“Only in Portland was it unforgivable not to recycle efficiently.”
“To get her paper, she’d have to dash out in her robe, try not to slip on the ice, and risk breaking her butt. She loved the Sudoku puzzles. Her day couldn’t start until she’d mastered the damn things.”
“At the brick Oregon State Police building in downtown Portland, Detective Mason Callahan sat at his desk, deep in thought. His body, his mind, and his heart were exhausted. Mason picked at the desk’s peeling paint as he stared at the grisly photos of Trenton, letting his anger fuel his determination to find the fucker who’d committed this act of evil. Evil was the only word to describe the murder. The bastard had tortured the cop, broken his legs, and then strangled him, dumping the dead body back in Trenton’s own bed. And”
“Maybe Jack just felt sorry for her. Yeah. And Osama bin Laden hadn’t been a terrorist.”
“at her watch. “I’m going to go steal a cup of the cops’ coffee. Want some?” “I’d kill for coffee. Please. Black.” Lacey watched the doctor disappear out the back flap door. She exhaled and relaxed her shoulders, noticing that both techs did the same thing. The three in the tent exchanged a wry look. It was tough to be in close quarters with Dr. Peres for any period of time. Lacey turned her focus back to the gold in her hand. Déjá vu. In her mind, Lacey saw the bridges sitting on her palm, but the image wasn’t from today. She’d held them before. Or held some bridges that were identical. They’d creeped her out at that time too. But where’d she see them? In dental school? No, the memory was older than that. Rusty fragments of images poked at her brain. The front flap door of the tent”
“Now the old cases were back in the limelight and his name had erupted out of the archives like a submerged cork bobbing to the surface.”
“wall. He’d wait for five more”
“The house had an aura of acute emptiness—a home simply waiting for time to go by. Janet”
“He’d decided the best way to approach Dave DeCosta’s mother, Linda, was to knock on the front gate and charm them with his disarming smile. Too bad a man had answered the gate.”
“Jack closed the door to the bedroom Alex had loaned him and stumbled into the attached bathroom. Some protector he was. Getting drunk with a buddy when Cal’s killer was searching for the defenseless woman in the next room. Actually, defenseless wasn’t how he thought of Lacey. She was tough and smart. He knew”
“Can I get by now?” She peered around him, spying several figures moving outside the big tent. Dr. Victoria Peres had requested her forensic skills three hours ago, and Lacey itched to see what the doctor had found. Something unusual enough to demand Lacey come directly to the site instead of waiting to study the dental aspect of the remains in a heated, sterile lab. Or”
“Nice you could make the party.”
“What was he thinking by touching her? Just talk to her. Distract her. “I told you I dated Hillary Roske. One of the first victims.” She gave another stiff nod of assent. “We met several years before she vanished. I was hauled in for questioning along with a dozen of her ex-boyfriends.” He smiled wryly. “The timing wasn’t great. I was trying to get hired with the police department. They”
“was Michael’s by right. No doubt Jack was going to look out for her and do his damndest to keep her safe, but that didn’t mean he had”
“And why she was afraid to let other people close: It simply hurt too much when they left.”
“He hadn’t brought up his police interview yet, putting it off as long as possible. The longer he delayed it, the more time he had to be next to her. She used her hands when she talked. And her eyes. Her brown eyes sparkled in rhythm with her hands when she was happy. He tried to keep her talking, talking about anything. Her voice was warm, and she frequently sounded like she was about to laugh. He liked it.”
“That was the thing about heartache. You never could erase it. You carried it with you, always.”
“It meant good-bye to London and to Churchill, whose company Harriman thoroughly enjoyed, and to Pamela, whose bed he enjoyed (the lovers’ hiatus lasted almost three decades, until 1971, when Pamela Beryl Digby Churchill Hayward became the third Mrs. Harriman).”
“Maybe I’m an asshole.” “You might be an asshole, but you’re not a selfish asshole.” “How do you know that, Amy?” “Because I couldn’t possibly love a selfish person,” I said.”
“Listen, I don't know you or what you've been through, but I know I'd give any-thing to still be alive right now, no matter what.”
“All those innocents-I didn't wonder about their futures
that day as I left the abandoned house. I couldn't know their destinations, their triumphs, their troubles. The ones who integrated themselves into new cities and forgot themselves in new professions, either forming empires grand enough to blot out a past, or failing to thrive because they couldn't get the sound of their own blood out of their heads. The ones who married other survivors, and the ones who wouldn't marry because they had nothing to offer a
marriage bed but night terrors. The ones who took comfort and freedom in the soil of the kibbutz, and the ones who found themselves lying on a different set of tables, granting permission to other doctors to bum the branded memories from their brains, to take away, once and for all, the misery that he had imprinted upon us.
They were children, once.”
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