On the day Michelle left, two and a half months earlier, she had termed her departure a trial separation. “A chance for both of us to get our acts together,” she had said tearfully. They had spoken only a handful of times since. Neither had mentioned working toward reconciliation though Kilburn thought of it often. He missed her, especially their lazy mornings together. He loved to wake up before her and watch her sleep. Michelle never looked more beautiful than with the strands of blond hair draped across her oval face. At thirty-two she had a wrinkle-free complexion dotted with numerous freckles and flat moles, which only intensified her fragile beauty. She was so peaceful in sleep, never moving an inch. She always slept in an oversized T-shirt, facing him on her side with arms tucked close to her body. He loved to wake her up with kisses or a gentle neck massage. Sometimes they would make sleepy love. Other times they would curl up in bed together and share sections of the paper over coffee and croissants.

Resisting the temptation to pick up his cell and call her, he popped his niece’s John Mayer CD in the stereo. It wasn’t much of a distraction. The melancholic lyrics reminded him even more of Michelle.

Frustrated, Kilburn tried to suppress his memories of Michelle, but only bleak thoughts took their place. He envisioned the funerals of Thomas Mallek and Parminder Singh. The oppressive grief felt for the young victims must have been palpable on both occasions.

Had Angie Fischer unknowingly spread that same anguish to Seattle?

31 - Struble Lake, Pennsylvania

31

Struble Lake, Pennsylvania

By 6:45 A.M., the sun had risen above the low clouds on the horizon and the cool dawn had given way to morning. The man carrying Wayne Forbes’s ID slipped out of his fleece jacket, enjoying the growing warmth.

The moment he shut off the engine on the stolen ten-foot boat, the lake grew remarkably still. Without another vessel in sight, it looked as if he could have stepped off the boat on a pair of ice skates and skated the half mile to shore.

Forbes carefully disassembled his fishing rod. He loaded the rod, reel, and other accessories into the triple-layered plastic garbage bag with a cinder block at the bottom. He triple-tied the knot on the bag. Lifting the bag over the side of his boat, Forbes gently lowered it into the water. Then he watched the spot where it had sunk for at least five minutes until he was convinced it had gone to the bottom.

Forbes cracked his neck from side to side and stretched. It felt good to have finished his work so early in the day. He sat down and poured himself a cup of tea from his thermos.