“Has he got an alarm system?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know the code?”

“Yes.”

“Is the backyard fenced?”

“Yes.”

“Can we get in without being seen?”

“Possibly. At the back corner of the house, there’s an exterior door going into the garage. It has a keypad, but I know the code. There’s access to the kitchen through the garage.”

They’d already driven past Stan Gillette’s house twice, but Coburn wanted to be damn certain that he wasn’t walking into a carefully laid ambush. He had no choice except to take the risk. He had to get into that house.

Befitting Gillette’s character, his was the neatest house on the street. Basic Acadian in style, its white paint was so fresh it hurt the eyes. Nary a blade of grass defied the perfect edging along the curb and front walkway. Old Glory hung from one of four square columns on the front porch, which provided support for the overhang of the red tin roof. It was so perfect, it could have been ordered already assembled from a catalog.

Coburn drove past it and circled the block again.

“He’s not there,” Honor said, emphasizing it now, since she’d already told him that several times.

“How do you know for sure?”

“Because he doesn’t put his car in the garage except at night. If he were in the house, his car would be in the front driveway.”

“Maybe this is a special occasion.”

Two blocks away from Gillette’s street was a green belt with a small playground. Two cars were parked in the lot. One must’ve belonged to the young mother shooting video of her daughter who was hanging upside down from a bar on the jungle gym, the other to the teenage boy who was hitting tennis balls against a backboard.

No one gave them a look as Coburn pulled the car into the lot. As long as the rural family stayed away from home, he considered the sedan a relatively safe mode of transportation. No one would be looking for it. All the same, it was less conspicuous here than parked on a neighborhood street where it could arouse curiosity.

He looked across at Honor, who he could tell was still pissed at him for the crack he’d made about her late husband. “Ready?”

Her expression said no, but she nodded yes and got out of the car. “We’re in no particular hurry,” he said. “Just a couple out for a leisurely stroll. Okay? Wouldn’t hurt for you to smile.”

“This coming from the man who doesn’t own one.”

They fell into step and walked along the perimeter of the green, unnoticed by those on the playground. The mom was laughing and shouting directions to her daughter, who was still hanging upside down and making funny faces at the camera. The tennis player had iPod earphones in, so he was completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Nudging Honor along with him, Coburn skirted the green belt, then walked into a yard that backed up to it. Honor looked around nervously. “What if a homeowner comes out and asks what we’re doing?”

“Our dog ran off before we could get his leash on. Something like that. But no one will ask.”

“Why not?”

“Because if they see us, they will in all likelihood recognize us and immediately notify the police. I’m armed and dangerous, remember?”

“Okay, so what happens if we hear sirens coming this way?”

“I run like hell.”

“What do I do?”

“You collapse to the ground, and cry, and thank them for saving you from me.”

But the point was moot because no one accosted them, and they reached the back corner of Stan’s house without mishap. Honor raised the cover on the keypad and pecked in the code. Coburn waited to hear the metallic nick, then turned the knob and pushed open the door.

They slipped into the garage, and he pulled the door shut behind them. Daylight coming through three high windows enabled them to see their way to the kitchen door. Honor stepped inside and disarmed the alarm system. Its warning chirp fell silent.

But when she would have moved farther into the kitchen, he placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. He mistrusted the ease with which they’d breached the house. So he remained on the threshold, muscles tensed, ready to bolt.

Silences weren’t all the same. They had qualities that he’d been trained to distinguish. For sixty long seconds he listened, until, finally, he determined that the house was truly empty. Then he removed his hand from Honor’s shoulder. “I think we’re okay.”

Most operating rooms weren’t as sterile as Stan Gillette’s kitchen. Coburn figured the sterility was a reflection of the man himself. Cold, impersonal, unyielding, no areas that could become cluttered with emotional junk.

Which, he realized, was also an accurate description of himself.

Shoving that thought aside, he asked Honor where Eddie’s stuff was.

“All over the house, really. Where do you want to start?”

She led him into what had been Eddie’s bedroom when he was growing up. “It hasn’t changed much since the first time I came here. Eddie brought me to meet Stan. I was so nervous.”

Coburn didn’t give a shit, and his indifference must have been apparent because she ended the stroll down memory lane and stood in the center of the room, her hands awkwardly clasped in front of her.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s strange being in this house, in this room with…”

“Without Eddie?”

“I was going to say with you.”

Several responses sprang to mind, but all of them were either vulgar or otherwise inappropriate, and he didn’t have time to deal with the bickering that a lewd comment would inevitably spark. Keeping the comebacks to himself, he pointed her toward a bureau. “Empty the drawers. I’ll start on the closet.”

He gave it the same thorough treatment that he had the closets in Honor’s house. It seemed that Gillette hadn’t disposed of anything belonging to his son. Resisting the temptation to rush, Coburn tried not to overlook anything or to dismiss an item until he’d searched it.

Thinking that Eddie’s police uniforms would be a logical hiding place, Coburn examined each seam, lining, and pocket of every garment, looking for something sewn inside. He didn’t find anything except lint.

When an hour had passed and he had nothing to show for it, he began to feel the pressure of time. “Is Gillette usually away from the house during the day?” he asked Honor.

“He has his various activities, but I don’t keep close tabs on his schedule.”

“Do you think he’s out doing one of his various activities?”

“No. I think he’s out looking for Emily and me.”

“So do I.”

Another hour went by, increasing his frustration. He was on borrowed time and it was getting away from him. He glanced over at Honor to ask her another question about her father-in-law’s daily routine, but the question died before he asked it.

She was sitting on the double bed, going through a box of keepsakes, most of which were medals and ribbons Eddie had won for sporting contests throughout his schooling. She was crying silently.

“What’s the matter?”

Her head came up. Tears spilled from her eyes. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter? This is the matter, Coburn. This!” She dropped the medal that she’d been rubbing between her fingers and shoved the box away from her with such force that it slid off the edge of the bed and landed bottom side up on the floor. “I feel like a grave robber.”

What did she want him to say? I’m sorry, you’re right, let’s leave. Well, he wasn’t going to say that, was he? So he didn’t say anything. A moment passed while they just looked at one another.

Eventually she made a resigned sound and wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Never mind. I don’t expect you to understand.”

She was right. He didn’t understand why this was so upsetting to her. Because he had robbed a grave once. After thoroughly searching for survivors in the decimated village, where even the pathetic livestock hadn’t been spared, he’d plunged down into a pit where body was heaped upon body.