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

the man asked.
    D’Agosta had the creepy sensation he had been expected. He followed Proctor down the long, echoing gallery and into the reception hall, its dome of Wedgwood blue soaring overhead, the dim light illuminating the dozens of rippled-glass display cases and their curious contents. “Is Pendergast in?” he asked.
    Proctor paused and turned back. “I am very sorry to say he is not, sir.”
    “Where is he?”
    The chauffeur’s cold look only wavered slightly. “He’s dead, sir.”
    D’Agosta felt the room reel. “ Dead? How?”
    “He was on a hunting expedition, to Scotland. With Dr. Esterhazy.”
    “Judson Esterhazy? His brother-in-law?”
    “There was an accident. Out on the moors, while they were hunting a stag. Dr. Esterhazy shot Mr. Aloysius. He sank in the mire.”
    This couldn’t be real. He had misheard. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Nearly three weeks ago.”
    “So what about the funeral preparations? Where’s Esterhazy? Why wasn’t I informed?”
    “There’s no body, sir. And Dr. Esterhazy has disappeared.”
    “Oh, my God. You’re telling me Esterhazy accidentally shot Pendergast and there’s no body and then Esterhazy just disappeared ?” He realized he was yelling and didn’t care.
    Proctor’s face remained unreadable. “The local constabulary searched for days, dragging the mire, looking everywhere. No body was recovered.”
    “Then why do you say he’s dead?”
    “Because of Dr. Esterhazy’s own testimony at the inquest. He testified that he shot him in the chest. He saw him sink and disappear into the quicksand.”
    D’Agosta felt short of breath. “Esterhazy told you this himself?”
    “I learned this from a telephone call from the inspector investigating the shooting. He wanted to ask me a few questions about Mr. Aloysius.”
    “And you’ve heard from nobody else?”
    “Nobody, sir.”
    “Where was this, exactly?”
    “At Kilchurn Lodge. In the Scottish Highlands.”
    D’Agosta clenched his jaw. “People don’t just disappear. Something about this whole story stinks.”
    “I’m sorry, sir, that’s all I know.”
    D’Agosta took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “Jesus. Okay. Thank you, Proctor. I’m sorry I’m talking like this. I’m just upset.”
    “I understand. Would you care to step into the library for a glass of sherry before you go?”
    “Are you kidding? I’ve got to do something about this.”
    Proctor looked at him. “And what might that be?”
    “I don’t know yet. But you can bet your ass I’m going to do something.”

C HAPTER 13

    Inverkirkton
    J UDSON E STERHAZY SAT AT THE SCUFFED BAR of the Half Moon Pub, nursing a pint of Guinness. The pub was tiny, befitting the size of the hamlet: three seats at the bar, four booths, two each built into opposite walls. Currently it was empty save for him and old MacFlecknoe, the barkeep, but it was almost five PM and that would change very soon.
    He drained his glass, and MacFlecknoe bustled over. “Will you be having another, sir?” he asked.
    Esterhazy made a show of considering this. “Why not?” he said after a moment. “I don’t suppose Dr. Roscommon will mind.”
    The barkeep chuckled. “Sure, and it’ll be our secret.”
    As if on cue, Esterhazy saw the doctor through the large round window in the front door of the pub. Roscommon walked briskly down the street, stopping at the door of his practice, which he unlocked with a deft turn of his wrist. Esterhazy watched as the man disappeared inside the building, closing the door after him.
    While pretending to have a heart attack the day before, Esterhazy had a clear image in his mind of what the local doctor would look like: bluff and red-faced, aging but muscular, as accustomed to grappling with sick cows and horses as with people. But Roscommon had proved a surprise. He was thin and fortyish, with bright alert eyes and an intelligent expression. He had examined his new patient with a cool, relaxed professionalism