“Excuse me?”
A familiar voice intervened. “I said you’d understand, because you’re an understanding guy.”
Jack Hardwick, grinning brightly, got up from the chair by the hearth. “Actually,” he said, glancing significantly at the lamp with the bloodstone finial that Gurney had told him housed one of the bugs, “I thought you might prefer to be downstairs. Closer to the furnace. Feels warmer.”
Jane added, “Richard was taking a quick shower. Let me see if he’s ready.”
As soon as she left the room, Hardwick lowered his voice. “With both of us here, maybe we can double our progress.”
“You’re not worried about Fenton finding out you’re here?”
“I’m done worrying about Fenton. As soon as we get to the truth of this case, his ship sinks. And if he tries to swim, I’ll piss in his face.”
“Assuming our truth is different from his truth.”
“It has to be—”
He was interrupted by Jane calling to them from a doorway on the far side of the stone hearth. “Richard’s on his way. Let’s go downstairs before the breakfast things get cold.”
Once Jane was again out of sight, Madeleine turned to Hardwick. She spoke softly, calmly. “Richard Hammond isn’t guilty of anything.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “You look pale. You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. Not at all. But that has nothing to do with Richard.”
“Are you sick?”
“Maybe.”
Hardwick seemed bewildered by her. He paused. “What makes you say that about Hammond?”
“I just know.”
He looked at Gurney, as if seeking a translation.
THE SO-CALLED “REC ROOM” WAS A BIG SQUARE SPACE. THERE WAS an exercise area with a weight machine and a pair of treadmills; a media area with plush seats in front of a wide screen; a conversation area with a couch and armchairs; and an eating area with a sideboard, a dining table, and half a dozen Windsor chairs.
Richard and Jane were sitting across the table from Dave and Madeleine, and Jack was sitting at the end. They’d all gotten what they wanted from the sideboard and had briefly discussed the weather and the dreadful blizzard to come. It quickly became apparent that no one really wanted to talk about it, and the group fell into an edgy silence.
Finally, with her throat sounding painfully raw, Jane spoke up. “I was wondering . . . with all you’ve been looking into . . . if you might possibly have some good news for us?”
“We do have some ‘news,’” said Gurney. “We’ve discovered that the four deaths may be related to the disappearance of a teenage boy in upstate New York thirteen years ago.”
Richard appeared curious, Jane puzzled.
Gurney recounted the story of the tragic summer at Camp Brightwater—in all the detail provided by Moe Blumberg and Kimberly Fallon.
At the mention of Scott Fallon’s almost-certain death, Jane’s hand went to her heart. “How awful!”
Richard’s expression was hard to read. “You’re saying that Wenzel, Balzac, and Pardosa were all at Brightwater that summer?”
“It looks that way.”
“So what’s the connection to Ethan?”
“We’re thinking he may have been there as well.”
“You must be joking.”
“Why is that?”
“Ethan spent his summers from age twelve to twenty-one in Switzerland. Then, when his mother died and he inherited the Wolf Lake estate, he worked here day and night, fifty-two weeks a year, turning the lodge into the going concern it is today.”
“What was he doing in Switzerland?”
“Equestrian school, French and German language schools, trap shooting, fly fishing, et cetera. Opportunities to mingle with other young people of good breeding. The notion that Ethan Gall would have been sent to a blue-collar camp in the Catskills is ludicrous.” Hammond paused, his faint smile fading. “Wait a second, your question about Brightwater—were you thinking that Ethan could have been involved with those other three in something that rotten, that despicable?”
“It was a possibility I had to consider.”
Richard looked accusingly at Hardwick. “You too?”
“My own experience is that any kind of person can be the kind of person you never thought they could be.” There was something cold and assessing in Hardwick’s eyes.
“I agree, theoretically. But the idea that he could be part of a band of gay-bashing bullies is just so . . . so . . .” His voice trailed off, and he began again. “A couple of years ago, around the time Ethan persuaded me to come to Wolf Lake, he was about to give away everything, all his assets. He intended to transfer ownership of everything to the Gall New Life Foundation in the form of an irrevocable trust—with only a modest annual income from the investment proceeds to continue for himself and Peyton during their lifetimes.”
Hardwick reacted with a raised eyebrow.
Gurney smiled encouragingly. “That sounds very generous.”
“That’s my point. That’s who Ethan was. A wealthy man with no love of wealth, except for what good it could accomplish in the world.”
Hardwick barked out a loud cough. “You said he was ‘about to’ do that. Which means he didn’t actually do it, right?”
“Austen persuaded him that he could do more good if he retained control of the assets.”
Gurney stepped in again. “What sort of ‘good’ are we talking about?”
“If everything went into an irrevocable trust for the foundation, Ethan would lose what little power he had over Peyton’s behavior.”
“He couldn’t threaten to disinherit him if there was nothing left to be inherited?”
“Exactly. And Austen’s final point, the one that really tipped the scales with Ethan, was that the foundation’s primary support shouldn’t come from the generosity of its founder. It should come from the contributions of the successful ‘graduates’ of its rehabilitation program. Austen made a strong case for the ‘giving back’ concept.”
“Why was Austen involved?” asked Gurney.
“Austen was involved because money was involved. Of course, Ethan made his own decision. But he always respected Austen’s input.”
Jane was twisting her napkin. “The three young men you say were at that camp together . . . and came up to see Richard? Were you able to find out anything else about them?”
“Odd things. All three despised gay men. And at least one was informed that you were gay—before he made his appointment to see you. It’s possible all three had the same information—since they all got calls from the same cell number before coming here.”
Hammond and Jane looked at each other, perplexed.
Jane voiced the obvious question. “Why would someone like that want to see Richard?”
“There’s evidence that all three experienced dramatic financial improvements in their lives right around the time of their sessions with Richard.”
Hammond looked baffled. “Are you implying someone paid them to meet with me?”
Gurney shrugged. “I’m just telling you what we discovered.”
Hardwick gave Hammond an assessing look. “Suppose you learned the identity of three shit-bags who’d beaten a boy to death for the crime of being gay. Suppose you had no doubt about their guilt. But the proof, because of some technicality, would not be allowed in court; so you believed they would escape punishment. What would you do?”
Hammond gazed sadly at Hardwick. “You may have intended that as a trick question. But it’s a very painful question.”