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Authors: Gregg Olsen
Tags: english
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heard from Marcus Wheaton not long ago."
The name was a shockwave of its own, bringing back memories that Hannah held tightly within.
"Not that it is connected to the shoes," Bauer said, "but I'm going to Cutter's Landing on Friday to see Wheaton."
There was a long silence. Bauer waited until Hannah spoke. "What does Marcus want?" Her tone was ice.
"I'm not sure. You know that Oregon can't hold him much longer. His time is about up. His health isn't great, and the state has no cause to keep him beyond his original sentencing--no matter what you've read."
"Oh," Hannah lied, "I'd forgotten that it was coming up. I haven't thought about Marcus for a long time."
It was another deceit. It was the kind of lie she had told herself. She thought about Marcus all the time, but she felt comfort in her thoughts. He was in prison. She knew where he was. He'd tried to contact her after the trial. His mother phoned her Aunt Leanna once in Misery Bay on Oregon's southern coast, urging her to bring Hannah to the prison to see the man who'd once loved her mother. Leanna refused.
"How often do you think about her ?" Bauer asked, meaning Hannah's mother, of course. There was no other her .
"The only time she doesn't come to mind is when I'm deep into my work," Hannah said, her voice catching a little. "It sounds pathetic, I'm sure, but I'm always a little too grateful for a really heinous case."
"It takes something real ugly to chase it from your mind," Bauer said. He felt sorry for her. "There's a lot to chase."
"You know," she said, her hands trembling, "the peculiar thing is that I've read Twenty in a Row so often that sometimes I'm not sure what I remember and what others wrote. Sometimes I think some memories that I hold to be true are just planted."
Bauer had a copy of the book on his bookcase. He instinctively glanced in its direction at its mention, its worn binding showing its age. " Twenty, " as aficionados of the case called it, was the first book on the Logan case and considered by most to be the best.
"One day," Bauer said before they said their goodbyes, "we'll know what really happened."
"Maybe so," Hannah said, wishing she didn't care anymore. "I hope so."
The hours flew by, though later, Hannah would plead with Ethan that she didn't even know what had preoccupied her to such a degree. It was not like her. Not at all. She was, she knew, a mother before anything else. A little after five, Hannah looked at her watch and jumped from her chair. In that instant she remembered how she had promised Ethan, who was busy with an inane ethics meeting, that she'd pick up Amber. How could she be late? She raced toward the after-school care offices, but by the time she arrived, they were closed. A janitor who spoke no English, at least that he admitted to, shrugged when she mentioned her daughter's name. Ten minutes later, she was in the driveway of their house on Loma Linda. Ethan's car was not out front, and her heart sank even lower.
Where was Amber?
"Honey!" she called out, but no one responded. "Amber, honey! Where are you?"
Hannah was frantic by then. She ran through the house, swinging open doors and pulling the covers from her daughter's unmade bed. She fell to her knees and peered under the bed.
"Let's not play the hiding game!" she called out. "If we are, then I give up. Come out."
She knew that was a ridiculous hope. They hadn't played that game for months, maybe longer than a year.
For any parent, the moment when a child is thought to be missing is the longest moment of a lifetime. Guilt, shame, fear, and hope converge in a stunning force that squeezes the breath from a person's lungs, male or female. Catch a breath. Take a second. She's here. She's with her father. She's at Maddie's.
Hannah dialed Maddie's house, and Elena Jackson answered, her voice annoyingly chirpy, given the circumstances.
"Hi, Hannah. How are you ? Saw your name in the paper about that terrible case you're working."
"Oh yes," she
The name was a shockwave of its own, bringing back memories that Hannah held tightly within.
"Not that it is connected to the shoes," Bauer said, "but I'm going to Cutter's Landing on Friday to see Wheaton."
There was a long silence. Bauer waited until Hannah spoke. "What does Marcus want?" Her tone was ice.
"I'm not sure. You know that Oregon can't hold him much longer. His time is about up. His health isn't great, and the state has no cause to keep him beyond his original sentencing--no matter what you've read."
"Oh," Hannah lied, "I'd forgotten that it was coming up. I haven't thought about Marcus for a long time."
It was another deceit. It was the kind of lie she had told herself. She thought about Marcus all the time, but she felt comfort in her thoughts. He was in prison. She knew where he was. He'd tried to contact her after the trial. His mother phoned her Aunt Leanna once in Misery Bay on Oregon's southern coast, urging her to bring Hannah to the prison to see the man who'd once loved her mother. Leanna refused.
"How often do you think about her ?" Bauer asked, meaning Hannah's mother, of course. There was no other her .
"The only time she doesn't come to mind is when I'm deep into my work," Hannah said, her voice catching a little. "It sounds pathetic, I'm sure, but I'm always a little too grateful for a really heinous case."
"It takes something real ugly to chase it from your mind," Bauer said. He felt sorry for her. "There's a lot to chase."
"You know," she said, her hands trembling, "the peculiar thing is that I've read Twenty in a Row so often that sometimes I'm not sure what I remember and what others wrote. Sometimes I think some memories that I hold to be true are just planted."
Bauer had a copy of the book on his bookcase. He instinctively glanced in its direction at its mention, its worn binding showing its age. " Twenty, " as aficionados of the case called it, was the first book on the Logan case and considered by most to be the best.
"One day," Bauer said before they said their goodbyes, "we'll know what really happened."
"Maybe so," Hannah said, wishing she didn't care anymore. "I hope so."
The hours flew by, though later, Hannah would plead with Ethan that she didn't even know what had preoccupied her to such a degree. It was not like her. Not at all. She was, she knew, a mother before anything else. A little after five, Hannah looked at her watch and jumped from her chair. In that instant she remembered how she had promised Ethan, who was busy with an inane ethics meeting, that she'd pick up Amber. How could she be late? She raced toward the after-school care offices, but by the time she arrived, they were closed. A janitor who spoke no English, at least that he admitted to, shrugged when she mentioned her daughter's name. Ten minutes later, she was in the driveway of their house on Loma Linda. Ethan's car was not out front, and her heart sank even lower.
Where was Amber?
"Honey!" she called out, but no one responded. "Amber, honey! Where are you?"
Hannah was frantic by then. She ran through the house, swinging open doors and pulling the covers from her daughter's unmade bed. She fell to her knees and peered under the bed.
"Let's not play the hiding game!" she called out. "If we are, then I give up. Come out."
She knew that was a ridiculous hope. They hadn't played that game for months, maybe longer than a year.
For any parent, the moment when a child is thought to be missing is the longest moment of a lifetime. Guilt, shame, fear, and hope converge in a stunning force that squeezes the breath from a person's lungs, male or female. Catch a breath. Take a second. She's here. She's with her father. She's at Maddie's.
Hannah dialed Maddie's house, and Elena Jackson answered, her voice annoyingly chirpy, given the circumstances.
"Hi, Hannah. How are you ? Saw your name in the paper about that terrible case you're working."
"Oh yes," she
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