I watch him as he pushes back the crowd, parting it enough so I can see that she’s out of the water now and on a gurney, coming my way. A deputy is holding up a blanket to give her some privacy or to spare the onlookers from a real-life horror show. I’m not sure which it is. From where I sit on the back of that ambulance, I can see it all: a chalky-white body rolling toward me. My hand goes to my mouth. I might be sick.

Sophie’s eyes are open. They stare up into the nothingness of death. I think of a fish in the market just then, looking up from the crushed ice that surrounds it. Seeing nothing. I only glance over her eyes. Seeing her looking at me is a jolt that makes me turn away. I can’t speak. I know they want me to say that it’s her. And it is. There’s no doubt about it. But it seems my lips won’t move. The deputies look at me like I’m an alien, but I can’t help it. I can’t explain my muteness. I just sit there leaning over her and trying not to vomit.

“Is this your wife?” asks the older of the two that were apparently assigned to me.

My eyes meet his. He’s full of sympathy, but just beyond that he’s giving me that look that indicates he’s very glad that it’s me and not him. I see that look at work when I make an unpopular assignment. Better you than me. I blink and remove my glasses. My voice croaks out a response.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s Sophie. That’s her.”

I don’t move. I sit there. The crowd parts again. This time, it’s for Lee Husemann and Zach Montrose. The detectives from Mason County are back.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LEE

Adam watches his wife’s body from a few yards away. On his face, he wears the saddest look I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen plenty in my ten years in law enforcement. I’ve seen a mother holding her lifeless baby outside a burning house. A father throw himself in front of a car when he found out that his wife had killed herself. The endless tears that come from the kind of grief everyone can recognize as inconsolable but are unable to really feel until it becomes their turn. Adam looks pale. His eyes are red. I think he’s shaking as he looks over in my direction. This is what a broken heart looks like.

Montrose checks in with the techs and the responding officers. Our county is too small for a coroner. Kitsap County, just to the east, handles suspicious deaths for us. This quite obviously is one of those.

“Where are you going to take her?” Adam asks me.

“They’ll take her to Bremerton, where she’ll be autopsied and examined by Kitsap’s forensic pathologist. We’ll find out what happened to her.”

“I saw what happened,” he says, some anger working its way to the forefront.