She looked at her watch. It was just past eleven. “Harry, get in here,” she called. As she turned back toward the front door, she heard the sound of -a car going by out on Beach Mill Road. It seemed to slow as it went by her front gates, its headlights creating a strobe effect through the double row of tree trunks parading along the driveway. The dog stopped for a moment, as if to listen to the car, but then reluctantly came in. It’s not him, Harry, she thought. But thanks for looking. FRIDAY Early Friday morning, Karen had decided on an abbreviated workout, and she was coming back toward the Pentagon athletic club’s building from a two-mile run when she saw a small knot of runners clustered around a grassy knoll, about two hundred yards from the athletic club’s entrance. She finished her cooldown exercises and then jogged over to where the small crowd was gathered. She was surprised to see that they were watching Train von Rensel, who stood like a stubby oak tree, alone in a space about fifteen feet square.
