I made my way upstairs and removed the bottle of bourbon from the cupboard. I held the label up to my eyes for a long time, examining the elegant signature of James B. Beam, then dumped every last drop down the sink.
Eventually, I wandered into the living room and threw my sore body across the sofa. I closed my eyes, but the bulb overhead was so strong, it made the inside of my lids turn bloodred. I thought about getting up to turn it off, but I didn’t really want to go to sleep, either. My nerves were still too raw.
I reached for the television remote and was surprised to find that the New England Patriots were playing a night game. It must have been the play-offs. I started to watch, but the loud voices of the announcers sounded like air horns in my oversensitive ears, so I hit the mute button.
I needed to talk to someone.
I tried Kathy first, but I got a voice-mail message. She had become an early riser in her late middle age.
I wanted to give Charley and Ora space.
Call Pulsifer? No way.
I scrolled through the list of recent calls and touched the name of Captain DeFord. It was as if my finger acted of its own accord. The phone began to ring.
“Mike?” he said. “What’s going on?”
“There was a helicopter crash up near the Allagash. Did you hear about it?”
Why had I called DeFord, of all people? This man I was talking to was the captain of the Warden Service, not a chaplain or a grief counselor. He was my superior officer, and I barely even knew him.
“I was just on the phone with St. Pierre. He’s coordinating the recovery operation. What a tragedy.”
I tried to keep emotion out of my voice. “The initial reports were that Stacey Stevens was on that helicopter. But it turns out she wasn’t.”
DeFord knew Stacey was my girlfriend. He was also well acquainted with her parents. “Have you had a chance to talk with her?”
“A while ago.”
“How is she doing?”
“About as well as you’d expect.”
He paused. “How are you doing?”
The reason I had called DeFord, I now realized, was in the hope that he would ask me that question.
“Not great.”
“You’ve had a hell of week, haven’t you?” he said quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk with Deb Davies?”
“Maybe, I don’t know. Stacey was supposed to be on that chopper, but she was too sick to fly. It was dumb luck that saved her.”
The same way dumb luck had saved me from Carrie Michaud’s knife, I thought.
“I am not so sure,” DeFord said. “I am one of those people who believe things happen for a reason. We just don’t know what it is until later. Sometimes we never know. But we have to believe there was one. Otherwise, how do we keep going?”
I found myself chuckling.
“What did I say?” DeFord asked, sounding a little irked.
“No offense, but the Reverend Davies is in no danger of losing her job to you.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you laugh,” DeFord said, and I could detect a smile in his voice. “How are your shoulder and arm?”
“Healing.”
“Even with all the running around you’ve been doing up around Rangeley?”
The television flickered from a beer ad back to the game. “You heard about that?”
“Pulsifer told me.”
I should have figured he would rat me out. Damn him.
DeFord went on: “Gary said you’ve been assisting Jim Clegg with information about that missing sex offender.”
“His name is Adam Langstrom.”
“How do you know him?”
I took a moment to consider my words. “I don’t, really.”
DeFord had to mull over my unexpected answer. “So what made you take an interest in him?”
“Langstrom comes from a town where I lived when I was a kid. His background seemed so familiar to me. And I hadn’t been back in those mountains since my dad died.” None of these statements was an actual lie, strictly speaking. “I wanted something to keep my mind occupied, and crossword puzzles aren’t my thing. So I decided to drive up there.”
“Nearly dying is a traumatic experience. Everyone reacts differently to it. When I saw you in the hospital, I was worried about you.”
“Because of my history? I can’t say I blame you.”
The captain paused. “Am I going to receive a complaint about you? Is that why you’re calling?”
“What did Pulsifer say?”
“He said you’re a pain in the ass but a hell of a good investigator.”
“Really?”
“He said you’re wasting your talents, and I should assign you to the Wildlife Crimes Investigative Division.”
I was dumbfounded. Not in my wildest imaginings would I have expected Gary Pulsifer, of all people, to have vouched for me, especially after the way our day had started.
“I told him I agreed,” continued DeFord. “But if we’re going to get the colonel on board, you’re going to need to promise me something first.”
“Anything.”
“Stay out of trouble for a while.”
“I can’t do that, Captain. It doesn’t seem to be in my nature. But I won’t knowingly violate any rules or regulations.”
“Or laws? It would be helpful if you didn’t break any of those.” I sensed a smile in his voice again.
“Or laws,” I said.