“My brother is John Paul McLellan Jr.”
“Occupation?”
Marnie scoffs, then recovers herself.
“Not much,” she says. “He graduated from college last year. He’ll take over the bank one day. If he ever gets his act together.”
Judy considers this. “What makes you think that?”
Marnie looks at her as if she’s dumb. “The Van Laars don’t have a boy. Not anymore, anyway. But we do.”
“I see,” says Judy. Writing this down. “And do you know where I might find them?”
“Who?”
“The other members of your family. Your parents and brother.”
“I have no idea,” says Marnie, after a pause.
“Have you seen them this morning?”
Marnie hesitates for a moment. “I’ve only seen my father,” she says. “But I don’t know where he is now.”
• • •
Five minutes later, Judy walks back out through the main entrance to the house, the one with the blackfly knocker. She looks down the hill toward the camp. The mounting evidence against John Paul McLellan Jr. has become too much to ignore.
A lone state trooper stands on the lawn.
“Excuse me,” she says. “Has Captain LaRochelle arrived yet?”
He looks at her blankly.
“I’m Investigator Luptack,” she says. “I was told the captain would be arriving soon? To speak to the family?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. There’s a couple more BCI guys down there, but no captain yet.”
Judy thanks him. Then, with purpose, she walks back into the kitchen of Self-Reliance, where she has seen a telephone on the wall. Glancing over each shoulder, she lifts the receiver, dials into the station, and requests a BOLO: all officers in the region will be informed, over their radios, that they should be on the lookout for a blue Trans Am.
This is too important to wait for Denny Hayes’s return. If she’s made a wrong assessment, she’ll deal with the consequences later.
• • •
Having interviewed everyone she can find at the house, Judy walks back out to the front and perches for a moment on the edge of an Adirondack chair, scribbling frantically in her notebook. She wants to capture all the exact words and phrases she can remember.
From some distance away, she hears someone calling: “Ma’am?”
She doesn’t look up.
“Ma’am?” the voice says again, closer this time. She hears footsteps. Turns.
Approaching her is an EnCon ranger, fiftysomething, bearded; a few steps behind him, a giant girl, wearing a towel around her shoulders. She looks taller than Judy by a head. Taller even than the EnCon ranger, who himself is not a small man.
Behind the two of them, a couple follows: a man in his fifties and a woman who looks about Judy’s age. Is she the girl’s sister?
“I’m looking for someone from the BCI,” the ranger asks.
Judy looks down at herself. At her suit, which clearly separates her from the troopers, the rangers, the guests.
“That’s me,” says Judy, finally. “Investigator Luptack.”
The girl with him looks shaky. Reaching the line of Adirondack chairs at the front of the house, she sits down hard in one. Puts her elbows on her knees.
“This is Tracy Jewell,” he says. “She was Barbara Van Laar’s bunkmate. She’s got a few things she’d like to share with you.”
Tracy
1950s | 1961 | Winter 1973 | June 1975 | July 1975 | August 1975: Day One
Tracy sits in a chair on the lawn, drinking a glass of water, eating a sandwich someone has brought to her. Next to her is a woman police officer—the first one Tracy has ever met, or even seen.
At least, she thinks this woman is a police officer. She wears no uniform, only a suit. She looks young, but her notepad and pen give her an air of authority.
She’s waiting silently for Tracy to speak.
“What did you say?” Tracy asks.
“The person you met in the woods. Can you give us any details?”
