Gillette tossed the apple core in the kitchen trash can, then climbed the stairs to the second floor of the apartment and moved down the hallway toward the master bedroom. Strazzi had to be responsible for everything. It was the only explanation Gillette could come up with that fit. He scratched his head. It still felt like he was missing something.

So he went over it again.

Strazzi had killed Donovan. Actually, based on what Faith had told him, McGuire or one of his men had probably committed the murder-at Strazzi's direction-undoubtedly in return for Strazzi's willingness to buy McGuire & Company and give Tom and Vince half the company for free. Strazzi had to be Tom and Vince's backer. Then he'd put the Dominion scandal in motion to scare Ann Donovan.

Gillette reached the bedroom doorway. He hesitated, biting his lower lip. But if all that was true, why would Tom McGuire give away Stockman's affair with Rita Jones? That made absolutely no sense. Knowing about Stockman's affair was what had enabled Gillette to figure out Dominion, enabled him to force Stockman to tell him that Marcie was involved. And Marcie had told him what was really going on. Knowing what was really going on at Dominion might have enabled him to derail Strazzi's ultimate objective.

Most important, there was still Strazzi's murder to explain.

Then it hit Gillette. Why the Explorer had been found abandoned fifty miles from the nearest town, tapes still in the front seat. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the home number of Heidi Franklin, a young Everest a.s.sociate he hoped had no hidden allegiances.

A few minutes after leaving Marcel's garage, Billups and Grant pulled up in front of the town's tiny police station, which, on rare occasions, also served as the morgue.

"h.e.l.lo, Bill," Grant called as he and Billups came through the front door.

Bill Harper was chief of police. He and a lone deputy comprised the entire force.

"Bill, this is Pepper Billups. He's here from New York to ask a few questions and to look at the body."

"h.e.l.lo, Pepper," Harper said gruffly, sipping from his coffee mug as he rose and came out from behind the desk.

"Where is it?" Billups asked.

"Out back," Harper replied, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Let's go."

Harper glanced at Grant.

"He's all right," Grant said. "A friend of a good friend."

Harper grabbed his coat off a hook and led them to the back of the building, then out a creaky door into the cold. They trudged across a small field through the gloom and a foot of snow to a tiny shack. Harper pulled a set of keys from his pocket, fumbling through them for the right one as the wind whipped the snow up. Finally, Harper found the key, inserted it in the lock, and turned.

It was d.a.m.n cold up here, Billups thought. And it wouldn't get much lighter than it already was because they were so far north. The world was a dull gray, as though a volcano had erupted nearby and ash was obscuring the sun. As he followed Grant and Harper into the shack, Billups wondered what in the world possessed people to live up here. They had to be crooks or loners, running from something. Or they were socially incapable. Of course, Ernie Grant seemed to be a good guy.

Harper flicked on a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. "Right there," he said, pointing at the body. It was lying on a piece of plywood supported by two sawhorses, and had been draped with a grimy blanket.

Billups moved slowly across the room and pulled the blanket back, grimacing as the dead man's face came into view. The eyes and the mouth were wide open. Thanks to the cold there hadn't been much deterioration. He didn't like dead bodies. Not like some guys he knew, who were fascinated by them. "Where'd you find him?" Billups wanted to know.

"Local guy fished him out of Lake McKenzie not more than a quarter of a mile from where the SUV was found," Harper answered. "For this time of year, finding it was a million-to-one shot. The guy was doing some ice fishing and thought he'd hooked the biggest walleye of his life. Shook him up pretty bad when he saw an arm coming up through the hole instead of a fish."

"What are you going to do with him?" Billups asked.

"Hand him over to the family. They're coming up tomorrow."

"How'd you identify him so fast?"

"His wallet was still on him."

"And he was one of the guys shooting seismic up north?"

"Yep. In charge of it for Laurel Energy, according to his family."

"So that was definitely this man's SUV I just looked at over at Marcel's garage?" Billups asked, thinking about how Marcel believed that someone had tampered with the truck.

"Yeah."

"How do you think he got in the lake?" asked Billups.

"Put there."

"How do you know?"

"With the ice as thick as it is right now, someone would have had to cut a hole in it to get a body in there," Harper said confidently. "He wouldn't have just fallen in. Highly unlikely in this scenario."

"Aren't there places where streams or rivers come into or leave the lake? Don't those areas stay free of ice?"

"Yeah, at both ends of the lake. Unless it's really really cold. But the north end is a few miles from where his Explorer was found, and it's through dense woods. I don't see this guy leaving his truck to traipse through the woods. He'd stay on the road." cold. But the north end is a few miles from where his Explorer was found, and it's through dense woods. I don't see this guy leaving his truck to traipse through the woods. He'd stay on the road."

"Is the south end closer?"

"Oh, yeah."

"How much?

"Not far from where the truck was parked."

