Page 99 of The Lie Maker

“I do.”

“What kind of justice is there when a piece of shit like that gets off? And you can put that in your fucking paper, word for word. He killed my father, and he killed my sister, too.”

“I can’t imagine how you deal with something like that,” Lana said sympathetically. It was no act. It was sinking in, talking to this man, how much grief her boyfriend’s father had caused. If this Kyle Gartner, or someone working on his behalf, was looking for Jack’s dad so that he could exact revenge, could anyone blame him? Wouldn’t Michael Donohue be getting what he’d always deserved?

“Yeah, it’s hard to take,” Kyle said.

“Do you think you’ll ever get some measure of justice? And at this late date, would it even matter?”

Another long pause.

Finally, Kyle said, “I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll find out.”

Lana wanted to ask him flat out: Was he looking for Jack’s dad? Had he already found him once in New Hampshire? Was that why Michael Donohue had disappeared? Had there already been a failed attempt on his life, and Kyle Gartner, or someone in his employ, was still in pursuit?

Was it possible Kyle was on his trail right now?

“Mr.Gartner,” Lana said, “where did you say you are again?”

But Kyle Gartner was gone.

Fifty-Two

Jack

Lana owned a black BMW 3-series, with a manual transmission, that was more than two decades old. When Lana was in her late teens, her family had lived for three years in Berlin while her father, a banking exec, was posted over there. It was during that period that she learned to drive, and the car she’d had available to her had a stick. She hadn’t owned an automatic-transmission vehicle since.

Fortunately, I, too, could drive a stick. In college, I learned on the Honda of a friend, who I often had to drive back to the dorm when he was too hammered to get behind the wheel.

I would have enjoyed the use of Lana’s car more if I wasn’t so preoccupied with what I might encounter in Gilford. This trip might prove pointless, but sometimes, when you have one option available to you, that’s the one you go with.

Was my father Frank Dutton? Maybe. And if he was, I was hoping I might find some lead that I could pass on to Gwen, and, at that point, endure her fury at not bringing her into the loop from the beginning.

As I thought about her, it occurred to me that in my rush to hit the road, I had grabbed only my own phone, not the one Gwen had given me. At least I’d remembered to take a slice of pizza. Whatever I might find out and want to pass on to her would have to wait until I returned.

Given this Beemer’s age, it didn’t have a built-in navigation system, so I used my phone for directions to Gilford generally, and the Trailwind Acres trailer park specifically. It took some time to get out of the city, but once I was on I-93 I was moving above the speed limit and watching my rearview for cops. This was a toll road that would take me through Manchester and Concord, but I figured I could save thirty minutes by not taking secondary roads.

I had more on my mind than my father. I knew telling Lana about him had been the right thing to do, but I worried whether it would change things between us. Maybe she wouldn’t want to be with a guy whose father had done such terrible things. I guessed time would tell.

My phone, sitting on the seat beside me, rang. It was illegal in Massachusetts to talk on a handheld device while driving, and I was betting the same was true of New Hampshire, but what can I say? I’m a rebel. I saw the call was from Lana.

“Hey,” I said.

“Just talked to Kyle Gartner.”

“And?”

“And... I don’t know. He was pretty on edge. He’s not in Chicago and wouldn’t tell me where he is. But he sure hasn’t forgotten what your father did.”

“What’s your gut say?”

“My gut doesn’t know, but he sure strikes me as a guy who’s got a score to settle. It’s not much, but I wanted to bring you up to speed.”

“Thanks.”

“Where are you?”

“Twenty minutes to half an hour out, I think. Only jammed the gears a couple of times.”

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