By the time she got back, she was drenched in sweat; her legs were numb and her lungs aching. She’d really pushed that last half mile.
But she felt good.
She unlocked the front door, stepped inside, pulled the buds from her ears, and dropped the iPod into a decorative bowl with her keys. She went into the kitchen and turned the tap on full blast, letting the water get cold.
Then it hit her. “What am I thinking?” She turned off the tap and took a bottle of Poland Spring water from the refrigerator and took two long gulps.
There was a knock at the door.
“Just a second!” she said.
She put the bottle down on the counter, walked briskly to the front door, and opened it wide.
“Ms. Roper?”
The man smiled, nodded respectfully.
“I know you,” she said slowly.
“We met yesterday at the hospital. I was asking-”
“You’re the policeman,” Sonja said. “I remember you. But I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Carlson,” he said. “Angus Carlson.”
She gestured down at herself. Her running clothes were dark with perspiration. “You have to excuse me. I just did a run. I’m sweating buckets. Pretty dumb, huh, when I don’t even know if the water’s safe to shower with yet?”
“For what it’s worth, I’ve heard it is. But I’m sorry. Should I come back later?”
“No, no, it’s okay.”
“They say we need to wait another day or two before we drink anything from the tap, but for cleaning, showering, the crisis is over.”
“Really? That’s some good news, I guess. Because if anyone ever needed a shower, it’s me. So what’s up?”
“We’re still, of course, actively investigating the cause of the water contamination, and we’re reinterviewing people who might have noticed something-anything-that might be helpful.”
“What could I have seen?” she asked.
“Well, we think it’s possible that whoever did this-and we do think it was an individual with an agenda, and not some kind of environmental accident or something-he might very well have come to the hospital to see the results of his handiwork, actually see the people being ill.”
“Oh my God, that’s just awful,” Sonja Roper said.
“I know. That’s why I wanted to ask you if you noticed anything unusual yesterday. Anything at all.”
“Are you kidding? It was all unusual.”
Carlson nodded understandingly. “Of course it was. But what I’m thinking is, did you notice anyone who didn’t seem to belong? Someone who was just hanging around, not actually with anyone? Someone who was lurking?”
“I’d have to think about that a second. God, where are my manners? You want to step inside?”
“I suppose. Thank you.”
“I’m so rude. Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” Angus said.
SIXTY-ONE
Duckworth
“WHAT kind of car is your husband driving?” I asked Gale Carlson.
“A Ford. A Fusion.”
“Color?”
“Um… dark blue,” she said.
“Plate number?”
She spluttered, “I have no idea.”
“Year?”
Gale remained flustered. “I think, 2007. We bought it used.”
I got out my phone, entered a number. “Hey, I need you to look up a registration. I need a plate number on a dark blue 2007 Ford Fusion, registered to Angus Carlson. Yeah, that Angus Carlson. Call me when you have it.”
Then I called Rhonda Finderman.
“Barry? Jesus, why the hell did you bail on me?” she said, answering after one ring.
“Chief, I need you to-”
“I wanted you beside me when I did that conference. Everyone turned up. All the major networks. CNN was there, the Albany media. They had a lot of questions and a lot of them I just had to wing. It would have gone a lot better if you’ d-”
“Listen to me. Call whoever we call when we need to track a cell phone.”
“What?”
“Take this down.”
I gave her Angus’s cell phone number and service provider. “We need to see if they can triangulate his location.”
“Why, Barry? What’s happened to Angus? Does this have something to do with the shooting at the hospital?”
“No.”
“Barry, talk to me.”
I moved away from Gale, far enough to be sure she would not hear me. “Angus just moved to the top of the suspect list in the Fisher, Gaynor, and Plummer murders.”
For about three seconds, nothing. Then, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I can’t get into it now. I need to find him.”
“Jesus, Barry.”
“I know. Can you do the phone thing?”
“Leave it with me.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Gale asked me after I’d ended the call. “Please tell me what’s happening.”
“We have to find Angus,” I told her.
“Why were you asking him about those women who’d been murdered? You were acting like you thought he had something to do with it.”
“Gale, talk to me about him.”
Her face was crumpling. “I don’t understand what you’re asking. He’s my husband. I love him.”
“How’s he been lately? Has he been moody? Has he seemed different?”
“He’s always been moody,” Gale said, shaking her head, as though trying to shake off my questions. “It’s the job. It’s being with the police. It’s hard on him. And then what happened yesterday, he’s very stressed-out about that.”
“Before yesterday,” I said. “How has he been?”
“He’s damaged,” she said. “He’s always been damaged. It was what drew me to him in the first place. He had so much pain. You have no idea. I wanted to help him with that. And I’ve been doing it, every single day. I know he comes across as funny sometimes, always making jokes, the wisecracks. It’s an act. It masks the pain. Why were you asking him about those women?”
I wondered whether, deep down, she’d always suspected something. Maybe, maybe not. Often, it was the people closest to you that you knew the least about.
My phone rang.
“I’ve got a plate for you,” my contact said.
I wrote down the information, ended the call, then made another, to the Promise Falls police dispatcher.
“We need to find this car,” I said. I provided a full description, with plate number. “It’s Angus Carlson. We need to find him immediately.”
“Is he in trouble?” the dispatcher asked.
“Yes,” I said. But not the way the dispatcher meant, so I added, “He needs to be approached with caution.”
“What?”
“Get the word out,” I said, and slipped the phone back into my pocket.
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Gale said. “He wouldn’t.” She turned away, wringing her hands.
I said, “Text him. Tell him to come home.”
She tapped away on the phone. “I’m telling him I love him. I’m telling him I need him.”
We waited for the three little dots that would indicate he was forming a reply, but there was nothing.
“This is all my fault,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been asking him lately-I’ve been asking him a lot-about our having a child. Trying to get him to warm to the idea.”
“I don’t think this has anything to do with that,” I said.
“It might, it really might,” she said pleadingly. This was what she wanted it to be about. It was less horrific than the other possibilities that had to be going through her mind.
“Why?” I asked.
“He had such a horrible upbringing. After his father left, his mother… like I said, she changed. Angus didn’t want to have children because there’s such a huge risk that the parents will turn out to be monsters. I’d say to him, ‘Do you think that’s what I could turn into? A monster?’ And he’d say you just never know with people. We have these long talks about it, me trying to convince him that I’d never be like that, no matter what happened. Maybe he was worried about himself, that he had the potential to transform from a wonderful father to a bad one. But I know that would be impossible.”