far edge of the yellow tape, quietly took a State Patrol trooper aside, and asked for Detective Stralla. The trooper made a radio check, then nodded to a Sawridge four-by-four among the police vehicles. As Jason approached it, calculating the time he had to get back to Seattle for his shift, the driver’s-side window lowered.
“I’m Jason Wade, from the Mirror. ”
Stralla remained in his truck, shook Jason’s hand, observed his stubble and earring. Still, he warmed to the young reporter, maybe for his pursuit of the story, maybe for that ‘69 Falcon.
Jason recognized the woman who was sitting next to Stralla from news pictures. “You’re Karen’s sister?”
“Yes,” Marlene Clark said before Stralla cut in.
“You said you needed to talk about Luke Terrell.”
“You want to do this here?”
“Here’s good.”
“Okay.” Jason flipped through his notes. “I’ve got a few questions, to confirm some things for a story. Luke told me he’d called Karen from his bartending job the night she left Seattle. Is that right?”
“That’s right, he was working that night.”
“He said that in their conversation everything was fine. Is that true? Is that what he told you?”
Stralla and Marlene exchanged glances.
“What people tell us at first is not always clear,” Stralla said.
“So Luke gave you one story, and gave me another.”
“He could be inconsistent on his conversation with Karen.”
“So everything was not fine between Luke and Karen in the time before she left,” Jason said. “I mean, he was in her apartment the next morning, looking through it aggressively, according to the noises her neighbor heard.”
“What’re you trying to say?” Stralla checked the time.
“I think they had a monumental argument, that he’s not telling the whole story here, that maybe he lied to me.”
Stralla was impressed with Jason. He was smart. “Could be Luke got mixed up a bit there. We’re working on a time line,” he said.
“Well, if that’s the case, do you consider Luke a suspect?”
Marlene turned away and looked at the slopes.
“Hold on,” Stralla said as his phone began ringing and he shifted to get it. “It’s too soon to be pointing any fingers. We’re still sorting through things.” He took his call. “Stralla,” he said, then ended it with a terse “we’re on our way” and turned the ignition. “Jason, we’ve got to go.”
Frustrated, Jason pleaded for a few more minutes. As the motor idled, Marlene answered a few quick questions about Karen, then removed two nice photos from her wallet for Jason to use in the paper.
When he returned to his car, he called the Mirror, leaving a message on Ron Nestor’s voice mail telling him about the story. As he drove, he went over it in his head. Nothing made sense. Miles later, he was closer to Seattle but nowhere near the truth behind Karen Harding’s disappearance.
In the newsroom, Jason looked at the pictures of Karen Harding.
There was one of her on the beach. In another, she was baking at a charity for an African cultural fair. In another, she was radiant beside Luke, arms around his neck, snowcapped Mount Baker behind them. A young woman who wanted to devote herself to helping the children of the world’s poorest nations.
Vanished.
There’s the lead, Jason thought, beginning his story when Astrid Grant tapped his shoulder.
“I get a shared byline on that story.”
“Excuse me?”
“This morning Ron Nestor assigned me to find Harding’s sister and boyfriend for a feature.”
“Yeah, and you couldn’t find them. You never left the newsroom.”
“You’re hogging this story, Jason. No one knew you were out there doing the same thing on your time. God, don’t you ever sleep!”
“I broke this story and I’m going to stay on it.”
“I could’ve been working on my lottery winners feature. I wasted my morning because you never called it in.”
“I did. I called in once I had the interviews
“I’m Jason Wade, from the Mirror. ”
Stralla remained in his truck, shook Jason’s hand, observed his stubble and earring. Still, he warmed to the young reporter, maybe for his pursuit of the story, maybe for that ‘69 Falcon.
Jason recognized the woman who was sitting next to Stralla from news pictures. “You’re Karen’s sister?”
“Yes,” Marlene Clark said before Stralla cut in.
“You said you needed to talk about Luke Terrell.”
“You want to do this here?”
“Here’s good.”
“Okay.” Jason flipped through his notes. “I’ve got a few questions, to confirm some things for a story. Luke told me he’d called Karen from his bartending job the night she left Seattle. Is that right?”
“That’s right, he was working that night.”
“He said that in their conversation everything was fine. Is that true? Is that what he told you?”
Stralla and Marlene exchanged glances.
“What people tell us at first is not always clear,” Stralla said.
“So Luke gave you one story, and gave me another.”
“He could be inconsistent on his conversation with Karen.”
“So everything was not fine between Luke and Karen in the time before she left,” Jason said. “I mean, he was in her apartment the next morning, looking through it aggressively, according to the noises her neighbor heard.”
“What’re you trying to say?” Stralla checked the time.
“I think they had a monumental argument, that he’s not telling the whole story here, that maybe he lied to me.”
Stralla was impressed with Jason. He was smart. “Could be Luke got mixed up a bit there. We’re working on a time line,” he said.
“Well, if that’s the case, do you consider Luke a suspect?”
Marlene turned away and looked at the slopes.
“Hold on,” Stralla said as his phone began ringing and he shifted to get it. “It’s too soon to be pointing any fingers. We’re still sorting through things.” He took his call. “Stralla,” he said, then ended it with a terse “we’re on our way” and turned the ignition. “Jason, we’ve got to go.”
Frustrated, Jason pleaded for a few more minutes. As the motor idled, Marlene answered a few quick questions about Karen, then removed two nice photos from her wallet for Jason to use in the paper.
When he returned to his car, he called the Mirror, leaving a message on Ron Nestor’s voice mail telling him about the story. As he drove, he went over it in his head. Nothing made sense. Miles later, he was closer to Seattle but nowhere near the truth behind Karen Harding’s disappearance.
In the newsroom, Jason looked at the pictures of Karen Harding.
There was one of her on the beach. In another, she was baking at a charity for an African cultural fair. In another, she was radiant beside Luke, arms around his neck, snowcapped Mount Baker behind them. A young woman who wanted to devote herself to helping the children of the world’s poorest nations.
Vanished.
There’s the lead, Jason thought, beginning his story when Astrid Grant tapped his shoulder.
“I get a shared byline on that story.”
“Excuse me?”
“This morning Ron Nestor assigned me to find Harding’s sister and boyfriend for a feature.”
“Yeah, and you couldn’t find them. You never left the newsroom.”
“You’re hogging this story, Jason. No one knew you were out there doing the same thing on your time. God, don’t you ever sleep!”
“I broke this story and I’m going to stay on it.”
“I could’ve been working on my lottery winners feature. I wasted my morning because you never called it in.”
“I did. I called in once I had the interviews
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