He was not a doctor, and he was not the police officer I had seen earlier.

He looked at me, then at Claire, and then at the boys.

“Daniel Whitmore?” the man asked in a quiet, stern voice.

“Yes,” I said, turning around.

“Who are you?”

The man pulled a leather badge holder from his coat pocket and held it up.

“Detective Miller, state police,” he said.

“We have a problem with Mr. Vance.”

My heart sank.

“What kind of problem?” I asked.

“He’s not at the station,” the detective said.

I stared at him, my hand tightening on Claire’s.

“What do you mean he’s not at the station?”

“The transport vehicle was involved in a collision two miles from your estate,” Detective Miller said.

“Vance is gone.”

The cold hospital air suddenly felt much heavier.

“Where is he now?” I asked.

My voice sounded hollow, even to my own ears.

“The driver of the truck that hit them died on impact,” Detective Miller said.

“Vance kicked out the damaged rear window of the transport van and ran into the woods.”