Storm Front

said.
    He told them about chasing the Camry man out of the house, and introduced Yael, and she told them about the search for Elijah Jones. Neither of the cops knew Jones, and Virgil said, “I’m going to walk around for a while, see what the neighbors say.”
    “We’ll take a look around,” said Jimmy. “Paula, get the basement.”
    Yael said, “I should stay here with Paula and Jimmy. I would recognize the stele.”
    Virgil went first to the house on the right, but nobody was home. Then he went back to the old lady’s house. She answered the door and said, “I think he was back last night. He didn’t come over, but I saw lights in the house, late.”
    “You didn’t see him this morning?”
    “No, and I get up early. I went and knocked on his door, but nobody answered, and your note was gone.”
    “But you’re not sure it was Jones himself.”
    “No, I guess not. Could have been Ellen, I suppose.”
    —
    V IRGIL THANKED HER , and walked back to his truck and called Davenport. “This may be a little more complicated than you thought,” he said.
    After a moment of silence, Davenport asked, “Why can’t anything you do be simple? Get the steelee and send Yale home.”
    “Well, I went over to talk to Jones this morning, but he wasn’t there, but a burglar was, and I think there’s blood on the floor.”
    “Ahhhh . . . shit.”
    “Yeah. But it might not be from violence. He’s got cancer, and he’s apparently been leaking a lot of blood.” Virgil told him about the runner, and about the smear, and about how Yael was lying about something, and then he asked, “Do you have any hint what this stele might involve? I mean, it looks like Yael’s not the only one who wants it. And wants it bad enough to break into a house.”
    “No idea,” Davenport said. “But if there’s blood, and a burglary, then put the screws to this chick. We need to know.”
    “I don’t think she’ll tell me,” Virgil said.
    “How about the other people on this dig? They must know something. Couldn’t you call one of them?”
    “I was just about to do that,” Virgil lied. “I’m tracking down some names now. But I wanted to update you on the blood thing.”
    “Okay. Don’t bother to call me unless you’ve got something serious. If this is gonna be another fuckin’ Flowers circus, I don’t want the details.”
    —
    D AVENPORT occasionally had some good ideas, Virgil thought, as he rang off. Like calling people from the dig. It should be late afternoon in Israel, so if he could call soon . . .
    He dug his iPad out of the pocket of the passenger-side seat-back. He signed on, went to the Gustavus Adolphus website, got the names of the other faculty in Jones’s department, and the main number for the school. After hassling a bit with a functionary in the school’s office, he got home phone numbers for four other faculty members. He struck out on the first one—no answer—but the second one, Patricia Carlson, picked up on the first ring. Virgil identified himself, and asked her what she knew about the dig, or anyone else on it.
    “Hang on a minute,” she said. “I need to go online here.”
    A minute later, she said, “There are seven Gustavus students at the dig, and one parent. I have the emergency cell phone number for the parent, in Israel. Her name is Annabelle Johnson.”
    The miracles of modern communication, Virgil thought. He’d gone online from a computer in his truck, which coughed up phone numbers for a college faculty in a different town, and from there, had gotten a phone number for a woman half a world away.
    Earlier that year, he’d been fishing at a fly-in camp in northwest Ontario, fifty miles from the nearest road, and another guy, whose wife was pregnant, and whose father was seriously ill, had a sat phone, and had daily conversations with them both, routed through his personal satellite link.
    —
    A NNABELLE J OHNSON was in a dormitory at an Israeli kibbutz. She’d been taking her afternoon nap when Virgil called. He explained the problem, and she said, in a hushed voice, “We’re not supposed to talk about it. We’re shocked, here. Shocked when Elijah ran away.”
    “I’m working with an investigator from Israel,” Virgil said. “I’m not sure she’s being entirely up front with me. I could really use some help.”
    He told Johnson about the encounter at Jones’s house and about the smear on the floor. “I can’t find Reverend Jones, and that worries