She felt guilty for lying to him about her past, but she had no choice in the matter. To tell him the truth could lead to her losing Danny. Worse, it would expose her, and then he would find out.

And his people would come.

Lost amid birdsong, the warmth of him still upon the pillow, Marianne began to cry.

Dupree drove first to his own house, where he showered and changed into his uniform. In his bathroom, as he listened to the water running in the shower, he smelled Marianne upon him and felt a twinge of regret that her scent would soon be washed from his body. Later, after he had changed, he picked up his shirt from the night before and brought it to his face. There was a small stain on the material where her face had pressed against him and he touched the traces of makeup with his fingertip. Then he carefully placed the shirt in the bathroom closet, above the laundry basket.

Barker was sitting in the office reading a novel when Dupree arrived. The sound of running water came from the open bathroom door, where Lockwood was brushing his teeth.

“Sleep well?” asked Barker. He was grinning.

“Pretty good,” said Dupree, maintaining a poker face.

“Dinner good?”

“That was pretty good too.”

“Breakfast?”

“I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“You should eat breakfast. You need to keep up your strength. I like a woman to make me breakfast the morning after.”

Dupree scowled at him. “Is this in the real world, or the fantasy one?”

Now it was Barker’s turn to frown. “Hey, my wife makes breakfast every morning, now that I come to think of it. Sometimes we even have sex the night before. Not often, but sometimes.”

“More than I need to know,” said Dupree. “So much more than I need to know.”

Lockwood came out of the bathroom. He walked like a dancer on the balls of his feet. He and the overweight Barker were an unlikely pairing, but Dupree liked them both in their own way.

“I borrow you for a few minutes?” Dupree said to Lockwood. He wanted someone to help him take Marianne’s car back to her house, but he wasn’t about to ask Barker to do it. Lockwood was less likely to use his suspicions about Dupree’s nocturnal activities as a source of humor.

“Sure.”

Lockwood grabbed his jacket and followed Dupree outside.

“I have to take a car back to its owner. I’d like you to follow me in the Explorer, you got nothing else to do, and give me a ride back here afterward.”

“No problem.”

“I appreciate it.”

They drove out to Marianne Elliot’s house. Dupree parked outside her front door, leaving the keys in the ignition. He looked up at the window of her bedroom, but the drapes were closed. He wondered what she was doing, until he saw the drapes move slightly and then Marianne was standing at the window, looking down on him. She smiled nervously and gave him a little wave. He waved back, then walked over and got into the Explorer next to Lockwood.

Lockwood looked at him.

“So, did she make you breakfast?”

Dupree reddened.

“I asked you to come along because I didn’t think you were as big a horse’s ass as Barker.”

Lockwood shrugged.

“Not smaller, just quieter.”

They drove along in silence for a time, until Lockwood asked Dupree if Sally Owen had found him last night.

“Yeah, I took care of it.”

“Lubey give you any trouble?”

“Nope, just shot his mouth off some.”

“You think he and Terry Scarfe were just catching up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re thinking of forming a book club.”

“A picture-book club. Those guys are dumb.”

“Lubey is, but Scarfe is a little smarter. He’s like a rat. He’d sell his mother’s corpse for cash, if he could bother to dig her up.”

“You think he was dealing on the island?”

Dupree winced. He’d been so distracted by Marianne that he hadn’t bothered to search either Scarfe or Lubey, yet he didn’t believe Scarfe would be stupid enough to bring drugs over with him. But he hadn’t known that Scarfe and Lubey were friendly, and even though they were laughing together the night before, he still got the feeling that they weren’t particularly close. Scarfe wanted something from Carl Lubey and that couldn’t be good because Carl Lubey had nothing positive to offer anyone.

“I’ll keep an eye on Lubey,” he said at last. “You hear anything about Scarfe over in Portland, maybe you’d give me a call.”

“Will do,” said Lockwood. They turned onto Island Avenue. It was still dark, but the sky was brightening slightly.

“Anything else I should know?” asked Dupree.

“Well, we’re still having trouble with the radios. Phones too.”

The problems with the radios were a recent development. The radio system in the Explorer was a dual arrangement. When the Portland PD had updated the island’s equipment, the old radio had been left in the Explorer and a second, portable system had been plugged into it. The new radio allowed the patrol cop to stay in touch with both the island base and dispatch over in Portland. The old system, meanwhile, enabled the island police to contact outside agencies such as the state police or the fire department. Over the last week, there had been gaps in transmission. Each of the island cops, Dupree included, had experienced some difficulty in raising either Portland or the station house, while on other occasions there had been the equivalent of a crossed line, faint voices audible in the background of regular transmissions. The radios had been checked and judged to be in perfect working order. “Ghosts in the machine,” as Lockwood had put it. Now the problem seemed to have spread to the phone lines.

“What about the phones?” asked Dupree.

“Same as the radio. Line was dead at least four times last night, just for a couple of seconds. You know, I picked up, there was nothing, then the dial tone kicked in. Other times there was light static. Could be the storm. Weathermen are saying that it’s going to hit the coast sometime tonight, although I’ve never heard of an approaching snowstorm affecting communications in that way before.”

Dupree didn’t reply. He was reminded of the previous day’s conversation with Amerling and Jack-It’s like the build up before an electrical storm-and the task that he had been putting off until after his dinner with Marianne: the visit to the Site.

“You know anything about this rookie cop Macy?” asked Dupree.

“I know she’s cute.”

“That’ll be a big help.”

“With respect, Joe, it’s not as if she’s entering a war zone.”

“No,” said Dupree. “I guess not.”

While the two men drove together, Sharon Macy stood in line for the small ferry. She’d heard tales about Thorson and his ferry, most of them, she hoped, gross exaggerations. One of the other field training officers, Christine McCalmon, had jokingly offered her the use of a life jacket for the trip. Macy had gone down to the dock the day before to take a look at the ferry as it left for its early-evening sailing. It looked a little rickety, but Macy figured it was better than rowing across Casco Bay in a teapot.

There were three other people beside her at the dock on Commercial Street, all with their eyes fixed on the little diesel boat, which was currently occupied by Thorson and his crewman. Thorson didn’t appear to be in too much of a hurry to get going. Macy thought he looked kind of hung over and figured that she could probably arrest him for some form of seagoing violation if she chose, but she guessed that nobody would thank her for it. Maybe if she took out her gun and forced him at gunpoint to get his ass in gear, then she might get their support and admiration. It was cold on the dock and the wind nipped painfully at her nose and ears.

“Cap’n,” said the man beside her, “what the hell are we waiting for?”