Five Days in Summer

knew of. He just couldn’t peg it; it didn’t make sense.
    Yet he had seen it before: a seemingly untroubled mind exploding with venom.
    The ideas to retire to the Cape, write a book on cold cases, define Mr. White as a criminal mastermind, even coauthor the book — all had come from Roger. Had it all been planned to lead Geary right to this point? Was it possible that all their years of friendship could evaporate in a labyrinth of betrayal?
    Geary stepped forward, away from the wall, and shook his head. “No way. It isn’t Roger.”
    Sorensen turned away in disgust.
    “Listen to me, Reed,” Geary said. “I’ve known Roger too long to just snap my fingers and fall into line here. I’m listening to my gut. It isn’t him.”
    Sorensen turned back slowly, deliberately using toomuch of all their valuable time, and stared hard at Geary. Geary didn’t like it. He stepped forward and said it again:
    “No way.”
    “John.” Amy’s tone was firm. “Everything points to him now. Try to look at it like any other case.”
    But this isn’t any other case anymore.
    Geary pulled his eyes away from Amy’s. “I’ll be back,” he said, and walked out of the room.
    He knew they were trailing him while he drove back to Cotuit Bay Shores — knew and didn’t care. He kept the speed limit as he curved along the lanes and drives, past the neat lawns and gray clapboard houses seasoned by years of Cape air. He came to his own house and kept driving. Two dead ends along, he turned into Forsythe Court. Roger’s house was the first saltbox on the right. The rooster weathervane on his roof spun in a breeze.
    Roger kept his lawn pristine, mowing it himself once a week, but his house had always looked unique on this circular road with five nearly identical homes — and now Geary realized why. All the houses boasted neat flower beds spilling with pansies, petunias, snapdragons, daisies, potted geraniums, trellised roses. Neighbors had individualized their homes through flora, but not Roger. His house was notable on this court as the only one without a single flower in the yards or windows. He just had his weathervane, rusty and crowing year-round. It was also the only house with three police cars parked haphazardly out front, the driver’s door to one of them left gaping.
    Geary pulled into the driveway and got out of his car. The garage door was down and he took a look through one of the two grimy windows. There, in the garage, sat Roger’s blue Nissan. Geary turned andwalked up the fieldstone path to the front door. He rang the bell and just for good measure banged the brass door knocker a couple of times. The door swung open and there was a cop he’d never seen before.
    “Detective Geary, Mashpee PD,” he introduced himself.
    The cop was young. He looked Geary up and down, and kept his thoughts to himself. Good thing too — Geary wasn’t in the mood for bullshit.
    “What can I do for you, sir?”
    “I take it the suspect isn’t here.”
    “That’s correct.”
    Other cops were picking through the house. Geary didn’t like it. He turned and walked back down the path. The unmarked car that had followed him drove into the court and once around; he saw now that his chaperons were Officers Sagredo and Graves. Geary waved. Sagredo waved back, Graves said something to him and they drove out of the court, stopping just at its entry.
    So Roger was out, even though his car was in. No one walked anywhere around here, except maybe to the docks, though that was unlikely with the gear needed for a typical outing on a boat. Still, Roger moored his SeaRay Sundancer just down Old Post Road at Point Isabella on North Bay, and it was possible he’d decided to go for a quick, unencumbered run at the sea.
    Geary got back in his car and drove out of Forsythe Court, slowing down to let Sagredo and Graves keep a close tail.
    He saw it as soon as he turned onto Point Isabella Road, parked in the four-car lot near the docks: the Corvette. Sleek and tomato red, it was long and low to the ground with a little bubble of a hood and a chrome grate shining on the front like bared teeth.
    Geary pulled into an empty spot. Sagredo and Graves pulled in right next to him. They all got out of their cars together; they’d all seen it; there was no point pretending. The Corvette was here. But only Geary was able to see that Bell’s boat was gone.
    Bell had always kept a boat here. It was what had lured him to the Cape years ago. Geary now