The Dark (A Detective Alice Madison Novel)(101)

“Have they been told what to expect?”

“I’ve just briefed their Chief of Ops. The car was clocked pulling into a hotel, the Silver Pines. Two hundred and thirty-seven rooms—business travelers and conference heaven.”

Madison thought quickly. “I’m the only one who has seen any of them; we have Conway’s picture, but it’s not that great.”

Fynn nodded. “I’ll call the chief and tell him you’re on your way to ID Conway.”

Spencer shrugged on his jacket. “Perfect end to a perfect day,” he said.

They had all been up since 4:00 a.m. or earlier.


There was little conversation during the drive to Bellevue. Spencer drove, and Dunne rode shotgun, Madison in the back. Kelly had already left by the time the call arrived.

Neither of her companions had clapped eyes on Conway or any of his men, but there was no question that they would come along.

Madison relaxed into the seat, because she was well aware that soon she would need all the focus and whatever smarts she could muster.

She knew without seeing it that the motel was being steadily surrounded by police units, that only plainclothes were on the ground and visible, that a SWAT team commander was telling his people about the FBI agent Peter Conway had slain and about Warren Lee and Ronald Gray and last night’s fire. She could see the men and women in their heavy gear nodding and taking in the catalog of evil, their expressions become more somber as they understood what they were dealing with.


Madison wasn’t sure whether she had fallen asleep for a few minutes. She remembered dots of light moving behind her eyelids. The car pulled to a stop as they were intercepted by a plainclothes detective who waved them in the direction of the parking lot of the small commercial center next to the motel.

The Chief of Ops, Captain Hegarty, was waiting for them. He was in his forties and looked ready to chew a hole through a steel blanket. Muted crackle and the voices of his units reporting in came in gusts through the radio.

“We’re eyeballing the Subaru, but by the time the first officer got here, whoever was driving it had already gone inside.”

Madison looked around. The commercial center—a dentist, a veterinary clinic, and a yoga studio—had shut for the day.

“We’re checking the register for a group of three or four businessmen who arrived in the last few days.”

Madison nodded.

A woman in sweat clothes, wearing a bulky fleece top, came out of the motel and jogged out into the street. She made a quick turn and trotted up to them. She acknowledged Madison and the others and spoke to the Captain.

“Four men, four rooms on the second floor, back of the corridor, near the fire exit. One returned forty minutes ago; the others are still out.”

“How many of them can you ID?” the Captain asked Madison.

“Just Conway. And as much as I saw him, he saw me, too, and he took a good, long look. No chance he wouldn’t recognize me if he saw me again.”

“Fair enough.”

“We’re going to pick up nice and easy whoever it is who’s in the room and wait for his friends,” Captain Hegarty said. “You need to get yourself into a safe position to spot Conway if he sets foot in the hotel. Here.” He handed Madison an earpiece and a mike the size of the nail of her little finger. She tested them both and then made her way to the motel’s entrance. Come home, little bird, come home.


Madison settled into a plush chair with a view of the entrance and the three elevators that led to the five floors. The motel’s signature colors were oatmeal and maroon, and the designer had made ample use of both in the guests’ lounge and its patterned upholstery.

Madison had pulled her hair up in a hurried ponytail and borrowed a navy blue Huskies baseball cap from a plainclothes officer. Go, Dawgs. She was screened by a large potted plant that would give her, maybe, a five-second advantage if Conway came in. She had picked up a magazine from the reception desk and tried to look fascinated by a season of conferences and leadership seminars in the Pacific Northwest. Her body, however, was a taut ball of wiring held together by adrenaline.

In her ear was the steady, clear monotone of the officers reporting on status: “Red Ford wagon pulling into parking lot. Family of three: man, woman, and child coming out.”

Five seconds later the family entered the hotel.

“Silver Honda Civic pulling in. Single female passenger.”

A woman in her fifties in a business suit came in and stopped at the reception desk.

“Unit 3 in position,” a soft voice whispered from her earpiece.

Madison breathed in. Unit 3 was on the second floor, getting ready to take down the guest in Room 237. She shifted in her chair and tried to keep her focus on the main door.