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By Root 1362 0

ridge itself was about half a mile wide, with the east end about two miles from the road that ran along its west side. I’d guess that the top of the ridge was about two hundred fifty feet above the roadway, covered with trees and low bushes and foliage on the long sides, and ending in a vertical limestone bluff overlooking the river. The gravel drive that extended uphill was nearly a mile and a half long, winding from the valley floor, through a heavily wooded area that had littered the road surface with fallen leaves. I kept it at about 30 mph, just in case I met someone headed in the opposite direction. The lane didn’t seem to be quite wide enough to accommodate two-way traffic. I crested the rise, onto the top of the finger-shaped ridge, and traveled the last quarter mile on nearly level ground. The trees were just as thick up here, a mixture of brilliant yellow maples and tall, dark green pines. As I drove on to the house, I caught a glimpse of its reddish, turreted roof through the trees. I passed through a weathered iron gate set in limestone blocks, part of a limestone wall that marked the area between the woods and the cleared and almost manicured area that surrounded the house. My car bumped slightly as I left the gravel and drove onto the wide, new blacktop of the circular drive.

The large house was three stories, two turrets, an enormous wrap-around porch, all in a dark blue-gray wood frame with maroon trim. Actually, enormous was a better word for it, I thought. It stood on a little hill above the drive, and there was a flight of limestone steps, very wide, that led up through the little berm to a double door, with tall, oval glass panels that were flanked by very tall, oval windows.

Both the ambulance and car Eight, Borman’s fully marked squad, were parked near the front door. No flashing lights or anything. No reason for them. Both vehicles were running, though. There were two other vehicles in the yard, a ’90 Buick four-door, and an ’87 Ford pickup. Both looked to be well maintained.

“Comm, Three, I’m 10-23. Be out of the car.” I didn’t have to say where, as she already knew that. And it concealed my whereabouts from the folks with the scanners. Always a good idea. I swung my legs out of my car.

She acknowledged, and then Eight came upon his walkie-talkie. “Three,” he said, sounding sort of brittle, “I’m up on the second floor. First room on the left, come in there, and one of the EMT’s will show you just where we are.”

I headed for the house, and saw a young male subject, about twenty years old, sitting on the bottom step. Ear-length black hair, parted in the middle. A double silver stud through the bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Dark blue sweatshirt, black jeans. I’d missed him because he was almost completely hidden by the ambulance.

“Hi.” Not the best opener, under the circumstances, but you have to start somewhere. “I’m Deputy Houseman.”

He just looked at me. He had a lit cigarette in his right hand.

“And you’d be?” I knew I’d seen him before, mainly because of the stud in his nose, but I didn’t remember arresting him or anything. The instant data base in my head had him filed under “decent kid.”

“Oh.” Like I’d startled him. Hard to see how. . . . “I’m Toby. Toby Gottchalk. I live here.”

Oh, sure. Toby. “What’s happened, Toby?”

“Ah, it . . . oh, you know, Edie’s done herself.” He looked sort of unaffected by the whole thing. One of the effects of an emotional shock in some people. He took a drag from his cigarette.

“Did you see her do it?” The name Edie rang a bell, but, again, no placement.

“No.”

“Did you find her?”

“No. No, I just heard Hanna holler, and then she came running down the hall, to use the phone. That’s how I found out.”

You hate to belabor a point, but it can be important. “Hanna found Edie, then?”

“Well, yeah.” A little exasperated. And why not.

“Thanks, Toby. I’ll probably have to talk with you, a little more, when I’m done in the house.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” Pretty calm and self-possessed. Good, as far as I was concerned. Much easier to interview. I hated