Cold Vengeance by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Read Free Book Online Page A

name.
I look forward to seeing you then.
Kind regards,
A. Pendergast
    D’Agosta read the letter twice. It’s true he hadn’t heard from Pendergast in a month or two, but that in itself wasn’t especially unusual. The agent frequently disappeared for long periods of time. But Pendergast was a stickler about keeping his word; not showing up for lunch, after making plans, was out of character.
    He handed the letter back. “Was there a reservation?”
    “Yes. It had been made the day after he sent the letter. He never called to cancel.”
    D’Agosta nodded, covering up his own growing concern.
    “I was hoping you might know something about his whereabouts. I’m worried. This isn’t like him.”
    D’Agosta cleared his throat. “I haven’t spoken to Pendergast in a while but I’m sure there’s an explanation. He’s probably deep in a case.” He ventured a reassuring smile. “I’ll check into it, get back to you.”
    “Here’s my cell number.” Pulling a pad of paper across the desk toward her, she scribbled a number onto it.
    “I’ll let you know, Ms. Swanson.”
    “Thank you. And it’s Corrie.”
    “Fine. Corrie.” The more D’Agosta thought about it, the more worried he became. He almost didn’t notice her picking up her bag and heading out the door.

C HAPTER 10

    Cairn Barrow
    T HE H IGH S TREET RAN THROUGH THE CENTER of the village, crooking slightly east at the square and running down into the green folds of the hills surrounding Loch Lanark. The shops and houses were of identical earth-colored stone, with steeply gabled roofs of weathered slate. Primroses and daffodils peeked out from freshly painted window boxes. The bells in the squat belfry of the Wee Kirk o’ the Loch sleepily tolled ten AM .
    It was, even to Chief Inspector Balfour’s jaundiced eye, an almost impossibly picturesque scene.
    He walked quickly down the street. A dozen cars were parked in front of the town pub, The Old Thistle—practically a traffic jam this late in the season, long after the summer day-trippers and the foreign tourists had departed. He stepped inside, nodding to Phillip, the publican, then pushed through the door beside the telephone box and mounted the creaking wooden stairs to the Common Room. The largest public space for twenty miles around, it was now filled almost to capacity with men and women—witnesses and curious spectators—sitting on long benches, all facing the rear wall, where a large oak table had been placed. Behind the table sat Dr. Ainslie, the local coroner, dressed in somber black, his dry old face with its deeply scored frown lines betraying perpetual dismay at the world and its doings. Beside him, at a much smaller table, sat Judson Esterhazy.
    Ainslie nodded curtly to Balfour as the inspector took a seat. Then, glancing around, he cleared his throat.
    “This court of inquiry has been summoned to establish the facts surrounding the disappearance and possible demise of Mr. Aloysius X. L. Pendergast. I say ‘possible’ due to the fact that no body has been recovered. The only witness to Mr. Pendergast’s death is the person who may have killed him—Judson Esterhazy, his brother-in-law.” Ainslie’s scowl deepened, his face so desiccated it almost looked as if it might flake off from the effort. “Since Mr. Pendergast has no living relations, one could say that Judson Esterhazy appears here not only as the person responsible for Mr. Pendergast’s accident but as his family representative, as well. As a result, this proceeding is not—and cannot be—a standard inquest, because in this case there is no body and the fact of death remains to be established. We shall, however, follow the form of an inquest. Our purpose then is to establish the facts of the disappearance as well as the proximate circumstances, and to rule, if the facts allow, on whether a death has or has not occurred. We will hear testimony from all concerned, then make a determination.”
    Ainslie turned to