"So maybe he went in at the south end."

Harper shook his head. "I doubt it."

"Why?"

"The current flows north to south. I don't think his body would have drifted upstream. upstream."

"Uh-huh. Well, it's possible he could have gotten lost in the storm and gone up to the north end. It was snowing, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Heavily."

"So it's possible?"

Harper moved up beside Billups. "It's possible, but I really don't think it happened that way. Like I said, I think somebody put him in the lake." Harper pulled the blanket up from the side. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the dead man's fingers.

Billups glanced down. They were smashed. "Ah, Jesus. What happened?"

"Experience is everything in my line of work," Harper said. "About four years ago, around this same time, a guy in town named Lennie Mitch.e.l.l killed his wife. Tossed her in the lake through a hole he'd cut in the ice with a chain saw. Wanted it to look like she'd fallen in. Same way I think whoever killed this man did. Lennie's wife was a loner. Liked to ice fish by herself. Lennie claimed she went up to the lake by herself one afternoon. Which she did a lot. I knew that. Trouble was, this time she didn't come back." Harper paused. "We found her at the south end of the lake a few weeks later and her fingers looked just like this. See, Lennie'd stepped on them over and over as she tried to pull herself out of the hole. He broke every one of them. He admitted that to me back there in the office one Sunday morning. He couldn't lie to me anymore." The wind made an eerie sound as it whipped through the shack's eaves. It sounded like an animal in pain. "I bet if we were to go up to Lake McKenzie and look real hard, we'd find a depression in the ice. A place where somebody cut a hole in it to throw this guy in. It'll already be iced over, but the depression should still be there."

Billups stared at Harper. "Why would someone have killed him? You said his wallet was on him. Was there money in it?"

"Yeah. And credit cards. It wasn't a robbery."

"Then what was it?"

Harper shrugged. "To tell you the truth, Mr. Billups, I don't have a d.a.m.n clue."

Gillette pushed open the bedroom door, expecting to see Isabelle's form beneath the covers of the king-sized bed. But she wasn't there. He glanced toward the bathroom. The door was closed. She had to be in there.

"Isabelle," he called.

No answer.

"Isabelle."

Still no answer.

Gillette moved slowly into the room, listening for sounds from the bathroom-running water, footsteps-but heard nothing.

"What the h.e.l.l?"

As he turned back toward the door, he saw her, knife clenched in both hands. He reeled backward, hands to his face, yelling as she came at him. "Jesus Christ! What are you doing?" "Jesus Christ! What are you doing?"

At that instant, Stiles burst into the room and grabbed Isabelle from behind just as she reached Gillette. They flew past him and tumbled to the floor. Seconds later, Stiles had the knife in one hand and Isabelle's wrists clasped tightly together behind her back in the other.

Gillette's cell phone rang. He glanced at Stiles, who was lounging on the couch, eyes closed. They'd moved back to the study after turning Isabelle over to the police. "h.e.l.lo."

"Christian?"

"Yes."

"It's Tom McGuire."

"h.e.l.lo, Tom."

"How are you, Christian? Everything okay?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Just a question, Christian. That's all."

"Okay."

"Hey, have you signed the deal with the investment bankers to do the IPO yet?" McGuire wanted to know.

"No."

"Oh, great."

Gillette heard relief in McGuire's voice. "I'll probably do that next week."

"Let me talk to you one more time about buying the company before you do," McGuire pleaded. "I have some ideas."

What a traitor, Gillette thought to himself. He had no reason to doubt Faith. She'd saved his life. "I don't think it's worth either of our-"

"Please, Christian. Please. You owe me that much." Christian. Please. You owe me that much."

"We're too far apart in price."

"Maybe not as far as you think. I've spoken to my backer and I think I can get him to come up."

"To five hundred million?"

"I think so."

"So talk."

"No, not over the phone. I want to do it in person."

"Why?"

"I want this to be face-to-face, man-to-man."

"Where are you, Tom?"

"My house on Long Island. I hate to ask, but could you come out here? My wife's going somewhere with her sister today, and I have the kids."

"Tom, that's really-"

"Christian, I haven't asked for many favors over the last few years," McGuire interrupted. "Vince and I have kept our heads down and done what you've asked. We've done pretty well, too. We've always delivered good numbers. Please. I really need to talk to you," McGuire urged.

Stiles sat up slowly and stared at Gillette, able to hear McGuire pleading on the other end of the line.

"All right," Gillette agreed, staring back at Stiles. "What time?"

"Two o'clock," McGuire replied. "How about I e-mail you directions on how to get here?"

"Fine. How long's the drive?"

"About an hour."

Gillette hesitated. "Okay."

"Thanks, Christian," McGuire said graciously. "Really. Thank you very much."

"It's okay, Tom. I'll see you then."

"What did McGuire want?" Stiles asked when Gillette had hung up.

"To see me again about buying the company."