“That’s what we do,” Montrose says. “Let’s talk over there.” He indicates the sun-bleached cedar deck of the Wisteria, the cabin Sophie and I had rented for the long weekend.

I provide the basics. The weekend at Hood Canal was a surprise. Sophie said I never plan anything special for the family, and I knew she was right. I saw an article in the Seattle Times that reminded me about a trio of 1920s cabins near Lilliwaup that had been lovingly restored. Each was named for a flower by the previous horticulturalist owners. Sophie loves old homes; that’s the reason we’ve been living in sawdust and commotion for the past five years as we restore an espresso-brown 1922 Seattle Craftsman.

I look at Lee across a weathered picnic table. She’s scribbling notes.

“I thought it would be fun. I thought we’d have a chance to relax, unplug. Focus on our family.”

“Have there been problems?” Montrose asks.

I shake my head. “Just too much work. Too little time to just enjoy life. Nothing more than that.”

There is more than that, of course. There is in every marriage. And yet, as I sit there with the detectives, I know that none of that needs to find its way into anyone’s notebook.

“Adam,” Lee says, “I’m sure this will be difficult. I need you to tell us everything that happened. Don’t skip the slightest detail. What might seem inconsequential to you might be the key to finding out who took your wife.”

“And where she is now,” I say.

“Right,” she says. “Where she is. That’s why we’re here.”

I couldn’t get off work from SkyAero early Friday because my director was up to her neck in some kind of leadership training that’s supposed to make her more effective with our team. She insisted that I stay to run some reports so she could focus on learning more ways to help her team members create work-life balance. The irony of this wasn’t lost on me.

Sophie and Aubrey took the Seattle–Bremerton ferry and arrived at the Wisteria cabin first, at about five thirty. I drove down from the Renton plant where I work and crossed over the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, coming up through Belfair to Lilliwaup, getting to the cabin a little before eight.

I explain all of this to the detectives while Montrose writes and Lee listens.

“Did anyone see you arrive?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think so. Teresa—that’s the woman watching Aubrey now—had her windows open and lights on when I got here. She probably saw me arrive. Or her grandkids did.”

“What about the other cabin?” Lee asks.

I want to skip to what happened, but I’m following their directions to ensure that I provide every detail.

“A couple driving a blue Lexus arrived late last night,” I say. “But I didn’t talk to them.”