Free The Precipice by Paul Doiron Page A

his molars. “Did you search him for drugs?”
    “I thought it was more important that I establish trust. When he told me he’d hiked with Samantha and Missy, I wanted to learn everything I could from him.”
    “That was the right move,” said Wes Pinkham.
    Except for the handgun and badge on his belt, Pinkham looked nothing like a game warden and everything like the branch manager of a savings and loan. He had thinning hair held in place with pomade, a stomach that overflowed his belted chinos, and aviator glasses that had last been in vogue—well, I wasn’t sure how long ago, but not since before I was born. I could imagine that his average Joe appearance (Little League umpire, president of the Lions Club) might have helped when he went undercover to purchase illegal cuts of deer meat from poachers.
    The lieutenant asked Wes Pinkham to bring up on the computer projector the photo I’d taken of Chad McDonough’s driver’s license. We studied the magnified image on the wall. McDonut seemed so clean-cut in his Massachusetts DMV photograph.
    “Did you believe that he was telling the truth about the girls?” Sergeant Fitzpatrick asked.
    The detective had a reddish gray buzz cut that looked like it would become curly if he ever grew it out. His complexion was pale, but there was a rosy blush on his cheeks that suggested he might’ve enjoyed a nightly nip—or had before he found the program. He had an accent that sounded as if he’d grown up in South Boston.
    I wasn’t sure what Fitzpatrick wanted to hear. I glanced at Kathy, seated beside me. She winked again, as if telling me to trust my instincts.
    “I think he might have been lying about some things,” I said, “but not about Samantha and Missy. The kid definitely has an edge to him, but he didn’t strike me as dangerous.”
    “We ran a background check on McDonough,” Fitzpatrick announced, “and he was suspended from UMass after being accused of sexual assault.”
    I had the sense that he’d been waiting to ambush me with that information. I became aware of the black-haired man watching me with the intensity of a predator. His eyes were so black, they seemed to be all pupil.
    “Was he convicted?” I asked.
    “Criminal charges were never brought,” said Fitzpatrick. “The girl was intoxicated herself and didn’t have a complete memory of the night. The DA couldn’t proceed with the case, but the school decided McDonough should take a year off, until she graduated.”
    “If he was involved with Samantha’s and Missy’s disappearance,” I said, “I have no idea why he would hang out on the trail. Why wouldn’t he have gotten the hell out of there?”
    The mysterious black-haired man in the corner spoke for the first time. “Did it occur to you that he might’ve been making up this ‘man in the red tent’ to divert attention from himself?”
    “It occurred to me, yes.”
    “Do you want to bring him in for an interview?” DeFord asked Pinkham. “At this point, we still don’t have evidence of a crime, so we can’t call him a material witness.”
    “Tell him his help will be invaluable in finding the two girls,” the warden investigator said. “Make him feel like everyone is depending on him.”
    “We’re going to need to track down all the other names on the list Bowditch gave us,” said Sergeant Fitzpatrick.
    Kathy tilted back in her chair. “Personally, I’d start with the Incredible Hunk.”
    “You think he sounds like a suspicious character, do you?” Pinkham asked with a sly grin.
    “I just want to see if the man lives up to his name.”
    Everyone smiled except Fitzpatrick and the man in the corner, whose name I still didn’t know. Despite her ill health, Kathy was making a brave effort to participate. I couldn’t help worrying that she might be pushing herself too hard. Her skin was the color of parchment.
    A BlackBerry vibrated on the table. The lieutenant picked it up. “DeFord.”
    The rest of the room fell