“Oh, they’re not quite as ornery and standoffish as they put on. There’s one or two folks that they tolerate, more or less. It’s true they don’t like strangers, and there’s no love lost between them and the good citizens of Pike Hollow—the bad blood goes back too far for that to ever change. And they have a good reason to keep to themselves.”
“What’s that?” Logan asked.
But Albright didn’t answer directly. “Dr. Feverbridge told me he’d managed to make the acquaintance of the clan—exactly how, I don’t know. Maybe the same way I initially did: on the off chance you run into one, treat him respectable, don’t get all judgmental and curious. But if you want my real opinion, I think it had to do with money—that’s something the Blakeneys could always use a lot more of, no matter how self-sufficient they might seem. No doubt he’d heard the rumors about them and grown curious. Anyway, he’d been a visitor at their compound—once, maybe twice; Feverbridge grew vague with the details when I started asking questions.” He slipped the knife back into the scabbard. “And that’s what I told Jessup, when he stopped by here yesterday afternoon. And that’s when Jessup told me how curious he was about what Feverbridge had been working on: the lunar effect, I think they both called it.”
Logan was silent. He couldn’t tell Albright that Feverbridge was still alive; that would be breaking his promise to Laura and to the scientist himself. His mind worked fast, trying one theory after another but rejecting each in turn. That Feverbridge had visited the Blakeneys—that anyone had visited them—was a surprise: but why was it important? Then he recalled the articles he’d seen displayed on Jessup’s desk—and it was as if a key had just slid into a lock.
Albright said nothing, but his expression implied an understanding that some revelation, or partial revelation, had taken place. “You’ve been out to the Feverbridge lab,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Seen those dogs of his?”
“The Weimaraners? Yes.”
“Awful big, aren’t they?”
Logan didn’t reply, and after a moment Albright spoke again. “Anyways, now you know why I feel bad about Jessup’s death.”
“Why? You don’t think your telling him that fact could possibly have anything to do with his death?”
Albright shrugged.
“His death has had one result, though. The leader of the task force, a trooper named Krenshaw, is planning to raid the Blakeney compound.”
At this, Albright’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “When?”
“Soon. Perhaps the day after tomorrow.”
Albright stood up, dusted the wood curlings from his lap. “Then I guess we’d better go pay a call.”
Logan glanced up at him. “Where?”
“The Blakeneys. Who else?” And as he spoke, the man shrugged into a faded hunting jacket.
29
Logan rose slowly to his feet. Albright glanced over at him, chuckling at his obvious discomfiture.
“We’re going to pay a social visit on the people who stuck a shotgun in my face the last time I went calling,” Logan said.
“Not a social visit, exactly,” Albright replied. “But I think it’s time you found out just what kind of people they really are. They need to know about this raid the troopers are planning—I owe them that much. Besides, isn’t there something you want to ask them?”
“What’s that?” Logan asked.
“Why Dr. Feverbridge visited their compound.”
Logan glanced at him for a minute. Over the past twenty-four hours, the shocks and the tragic events had followed so closely, one upon the other, that he now felt tired and almost stupefied. But immediately, he realized the man was right. He’d come to see Albright because he’d believed, at some instinctual level, that the man was the connection he sought to what Jessup had uncovered: and he’d been right. That connection was Dr. Feverbridge, and why he had struck up an acquaintance with the Blakeney clan, of all people—the very group that all the locals hated, mistrusted, and suspected of murder.
“Of course,” he said. “But will they talk to me?”
“Maybe. If I’m with you.”
“Very well. But aren’t you going to take that?” And Logan nodded toward a .20-06 rifle that hung over the rough stone fireplace.
“No, sir. That would just agitate them.” And he led the way out the front door.
The passenger seat of Albright’s pickup was loaded with an assortment of junk—waders, a few knives of various sizes, a crossbow and assorted quarrels, a torn and faded army jacket with a sergeant’s patch on one shoulder, a box of fishing tackle. Albright threw it all into the backseat and Logan climbed in. Firing up the engine, Albright backed out of the driveway, then started west down 3A. Logan glanced at his watch: it was quarter past two.
They passed the turnoff for Pike Hollow and, after another bend in the road, the overgrown entrance to the Blakeney compound. Three state trooper vehicles were now blocking it.
“How are we going to get past that welcoming committee?” Logan asked.
“We’re not going in the front door,” Albright explained.
A few more bends in the road brought them to the site where Jessup had met his death. Crime scene tape was still strung around a large area of the shoulder. Logan stared at it as they passed by, horror and sorrow mingling within him.
Albright drove the truck around one more bend, and then—veering across the center stripe—pulled onto the oncoming shoulder and then into what to Logan appeared an impenetrable wall of brush. It was, however, only a foot or two deep—the truck pushed its way through and into a small clearing, barely large enough for the vehicle, surrounded on all sides by thick forest. The shrubbery sprang back into position behind them, effectively hiding the truck from the road. Albright shut off the engine, then jumped out, and Logan followed his example.
“Ready?” Albright said.
Logan nodded. Albright walked around the front of the truck and stepped into what was seemingly an unbroken line of trees and heavy vegetal undergrowth. As they began penetrating deeper, however, Logan realized they were following a path of sorts—unmarked, barely visible, but nevertheless of human construction. It was so faint and narrow that he could never have followed it himself. Branches of pine needles brushed across his face as he stayed close behind Albright.
“How can you navigate this without a compass?” he asked. Albright’s only answer was a scoff.