VI
For the soul is dead that slumbers . . .
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
From ‘A Psalm to Life’
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
41
I left Pastor’s Bay with my license intact, barely, but not my reputation. Engel watched me go. He was holding something in his right hand as I pulled away: the tracking device from Allan’s truck. I had confessed to planting it. I didn’t know if Engel believed me. In the end, it didn’t matter. It was just one more weight on the scales that seemed to be tipping against me.
Anna Kore lived, but it is possible that she might have been found earlier if it had not been for my arrogance, if I had spoken out sooner. It was Louis who pointed out later that, similarly, had I not acted as I did then she might not have been found at all, or not alive. But I still felt hollow when Valerie Kore thanked me, and kissed my cheek. I tried to apologize, to say that I was sorry, but she shook her head, and touched her finger to my lip, and silenced me.
‘She’s back,’ she whispered. ‘That’s all that matters. The rest will heal. I will make her well again.’
Here is a truth, a truth by which to live: there is hope. There is always hope. If we choose to abandon it, our souls will turn to ash and blow away.
But the soul can burn and not be damned.
The soul can burn with a bright fire and never turn to ash.
Above Pastor’s Bay six ravens flew low, barely rising over the skeletal trees. High in the clear blue sky the last geese were heading south, but the ravens moved north toward forests and mountains, toward ice and snow. They flew fast and sure into the coming dark, that they might tell the waiting wolf of all they had seen.
Acknowledgements
A number of people gave help, advice, and assistance in the writing of this book. Without their kindness and generosity, it would be a poorer offering. My thanks to Lieutenant Brian T. McDonough, commanding officer of Unit I of the Maine State Police’s Criminal Investigation Division, who took the time to explain the work of his unit and, in particular, its handling of juvenile abductions; John Purcell of the law firm of Purcell, Krug & Haller in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, who was kind enough to ensure that the legal aspects of this story erred on the side of factual wherever possible; Shane Phalen, for ensuring that Parker’s methods bear some small resemblance to those of a practicing private investigator; to Vladimir Doudka and Mark Dunne for translation assistance; Ben Alfiero and all at the wonderful Harbor Fish Market in Portland, Maine (www.harborfish.com), who put white flesh on the bones of Joey Tuna; and to my fellow author, and friend, Chris Mooney (www.chrismooneybooks.com), who shared with me his library and his knowledge of Boston. He is a fine writer, and a finer friend. I am deeply indebted to them all, and any mistakes are my own, as indeed are any opinions expressed.
I am immensely grateful to Dr. Danielle Pafunda for permission to quote extracts from her haunting verse project, ‘The Dead Girls Speak in Unison’ a work in progress. It’s unusual, and humbling, to encounter work in another medium that not only resonates so deeply with one’s own, but does so with such economy and beauty. The Brothers Bulger by Howie Carr (Grand Central Publishing, 2006) was hugely helpful in providing a backdrop for the activities of Tommy Morris and his associates. Incidentally, as I write, Whitey Bulger has just been apprehended after sixteen years on the run, bringing to an end that particular chapter of Boston’s criminal history.
As always, this book was considerably improved by the input of my editors, Sue Fletcher at Hodder & Stoughton and Emily Bestler at Atria Books. To them, and to all at both houses who have supported my work for so long, my love and thanks. Thanks, too, to my beloved agent Darley Anderson and all those who work with him. They have found homes for my odd books, and I would not be publishing without them. Meanwhile, Clair Lamb, Madeira James and Jayne Doherty maintain a close watch on www.johnconnellybooks.com, and keep me from making too much of a fool of myself, for which I am very grateful.
Finally, much love to Jennie, Cameron, and Alistair.