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  “What do you mean, you didn’t realize, you bastard? You total absolute sadistic bastard! They set me on fire! They tried to burn me alive, you bastard! I nearly died!”

  “Lily—listen to me, please. You don’t know how sorry I am. I never realized they were going to do anything like that. If I’d have known—”

  “How could you not know? How could you be so stupid and so cruel? How could you take Tasha and Sammy away from me like that? I hate you! I hate you!”

  Lily was so angry that she stalked across the hallway and smashed a framed photograph of Jeff with her fist. Then she smashed it again, and again, until all the glass was shattered and her fingers were smothered in blood.

  “You have to let me explain,” said Jeff. “You have to let me apologize.”

  “Apologize?” she screamed at him. “There’s no possible way to say you’re sorry for what you’ve done. No way at all. Bring Tasha and Sammy back here now!”

  “Those guys . . . they said they were a fathers’ support group. They came up to me, after that last custody hearing, and they said they could help me. They didn’t say anything about burning people.”

  “I don’t want to hear this, Jeff. All I want to hear is that you’re bringing them back. Either that, or tell me where you are, and I’ll have the FBI come get them.”

  “Lily, sweetheart, listen to me! I wanted my own children, that’s all! I wanted to see them grow up! They’re my children as much as yours!”

  “So, you thought you’d kidnap them and cremate their mother?”

  “I swear on our children’s lives that I didn’t know they were going to burn you. I’ve only just found out now. I saw that woman on the TV news, the one they killed in Winona. I called Larry at 3M and he told me that they had tried to kill you, too. That was the first I knew about it, sweetheart, I swear!”

  Lily sat down on the stairs. “I don’t believe you, Jeff. I never believed anything you said before and I sure as hell don’t believe this. Don’t tell me you haven’t checked the FBI website for parental kidnappings? Tasha and Sammy are on it, along with you, and you are named as being wanted for conspiracy to murder. As if you didn’t know.”

  “I have no computer here, Lily. Besides, it just didn’t occur to me. I wanted to get as far away as I possibly could. Put the past behind me. Start a new life.”

  Lily suddenly felt very tired. Her knuckle was bleeding and she sucked it, so that it wouldn’t drip into her sleeve.

  “Jeff, I want you to bring them back home. You and I can argue about this later.”

  “I’m not going to do that, Lily. They’re here with me; they’re very settled, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. I just needed you to know that I never intended you any harm. I’m very sorry for what those guys did to you, and I’m so happy that you’re okay.”

  “Okay? You think that I’m okay? I’m going out of my mind here, Jeff! The burns healed up, oh sure! Only a few disfiguring scars on the side of my face! But ever since you took Tasha and Sammy away from me I haven’t been able to eat, or sleep, and now I can’t even go to work, in case—guess why?—in case I depress my clients! You stupid, selfish, gutless piece of shit!”

  “Lily, sweetheart—I didn’t know!”

  Lily took a deep breath, to steady herself. Then she said, “Where are you, Jeff?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that. And don’t try to trace this phone call. I’m using a disposable cell.”

  “I’m going to give you one last chance, Jeff. Bring Tasha and Sammy back. I have somebody out looking for you—somebody who’s going to find you, no matter where you hide.”

  She could almost hear Jeff smiling and shaking his head. “Nobody’s going to find us, Lily. Not the FBI, not you. Nobody, never.”

  With that, he cut the connection. Lily stared at the receiver for a while, but then she went across the hall and slotted it back into its socket. She felt completely drained, as if she didn’t even have the strength to go to the kitchen and wash her cuts under the faucet. Jeff’s face smiled at her from the opposite wall, through a crazed arrangement of bloodied glass.

  You bastard, she thought. She picked up the phone again and punched out the number that Special Agent Rylance had given her.

  Shortly after six, Bennie came around.

  “You want a drink?” she asked him. She held up the large balloon glass she was carrying. “I’ve just opened another bottle of shiraz.”

  “Another bottle?” he said, hanging his hat on the banister post.

  “I had a phone call this afternoon—from Jeff.”

