At six in the morning, Marcus called from the adjoining room of the hotel.
“We found Daniel Vale.”
I sat up. “He’s alive?”
“Yes.”
The word erased the last remnants of sleep.
“Where?”
“Vermont. He’s been living under his mother’s maiden name in a small town outside Burlington. He teaches accounting at a community college.”
“Why did everyone believe he was dead?”
“Your mother told the family he died of a heart attack in Switzerland. There’s no death certificate.”
I rose and walked to the window. Dawn had spread a pale gray light over Boston.
“Can you contact him?”
“I already did. He agreed to speak with you.”
“Where?”
“He’s driving here.”
I looked at the clock.
“How long?”
“Three hours.”
I dressed quietly and met Marcus in the hotel lobby. We did not discuss the situation during the drive to Fairmont Street. There were too many possibilities and not enough facts.
