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Luther leaned against the cruiser, half in the nearest lane of traffic. Only the uniforms slowing cars as they passed kept him from being a statistic. A ridge rose on the opposite side of the road, thick trees interrupted by a car-sized chunk of rock sunk into the earth. The rock was marked with two fuzzy white lines, the remnants of spray paint graffiti someone had tried to remove. Not that Luther could see it. All he could see was his brother, lying in a hospital bed, all tubes and monitors, alone.
He wasn’t aware D’Antonio was standing next to him until the man began talking. “They found the canoe at the haul-out. It looks like Carpenter stole a car from the campground. The owner didn’t even know it was missing. One of the fishermen gave us a half-ass description—a wet guy with dar
