In the days that followed, what he’d seen—and learned—at the secret laboratory in the woods behind the fire station left Logan in a state of moral uncertainty. There was no doubt that the elder Dr. Feverbridge’s work was important. On the other hand, the manner in which he’d become, essentially, a walking dead man—although Logan fully understood the reasons for it—felt unsavory at best. However, the bottom line was that he simply could not, for the present, tell Jessup or anyone else about the circumstances. Not only would that put an end to the man’s research—it would, almost certainly, put an end to his life.
As the days went on, and he once again grew fully involved in his own work, he became increasingly comfortable with simply staying on the sidelines and letting the police do their job. True to his promise, Jessup backed off; when Logan was again invited to the ranger’s house for dinner, the conversation had focused solely on philosophy, French cuisine, and innocuous local gossip. Logan liked Suzanne already, and by dinner’s end the two were almost like old friends. As far as Logan could tell, Jessup was toeing Krenshaw’s line.
By the end of more than two additional weeks of solid effort, Logan managed to get most of the remaining work done on his monograph. His homebody behavior at Cloudwater clearly pleased Greg Hartshorn, the resident director, who—Logan now felt certain—had gotten wind of his inquiries into the recent deaths, to his evident displeasure.
One day, after driving into Saranac Lake for a few items, he ran into Harrison Albright, who had come into town to stock up at the local hunting and fishing store. Logan had enjoyed Albright’s lecture and reading at Cloudwater and was relieved the man hadn’t “ratted him out,” and now offered to buy him lunch. Albright declined, saying that he subsisted almost entirely on rabbit and venison he bow-shot—and brandished a freshly purchased packet of arrows to prove it. He agreed to have coffee, however, and the two quickly fell into a lively discussion of poetry and literature. Logan found himself enjoying Albright’s company: he had a truly unusual blend of literary education and a colorful life, combined with the outlook and skill of a born backwoodsman. Logan had never encountered anyone quite like him before. He stayed away from any questions about mysterious or unsettling forest lore, and Albright seemed to appreciate this in his rough-hewn way.
The only other times he ventured off the Cloudwater estate were, ironically, to visit the fire station where Laura Feverbridge had her lab. Despite his reservations about the old scientist’s secret life, he felt himself drawn for reasons he did not quite understand to both father and daughter; Laura had a quick, eager scientific mind and, despite himself, he was impressed by how she had sacrificed for the sake of her father’s well-being. The first visit was late one morning, when he found Laura alone in the main lab. They took a walk in the woods, chatting idly about how her work was proceeding, and—ironically—ended up at the base of Madder’s Gorge, the spot where she’d found the body of the dead hiker. On the way back, she told Logan she presumed he’d like to speak with her father again, and suggested he come back late the following Friday, when Pace, the lab assistant, would be taking the weekend off. Logan agreed; he could not help but feel a growing admiration for this smart, compassionate, loyal, and dedicated woman.
On his next visit that Friday, Laura escorted him back to the secret lab, where Dr. Feverbridge was, it seemed, awaiting his arrival. Logan again asked about the work, and the older man eagerly described the progress he had made since they’d last met. Logan was struck once more by the man’s brilliance and scholarly charisma. Freed at last from the carping of his would-be colleagues, he displayed none of the emotional frailty or despondency that Laura had described. In the course of discussing his work, he gave Logan an additional demonstration of how he could induce the lunar effect—this time on a nocturnal mammal, a fruit bat. Logan also learned there was a lab within the lab where he did some of his most cutting-edge work and that he insisted on keeping private, even from Laura. He explained how, once he’d finished the work to his satisfaction, he planned to let Laura publish it under her own name. “It’s the least I can do, given all the sacrifices she’s made for me,” he said.
“And what will you do then?” Logan asked.
“I’ll retire. This is my life’s work, you understand, and it’s almost done. I’ll go someplace far away—I’ve always liked Ibiza. Or perhaps the Amalfi coast. Or maybe Santorini. A spot where I won’t be surrounded by all of this,” and he waved at the instrumentation with a smile. “Who knows? Maybe my reputation will be rehabilitated. Then again, maybe not. But by that point, I’ll no longer care—I’ll know, and Laura will know, that we’ve succeeded. That I’ve managed to make it to the end of the road. And that’s the most important thing.”
Logan thought of his own monograph, awaiting completion back at his cottage at Cloudwater, and nodded silently. He understood this sentiment completely.
22
The following evening, after Logan made his way back from the main lodge after dinner, he found Randall Jessup installed on the front porch of his cottage. The ranger was sitting on the front steps in the same spot where he’d found Pace, Laura Feverbridge’s lab tech, waiting for him some two and a half weeks earlier.
“Randall,” Logan said as the ranger stood to shake his hand. “Nice to see you. Come on in.”
They stepped inside. Jessup took off his hat and hung it on the back of a chair, then took a seat on the wraparound sofa.
“Can I get you anything?” Logan asked. “Coffee, tea, something stronger?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
Logan sat down opposite Jessup. He wondered what this visit could be about. He hadn’t seen the ranger since the second dinner at the man’s house, well over a week before. This certainly didn’t feel like a social call. Quite the contrary: it was clear Jessup had something on his mind. There was a look on his face that could only be called troubled.
“Making any progress?” Logan asked, careful to give the question a light pitch.
“Not really. The search parties wrapped up without finding anything—no useful evidence, no rogue animal. We’re basically waiting—and I don’t like that at all.”
“Waiting?”
“For the next full moon.”
Logan nodded his understanding. They haven’t found the killer, he thought. So now they’re waiting for it—or him—to strike again. Logan knew such an approach would stick in Jessup’s craw.
“When’s it due?” he asked.
“The next full moon? Two days.”