  Bennie glanced across at the broken photograph. “Don’t tell me. He hasn’t any intention of bringing them back.”

  “You’re a very astute man, Bennie—very astute. You sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “No, thanks—it’s pretty treacherous out there. Besides, I had more than a few glasses at lunchtime, with Philip Kraussman.”

  “You saw Philip Kraussman? Come on in, for God’s sake. Take a load off. I didn’t know you were going to see him so soon.”

  Bennie followed her into the living room and sat by the fire, holding out his hands and then chafing them noisily together. “We were scheduled to meet in any event, to discuss property densities and building permissions. But I took the opportunity of asking him about that spit of land.”

  “So what did you say?” said Lily, sitting in the armchair opposite him, and tucking up her legs.

  “I told him that we’d been doing some background research on Mystery Lake—you know, to give our promotional brochure some ‘cultural depth.’ I said that we’d discovered that the Sioux consider this particular site to be deeply sacred, and what a terrific chance that offered us to do some first-rate public relations.”

  “Public relations? This was the place where the god of thunder appeared and told the Mdewakanton that the white man was going to steal their land. Which of course they did.”

  “That’s the whole point, Lil. And that’s exactly what I told Philip Kraussman. If Kraussman Developments were to return that particular piece of land to the Indians—with something of a media fanfare, of course—Philip Kraussman would look like a man of great historical awareness and generosity of spirit, instead of the grasping chiseler that he really is. Okay, he’s building a high-security lakeside enclave for stinking-rich young professionals; but nevertheless he feels empathy with those who originally lived and hunted on this land and for whom it still holds enormous mythical significance, even today.”

  Lily stared at him over the rim of her wineglass. “My God, Bennie. You do have a way with bullshit. What did he say to that?”

  “We-e-ll, to tell you the truth, he was still a little cagey about it. Philip Kraussman is a very cagey man, as you know. Never does anything spontaneous. Always looks for the wrinkles. So I suggested that he could attach a covenant to his donation, insisting that the land is to be used for memorial purposes only—no right of domicile. In other words: totem poles, fine—but tepees or trailers, absolutely not.”

  “So . . . don’t keep me in suspense. What was the outcome?”

  “You’ll be relieved to know that he agreed. So when your Native American tracker finds Tasha and Sammy for you, and brings them home, you can give him what you promised.”

  “Bennie! That’s terrific! Did Philip Kraussman give you any idea how much he wants for it?”

  “Nothing. Like I told you, it’s a donation. Kraussman Developments will probably get more tax relief for it than it’s actually worth. Maybe Philip Kraussman might ask you to meet the legal costs of drawing up the deeds and the covenant, but that’s all.”

  Lily put down her glass on the side table, got up from her chair and took hold of Bennie’s hands.

  “Hey,” he said, frowning at the Band-Aid on her finger. “You’ve cut yourself.”

  “It’s nothing. Nothing at all. Especially not now.”

  “Glad to be of service; that’s all I can say.”

  “Benn
ie, you’re wonderful. After that call from Jeff I thought that today was going to be the second worst day of my life, but you’ve changed all that completely. Now it’s the second best.”

  “Hey—only the second best?”

  “The best will be the day that Tasha and Sammy come home.”

  “Of course. Stupid me. But when they do, I want to be here to help you celebrate.”

  She kissed him, on the lips. He tasted of brandy. “Are you sure you won’t have a drink?” she asked him. “Come on, have a glass of wine to celebrate. I don’t know how you did it. I mean, Philip Kraussman must be the meanest man in Minneapolis. But you did it. Your honeyed words persuaded him.”

  “After twenty-six years in realty, I should be able to persuade anybody to do anything.”

  Lily sat on the arm of his chair and stroked his hair. “Seriously, Bennie. You’re wonderful. I’ve been so worried about this. That call from Jeff really upset me, but at least I know now that Tasha and Sammy are safe, and I know that my tracker is on his way to finding them, and that I can pay him when he brings them home. Thank you.”

