“I’m really sorry, Lee.”

I don’t know why, but I get on my knees to comfort him.

“I know, Adam,” I say. “It will be all right.”

I’m back on Tamarack Lane in Shelton. But now Adam Warner is under the branches of the plum tree. He’s asking for help. I’m reaching down for him and promising to take him home.

And as he did to me, I lie.

“It will be okay.”

“Kristen did all of this,” he says.

“I know,” I tell him.

I look at his handsome face, his stylish glasses now splattered with tiny specks of blood. I wonder what turned the boy who rescued me into a monster. I find it hard to breathe, but I know I’m breathing. I wonder if anyone can ever know the reasons why we do the things we do. Even the most terrible things. His eyes are starting to dim.

I hear sirens.

“Hang on, Adam,” I say. “Help is on the way.”

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

LEE

Adam Warner survived only to face murder charges after the labs went back for a second review of blood samples taken at Sophie Warner’s autopsy and discovered trace amounts of GHB. It’s one of those drugs that isn’t part of the standard tox screen. No one looks for it unless you think it might be there.

Oyster gatherers had found Connor’s red jacket but didn’t know it was part of the criminal case until Linda London made a news report about what had really happened in the cabins not far from Octopus Hole. Kristen and Adam had left it out on the water after Sophie was supposedly abducted. It was the kind of mistake that could easily have been their undoing—the jacket was purchased at Nordstrom in Seattle. A receipt carelessly left inside a pocket indicated Kristen’s account. It had been part of her disguise. Synthetic wig hairs were recovered from the straw hat.

The blow-up doll.

It was true. Kristen’s last words had not been a lie.

One thing, however, had been.

Dr. Collier called me about Kristen’s autopsy.

“I read your report,” she said. “Saw all the notes on her quest for a baby. Holy mackerel. I hope you’re sitting down.”

I wasn’t. But I said I was.

“Kristen couldn’t have a baby. She didn’t have any ovaries. Born without them. She had what we call ovarian agenesis.”

“But she was seeing a fertility doctor,” I said.

“I checked on that too. Dr. Yamada is a psychiatrist. Once you get back to work you’ll want to see if you can get him to talk to you. Interesting case, I bet. She was trying everything she could to get pregnant, but she didn’t have the goods to get there. I wonder if her husband knew?”