Chapter 16: The Old Boathouse

The young maid who had filmed the office was waiting for me in the dark hall.

"They took Mr. Ardley out the service door," she whispered. "Four men in Tisdale jackets. They put him in a van."

"Where?"

"The old boathouse on the north shore. Mr. Tisdale's father owns it. I heard them say it."

My father was holding my sleeve. I took his hand off it gently.

"Stay with the lawyer," I said. "Don't let her back in this room."

"Marin, call the police."

"I will. After."

I did not wait to be argued with.

Where I come from there are no police.

There is only the person who goes in.

I went alone, because a second person is a second noise.

In the army of my old life we called it going in on the narrow terms.

One entrance, no light, no sound, and no one left standing between you and the door.

My new body complained about every step of it. I ignored it, and it kept up.

I left the car a quarter mile down the shore road and walked the rest through reeds.

The lake was black.

A single work light hung over the boathouse door.

One man stood at it with a rifle on a sling. Another walked the dock.

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