Page 65 of The Instruments of Darkness

“If Estelle Boulier refuses to allow a search,” said Noyes, “we’ll have tipped our hand to her son. We can’t keep eyes on him all the time, not over forty acres of private woodland. If Verona is buried there, he’ll have ample opportunity to dispose of the body. Lord knows what kind of chemical crap he has access to out at Hatch Hill. He could probably dissolve her in a barrel.”

“Then,” said Pascal, “we have to make sure that Estelle Boulier doesn’t turn us down.”

THE NIGHT WAS UNEVENTFUL. Lester Boulier was followed to his home and did not leave it until morning, except for half an hour spent hitting the punching bag before dark. The next day, he was tailed all the way to Hatch Hill. As soon as he commenced work, Pascal and Loscarso drove to the Boulier property and parked in the yard shared by the two houses. Estelle Boulier lived in the main one, while her son occupied the smaller, permitting each of them privacy and independence while allowing Lester to keep a close eye on his mother.

Estelle answered her door on the third ring.

“Been waiting long?”

“Not at all,” said Pascal.

“I must have missed the bell,” she said. “I didn’t have my glasses on. What can I do for you? My son’s not here, if you’re looking for him. He’s at work.”

They identified themselves and displayed their badges. Pascal reminded Estelle that they’d met before, but she didn’t recall him.

“Would you mind if we came in?” he said. “We’d like to talk with you about something.”

“I ought to call Lester,” she replied. “He looks after my affairs.”

“Do you really want to do that?” said Loscarso. “He’s probably very busy, and this won’t take long.”

Pascal knew that Loscarso was ambivalent about what they were doing. She hadn’t signed up as a police officer to manipulate confused seniors. Pascal had been forced to remind her that Verona Walters was five years old and potentially buried on this woman’s land.

Estelle Boulier winced at the idea of her son being disturbed. Conceivably, Lester had a temper, or simply suffered from the occasional moments of frustration that were an inevitable consequence of dealing with a parent whose memory was failing. Whatever the reason, his mother had no desire to irritate him further.

They sat with her in a living room with faded wallpaper and scuffed boards, in which only the TV was modern. Loscarso asked Estelle about her late husband, and the two officers were shown faded wedding photos over bad coffee. Estelle could remember her wedding day, and the names of everyone in the pictures, but when Pascal tried to turn the conversation to their previous meeting, she again regarded him blankly, even though he’d reminded her of the circumstances of it on the doorstep only a short time before. He was conscious of time passing. They’d made discreet inquiries about Lester Boulier’s routines, and established that he took his lunch at Hatch Hill, but Pascal had been a detective for long enough—had been alive long enough—to know that the last thing you wanted to happen was generally the first thing that did.

“Mrs. Boulier,” said Loscarso, sensing Pascal’s growing impatience, “we were hoping to take a look around your property—if it’s okay with you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“We’ve lost something, and we think it might be here.”

“What did you lose?”

“A little girl. Her name is Verona.”

Estelle scratched at her bony hands, which resembled the claws of a bird. “I haven’t seen a little girl.”

“That’s a lot of land you own, most of it planted with evergreens,” said Pascal. “Hard to see much, trees excepted.”

“I ought to call Lester,” said Estelle. “He looks after my affairs.”

“I know,” said Loscarso, “but you didn’t want to bother him, remember, in case he was busy. I bet he works hard.”

“He does. He’s a good boy. He looks after my affairs.”

“We can always call him later to explain. No sense in hauling him from his place of work without cause.”

“I guess. He won’t be mad, will he? Because he looks after my affairs.”

“We’ll make sure he understands,” saidLoscarso. “Do we have your permission to search the property?”

“As long as Lester won’t be mad.”

Pascal didn’t want to interrupt, but they needed more than that. He tapped his right foot against Loscarso’s left and set his phone to record.

“Is that a yes?” asked Loscarso.