  She kissed him again, and this time he kissed her back. “You’re a fantastic woman, Lil. I’ve always thought that.”

  She sat up straight and stared into his glasses for a long time, blinking, as if she were hypnotized. Then she said, “You’re right, Bennie. You’re right. I am a fantastic woman. I’m also very drunk.”

  She was still wrapped in her thick white bathrobe at ten A.M. the next morning, feeling as if she had tumbled headfirst down three flights of stairs. She had just poured herself a strong cup of mocha, with a large spoonful of clear honey in it, when the doorbell chimed.

  Special Agent Rylance and Special Agent Kellogg were standing on the doorstep, both wearing Ray-Bans. The sun was shining so brightly off the snow that Lily had to shield her eyes with her hand.

  “We’re sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Blake. We have some news.”

  “That’s all right.” She tapped her forehead. “This is self-inflicted. After Jeff’s phone call—well, I had a little red wine to calm myself down. A lot of red wine, as a matter of fact.”

  She led them through to the kitchen. A large pine table had replaced the original counter. “How about some coffee?” she asked them.

  “That would be very welcome. We’ve been up since four-thirty.”

  “I could cook you some breakfast, too, if you’re hungry. Except that the smell of bacon would probably make me puke.”

  “That’s all right,” said Special Agent Kellogg. His 1960s pompadour was looking unusually spiderlike. “I’m sure we can find ourselves a diner.”

  “Did you find out where Jeff was calling from?” Lily asked him.

  “No trace, I’m afraid. Like he told you, he was calling from a prepaid cell.”

  “But there has been something of a development,” said Special Agent Rylance. “We’re not one hundred percent sure what happened yet, but it could have given us a useful new lead.”

  He looked reluctant to continue, and turned to Special Agent Kellogg, but Lily said, “What?”

  “Okay. The Fourth Police Precinct received a call at about ten after three this morning from a resident in the Willard-Hay district. She was complaining of hissing noises from the apartment building next door, and she was worried that there might be a gas leak. Then she heard a whole lot of banging and crashing and she thought she heard somebody screaming, too.

  “The police went to investigate and they found that the top-floor apartment had been totally wrecked. They also found parts of a man’s body.”

  Lily said nothing, but sat with her coffee mug held in both hands, feeling that Special Agent Rylance was going to tell her something dreadful.

  “We haven’t been able to identify the man yet. There wasn’t enough of him left. But we found papers and notebooks and DVDs and other materials that leave us in no doubt at all—this apartment is the headquarters of the Fathers’ League Against Mothers’ Evil.”

  Special Agent Kellogg said, “We even found the orange-painted wall that they used for their webcam broadcast on Channel 41. You know, with FLAME written on it.”

  Special Agent Rylance laid one hand on Lily’s arm. “We’re going through the papers and the notebooks right now, to see if they contain any information that might lead us to Tasha and Sammy.”

  “So somebody actually hit back at those bastards,” said Lily. “Do you have any idea who it was?”

  “At the moment, no. Theoretically, it could have been anybody who thought that FLAME were going too far. A feminist group. A religious fanatic. Maybe the boyfriend of one of the ex-wives who were burned to death.

  “But a couple of factors have really got us stumped. Whoever it was, they were physically very powerful—almost inhumanly powerful. The man who was found in that apartment—well, there was only one leg, and half of a pelvis, and a long slew of intestines. God only knows what happened to the rest of him. We’re still looking.

  “The other thing is, the apartment door was locked, so whoever trashed the place must have stolen a key or owned a key in the first place. We’re thinking that it could have been an inside job—maybe a member of FLAME who became disillusioned and sickened with what they were doing, and wanted to stop them from carrying on.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Lily told him. “Maybe, ‘Thank God.’ ”

  “Well, that’s kind of our feeling, too,” said Special Agent Kellogg. “And we hope to have some more news for you before the end of the day. There’s a whole mountain of stuff for us to go through, but the police at the Fourth Precinct are helping us out.”

