Page 57 of The Furies

The Golf was currently parked at the southern edge of the Heath Pond Bog Natural Area, concealed in a glade to shield it from the eyes of any passing cops who might be curious to check up on it, and then inquire as to why its owner wasn’t furthering his formal education. Lucas liked walking in Heath Pond Bog because it was easy to avoid other people there. He had a favorite spot by the creek, where the branches of an old tree acted like the frame of a chair. He’d bring along some cushions, a flask of coffee, his satchel, and a sack lunch, and there he would read, listen to music, or watch the water flow by. It was good for the soul.

Lucas hadn’t visited the creek for a couple of weeks. The weather had been lousy and cold, and anyway, he hadn’t felt the urge. But a couple of boring days in class, followed by an argument with Annabeth that had resulted in what he hoped was only a temporary estrangement, had changed his mind. Now Heath Pond Bog was calling to him.

Lucas Tyler went to the bog for the last time that morning. He parked his Golf for the last time in the glade; removed, for the last time, his cushions and satchel from the trunk; and walked, for the last time, to his favorite tree. He caught the stench as he came within sight of the creek. Lucas had never smelled a dead body before, but some atavistic memory was triggered by the odor, and he knew, even before he found the remains, that this was no skunk or deer.

The man was naked, his hands cuffed over a low branch of Lucas’s tree, and his legs tied together with wire that had cut deep into his ankles. The winter foliage hid him from anyone passing on the main trails, and the stink might have been missed if the wind was blowing in the right direction. He was small: although the branch was low, his bare toes still only scraped the ground. A bloodied gag drooped around his neck, leaving his mouth hanging open. After all, Lucas thought, even as his gorge rose, how can someone tell you what you want to know with their mouth all stopped up? On the other hand, you might have to muffle them while you convinced them to talk, just in case the screams attracted attention. Lucas didn’t know how much convincing this man had required, but it had been enough to necessitate the removal of long strips of skin from his arms, his legs, his belly, and his chest. Lucas could see that, even with the bloating.

When he’d finished emptying his stomach into the creek, Lucas used his cell phone to dial 911. He knew he’d get into hot water with the school, even the police, but he couldn’t walk away from this. When he had finished speaking to the dispatcher, he called his mom. Then he sat on a rock before the dead man and cried.

CHAPTER LXIV

Will Quinn had provided me with Raum’s latest number, via a reluctant Dolors, who had consented to disclose it only when he advised her that sharing it with the police would represent a worse outcome. But Raum wasn’t taking calls, and the phone went to voice mail after four rings. I left a message asking him to get in touch, but more in hope than expectation. I then spent ten minutes chatting with my daughter on FaceTime over breakfast before managing to catch Dave Evans on his way to the Bear.

“A freak was in here yesterday asking after you and Raum Buker,” said Dave. “Said he might be in touch again.”

“Did he leave a name?”

“Kepler. If it’s any use to you, we should have him on the security footage.”

I told Dave I’d be right over. Before I could leave the house, a Google Alert informed me that the fire at Hapgood Coins & Collectibles was officially being treated as arson, and the death of its proprietor as murder. Witnesses were being sought, but so far none had come forward. Of course, it was possible that the killing of a coin dealer in New Hampshire had nothing to do with the recent theft of a valuable collection in Ontario, or the presence in Maine of both Raum Buker and the man named Kepler, but then it was also possible that the odds didn’t favor the house, and the check really was in the mail.

I called Raum’s number again from the car, and left a second message. I phrased it as delicately as I could, voice recordings being admissible as evidence in any legal proceedings, but I made it clear to him that I knew what he’d done; that the confirmation of the arson attack in Whitefield had altered the landscape, both literally and figuratively; and it was now about limiting the damage, because the time for an accommodation had passed. Kepler was very likely a killer, and if Raum came forward and shared what he knew about him with the police, Moxie Castin would do his best to ensure that any assistance offered would be taken into account when it came to sentencing. There was no way he was going to avoid jail time, although Moxie would negotiate for a minimum sentence, but if Raum cooperated, he might save the Sisters Strange from threat, because their involvement with him had put them in Kepler’s sights. Finally, I made it plain that if he didn’t contact me before close of business, I’d be obliged to go to the police and feed him to them, so it would be wise to speak to me first. In the meantime, I would continue to search for him, but not before visiting the Bear to take a look at the bogeyman Kepler.

CHAPTER LXV

Vehicles from the Ossipee Police Department, the Carroll County Sheriff’s Office, and the New Hampshire State Police surrounded Lucas Tyler’s VW Golf, just as representatives from each of those agencies surrounded Lucas himself. The first words Lucas had said to them were “I didn’t do it,” because a person couldn’t be too careful, not when it came to murder, but he hoped no one really suspected that he had done it. In the event that he required an alibi, Lucas was trying to remember everywhere he’d been for the last week, which turned out to be harder than anticipated. Nearby, two state police detectives were speaking to his mother, who’d left work to be with him. She knew that he sometimes played hooky, and was content to cover for him so long as he didn’t do it too often—and more to the point, so long as he didn’t get caught. Staring at the crests of three different law enforcement agencies, Lucas reflected that, short of the FBI and the NSA also becoming involved, he couldn’t have been any more caught if he’d tried.

Lucas really wished he hadn’t found the dead man. He was starting to worry about how it might affect his prospects for MIT should his name become linked to a murder investigation. But the police seemed interested only in whether he’d touched the body, and whether he’d noticed anyone behaving strangely in the area on his previous visits to Heath Pond Bog.

It struck Lucas that he still didn’t know how the man had died. Having strips of skin excised from his body would have hurt—it would have hurt a whole hell of a lot—but it wouldn’t have been enough to kill him, not unless he had a bad heart and the stress had pushed him over the edge.

As it happened, the cause of death—choking due to obstruction of the respiratory passage by a foreign body—would not be established conclusively until the autopsy, when the object lodged in the larynx was removed by the medical examiner. It was made from lengths of aluminum craft wire, tightly bound, and was shaped roughly like a stick figure of a man. Inserted into the hollow of the figure’s head was an old bone die.

Kepler, signing his handiwork.

CHAPTER LXVI

I sat with Dave Evans in his office at the Great Lost Bear, moving back and forth through the security footage from the night before. In none of the images could I get a clear impression of Kepler. It was as though he had been aware throughout of the location of the cameras, and had positioned himself to avoid their gaze as best he could. Nevertheless, I saw enough to be convinced of the singularity of his aspect, even without Dave’s corroborating testimony.

“What about the medication you took from the table?” I said.

“I asked my physician about it,” said Dave. “It’s used to treat liver conditions. It makes sense, because he looked unwell, and I mean terminally unwell.”

“And you say he wanted you to play dice with him?”

“Yeah, they were made from ivory, or bone,” said Dave. “I thought I’d seen it all in this place, but obviously I was wrong. Do you know why he wanted to speak with you and Buker?”

“Raum stole a coin collection from him. Kepler wants it returned.”

“Then Buker ought to hand it over, because this is not someone he wants to have taking an interest in him. How involved are you?”

“More than I’d prefer. You know Will Quinn, the lumber guy? He hired me to find out why Raum was back in town and hanging around the Sisters Strange, Dolors in particular. Will has feelings for her.”

“He couldn’t find an iceberg to latch on to instead?”

“The heart wants what it wants, but I’m beginning to wonder if the question should equally be why the Stranges have kept company with Raum. Either way, the answer is becoming clearer. It’s love, money, or both.”

“Damn,” said Dave, “I’m not a detective and I could have told you that. What about the police?”

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