Chapters (57)
- Books by Gregg Olsen
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Hear More from Gregg
- Books by Gregg Olsen
- A Letter from Gregg
- Acknowledgements
“I actually don’t care. If she did swim away, she never came back here. Some best friend. It wasn’t exactly as though I didn’t need some support. After what happened to my mom.”
This girl is unbelievable. I don’t want to start an altercation, but I would like to call her bluff. Instead, I press on.
“Did she have a boyfriend?” I ask, taking it down a notch. “Someone else she’d confide in?”
“None of us have boyfriends. Yeah, we see boys when we can. We just don’t cling to anyone.”
“Right,” I say.
Wrong, I think.
Tyra tells me that she has to get back to what she was doing.
“I don’t really have anything else to tell you about Ellie.”
Her father appears and leads me to the door.
Just like that.
Over.
It’s too dark to look for Ellie’s phone. Ms. Potter would definitely call the Seattle police if she caught me poking around her yard with a flashlight. I look at the time. If I hurry, I can make the ferry. Or I could take the scenic route and cross the Tacoma Narrows Bridge and get home that way.
Or I could do what I know I’m going to do.
Texting is an easier way to lie than leaving a voice message.
Sheriff Gray is in bed now anyway. I don’t want to wake him.
I sit in my car and type.
Missed the last boat and don’t feel like driving around.
Be in tomorrow late. Will give update then.
Thirty-Six
My room at the SeaTac Red Roof Inn has a view of a cemetery and traffic on the busy Pacific Highway, most notorious as the hunting ground of one of our many local serial killers. Gary Ridgway cruised the stretch of highway looking for dates. Dates that he would strangle and pitch in clusters, most notably along the nearby Green River.
I barely slept, and my face shows it. I’m too young to look this beat-up, tired. I don’t feel tired. In fact, I’m energized by the case. I shower, brush my teeth with a courtesy toothbrush that leaves bristles in my mouth and I dress in the same clothes I wore yesterday.
It’s the walk-of-shame look, though I’m fifteen years too old for that. And unprepared. I decide to put a change of clothes in the back of the Taurus in future.
Just in case.
I don’t imagine that Chantelle Potter is a shift worker and needs to be in the office by seven. I don’t have a warrant and I need her permission to search for the missing phone. It’s 7:30 when I arrive.
The drapes are open. That means, at least to me, that she’s up.