  Special Agent Rylance sipped his coffee. “Meanwhile . . . if anybody contacts you . . .”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s possible that somebody may call you and claim responsibility for stopping FLAME. It happens sometimes, when some unpleasant characters get whacked, like corrupt politicians, or oppressive landlords. Whoever kills them calls up their victims to ask for their approval, and maybe their congratulations too. Not much point in being a hero if nobody knows about it.”

  “Okay. Sure. You want some more coffee? I have some cookies, too, if you’d like some.”

  “We’ll be fine, thank you, Mrs. Blake. You just take care of yourself, you hear?”

  “Ketchup sandwiches—they’re good for hangovers,” said Special Agent Kellogg. “Ketchup sandwiches, generously sprinkled with dried chili seeds.”

  Immediately after Special Agents Rylance and Kellogg had left, Lily picked up the phone and dialed John Shooks. This time, Shooks answered.

  “Mr. Shooks! Did you hear what happened?”

  “Did I hear what happened about what? I’ve been sitting in my car all night, surveilling a property in Powderhorn Park. For no purpose whatsoever, as it turned out. No adulterers went in; no adulterers came out.”

  “It’s FLAME. They had a headquarters in Willard-Hay. Somebody trashed it and killed a man who was in there.”

  “Well . . . that’s good news,” said John Shooks, cautiously. “Isn’t it?”

  “Whoever did it, they tore this man to pieces. There was nothing left of him except one leg and some of his insides. The FBI agent said that the killer must have been inhumanly strong. Inhumanly.”

  “Yes?” said Shooks.

  “The door was locked, too. The FBI thought that the killer might have had a key.”

  “That sounds like a reasonable theory to me.”

  “He might have had a key. On the other hand, supposing he didn’t have a key? Supposing he slid in, like a sheet of paper?”

  “Yes,” said Shooks.

  “Yes? What do you mean, ‘Yes?’ ”

  “I mean, yes—you’re right. There’s only one thing that could have found out where those guys were holed up, and there’s only one thing that could have entered their apartment without unlocking the door, and there’s only one thing that could have torn that guy to shreds and taken two-thirds of h
is mortal remains for a trip across the city.”

  “The Wendigo,” said Lily.

  “The Wendigo,” said Shooks.

  Lily could hardly breathe. “For God’s sake! I didn’t know that anybody was going to get killed!”

  “Mrs. Blake, the Wendigo is a tracker and a hunter. Like all trackers and hunters, when he eventually locates what he’s been tracking and hunting—he kills it. And eats it. Didn’t George Iron Walker make that clear to you? The word ‘Wendigo’ means ‘cannibal.’ He told you that.”

  “Oh, God,” said Lily. “I didn’t understand.”

  “Well, what do you think that the Wendigo itself was going to get out of this particular assignment?”

  “The land—the spit of land at Mystery Lake. I thought that was the price.”

  “It’s George Iron Walker who wants the land. Kind of an agent’s fee, if you like, for putting you in touch with the Wendigo. The Wendigo isn’t interested in land, sacred or otherwise. The Wendigo wants human flesh.”

  “But why did it kill that man from FLAME?”

  “It’s following the scent, Mrs. Blake, like I told you. It followed the scent from your house to Sibley’s Barn, and from Sibley’s Barn it obviously followed the scent to this apartment in Willard-Hay. And when it came across one of the men who was responsible for abducting your children, it took him. The Wendigo is working for you, Mrs. Blake. Don’t tell me you didn’t want to see those dirtbags dead. They wanted to see you dead, after all.”

  “It can’t just go around tearing people to pieces! Not on my behalf!”

  “It can, and it does. Sorry if you were laboring under any kind of misapprehension.”

  “But what happens when it finds Tasha and Sammy? It won’t hurt them, will it?”

  “Of course not. It’s made a solemn and binding promise to bring them back safe.”

  “And Jeff?”

  Lily could almost hear John Shooks shrug. “Jeff? Well, Jeff is a horse of another color.”

  “What do you mean? The Wendigo will kill him? It can’t! It mustn’t!”

  “You surprise me. I thought you hated Jeff with a rare vengeance, Mrs. Blake.”