the highway, pausing briefly as the steel gates at the end slowly swung open. Mackenzie grabbed her camera a second time, but it was too late; the vehicle was almost out of view, heading south.

Mackenzie accelerated onto the access road as she drove toward the highway. Her pursuit of the Range Rover momentarily stalled as she waited to turn right. Two slow-moving gravel trucks, followed by a school bus, crept by.

After the bus turned onto a side road, Mackenzie continued through the village behind the gravel trucks. The reduced speed allowed her to survey the sides of the highway and the adjoining village streets for the large, pearl-white English SUV.

She spotted it a quarter of a mile south, just as the trucks ahead of her started to accelerate. It was parked under the canopy of a local bank, next to the drive-in window at the near end of the parking lot that served the Bay Side Family Market, a small number of shops, and a medical clinic. Mackenzie parked near the market where she had a clear view of the bank. She was tempted to reach for her camera, but hesitated, unsure that the smoked glass of her Subaru would totally conceal her in the brilliant sunlight.

After a few minutes, Sabotny drove away from the bank and pulled into a space near The Espresso Shot. As Mackenzie watched, the doors on each side of the vehicle swung open. A short, petite woman with dark red hair—a color Mackenzie remembered noticing on so many women in Paris—stepped lightly from the vehicle, then turned and waited, one hand on her hip, for Sabotny to join her. Together, they walked into the coffee shop.

Elena Rustova thought Mackenzie. She pulled her laptop from under the camera bag, opened it, and punched in the security code. A search for Rustova brought her to an open document, her name highlighted in green.

Elena Rustova, b. 1980 Chisinau, Moldova. Ethnically Russian. Educated in public schools, undergraduate degree State University of Moldova. Religion unknown. Linguist and translator. Believed fluent in English, Romanian, Russian, French, Arabic, and Urdu. Ranked martial artist in college. Employment history: assignments with European and American companies in Africa, Asia, the former Soviet Republics, Iraq, and Pakistan. No known criminal activity.