ABBY AND GUNTHER arrived at the Christian church Stevens directed them to as the office was closing for the day. They found a secretary at the Mid State Christian Fellowship who knew exactly who they were talking about.

“Padre Mike.”

“Padre?” Abby asked.

She nodded. “That’s what the homeless community calls him. He ministers to them, kind of like a lay pastor.”

Gunther frowned. “You mean he’s not crazy or shell-shocked or drug addicted or an alcoholic?”

She laughed. “No, not at all. Mike . . . well, Mike is different, I’ll grant you, but he’s sane. At one time he did have an alcohol problem, but that’s long past from what I know. Pastor Terry lets him use the shower we have in the back office area from time to time. And he comes to visit the food pantry now and again. He’s just a nice guy.”

“Any chance you know when he’ll be here next?”

“You just missed him. He was here last Saturday with a couple of guys who needed some medical attention. He might not be back for a while.”

“Where did he go? Where does he stay?”

“That I don’t know. Pastor might. He’ll be here on Sunday for services, or on Tuesday if you want to talk to him in private. I just help Padre Mike when he’s here. I don’t ask questions about where he’s been or where he’s going.”

The file Orson gave them started with a profile of Stuart and Victoria Napier. Both were very accomplished individuals. Stuart had a PhD in theoretical physics and Victoria in neuroscience. They’d had their own business as high-level consultants for years before the crime and did great financially. Victoria was extremely well-off in terms of money to spend. Luke could see how she could afford to spend ten years on a single-minded search. It made him wonder how Stuart could support himself and stay off the grid. If he’d fled after a brutal murder spree, how did he survive to make his way across the country to a vineyard in the middle of California? And stay hidden for fifteen years?

The FBI files made available to them showed that there had been no activity on Napier’s Social Security number or credit cards in the last fifteen years. At the present time, all of his known credit accounts had long since expired. There was speculation in his file that he committed suicide by fleeing into the swampy area in Florida adjacent to the home he shared with Victoria and that his body would likely never be found. Also in the file was a copy of a letter Victoria had written telling the agent in charge that there was no way Stuart would kill himself. He was narcissistic and averse to pain.

In the profile drawn up by the FBI, Luke noted the words cocky, shrewd, and manipulative. They also believed that if Stuart was still alive, it was likely that his murder of the boys and the attempted murder of Victoria was planned, and that he’d already set himself up with another identity before he pulled the trigger. They’d tried to rebuild his life just before the fire, to determine whether or not there was a pattern to his behavior that would give them a clue about where he’d gone, but the home and all of his records were completely destroyed.

The motive they ascribed to the killing chilled Luke to the bone. “The suspect expressed boredom with his situation for approximately two years before the murders. He was tired of his wife, tired of his kids, and no longer challenged.”

You annihilate your family because you’re no longer challenged?

After reading the profile, he turned the page to the crime scene photos. It was difficult to look at the gruesome photos. Luke didn’t study them all that closely. Victoria’s husband had shot his children, shot Victoria, and then set the house on fire by exploding a barbecue propane tank. Victoria was barely able to drag herself from the house. As it was, her clothing caught on fire, causing third-degree burns over 70 percent of her body. She was not expected to live, but after amputations, surgeries, and much physical therapy, she walked out of the hospital on her prosthetic with only the help of a cane.

She still had issues to deal with, one of which was damage to her respiratory system that made her tired if she spoke too much or was too physically active. The woman with her was a nurse who watched her very carefully. Once Victoria briefed everyone, she excused herself to go back to her hotel and rest until the next day. After she left, Orson must have noticed that Luke and Woody were quiet.

“Okay, spill. What’s the problem?”

Luke looked at Woody, who indicated that he could go ahead and speak up.

“Her story is compelling,” Luke said, “but . . .”

“It’s a waste of time?” Orson asked, sitting across from Luke at the table.

“I hate to put it that way, but why is she so sure this guy has been making wine for fifteen years? You have to admit that it’s off the wall.”

“I agree it sounds strange, and the FBI has blown her off. They just don’t believe her theory about her husband.”

“But you want to send us?” Woody asked.

Orson sighed. “You guys are already working in an area filled with vineyards. And if you continue through the file, you’ll see that she’s pared it down to a list of fifteen specific vineyards in that area. That’s all. It will take two, three days tops to check these places out. I’m not sending you to Napa. She’s working on her list for Napa and she’s going there on her own. I just want you to spend some time in the San Luis Obispo, Paso Robles vicinity, checking with wineries, asking questions. If she’s right about her husband, it’s possible you’ll glean a lead we can turn over to the federal team handling this case.”

A pained expression passed over Orson’s face. “Look, I hate to do this to you, but I’ve been asked by a friend to take a look at this case, to get this woman off his back. I know that sounds harsh, but she’s like a dog with a bone and she’s not their only case. They don’t have the manpower to follow her whim.”

Luke and Woody exchanged glances.

“Besides, Faye thinks she’s been through so much, and she’s worked so hard all by herself for ten years. She thought you’d want to help Victoria out. I can still tell her no.”

Luke looked up at the ceiling and then down to the folder of photos he’d closed. It was the photos of the two little boys that decided him. “No, don’t tell her no. I’d like to help if I can.” He turned to Woody, who nodded.

“We can ask questions,” Woody said. “It won’t be a problem.”

“Did you tell Abby all of this when you talked to her last night?” Luke asked.

“No, she was fine with getting the story from you two when you get back up there. And I told her I thought you guys were making great progress on Ciara’s case.”

Orson pointed to a box. “That’s the information on the Napier case that Victoria has compiled on her own. A lot of it is her insight written down over the years. Particularly interesting is the visit she made to a vineyard in New Mexico a few years ago. She’s certain that was Stuart’s first stop. She believes he did grunt work there in order to be able to put something on his résumé. In the file is a possible alias he’s using. Shuffle through it; I think you’ll see that though her theory sounds odd, she’s taken copious notes and drawn up a plausible line of reasoning as to why we’ll find her husband at a vineyard somewhere.”

“She’s definitely an interesting victim,” Luke said as he stood and took the lid off the box.

“She’s a genius —I mean, a real genius. So is her husband. They met when they were both members of Mensa.”

“Mensa? That’s the high IQ club?” Woody asked.

“Yep, to become a member you have to score in the top 2 percent on an intelligence test, generally an IQ above 130. But Victoria told me that both she and Stuart tested at over 150.”

“He’s that smart and he murdered his kids?” Woody arched an eyebrow. “I’d say somebody needs a retest. Sounds pretty stupid to me.”