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Back Snow Creek
Chapters (57)
  1. Books by Gregg Olsen
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Hear More from Gregg
  55. Books by Gregg Olsen
  56. A Letter from Gregg
  57. Acknowledgements

Tony Gray does know me. What I allow him to know. He’s seen something on my face that I didn’t hide from him. Or maybe couldn’t. It’s true I’m stressed. I guess, with the Wheaton case, things that I’d forgotten, suppressed, have come at me with a vengeance.

“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just need to confirm our vic and find her husband.”

Twelve

Back in my kitchen I rifle through my completely subpar pantry for something to eat, though I’m not really that hungry. The photos of Jane Doe have worked as an appetite suppressant which would be some kind of benefit if I were overweight. But I’m not. The indignity of murder doesn’t stop at the point where life ceases to exist. It’s a continuum. The victim from Snow Creek was treated like trash. Disposed of. Like she was nothing. Killers like hers invite others to enjoy the impact of the crime. The kids who found her. The team that investigates the crime and goes home to their wives or sisters with the picture of what happened to Jane forever in their consciousness.

And then the line becomes a circle when the loved ones learn what happened.

I know all of that.

I’ve experienced all of that.

Now I wonder if that little tape recorder and the box of tapes had been a good idea. It’s brought me back to a time and place that I’ve wanted to forget yet can’t. I look around for something stronger than wine, but in reality, I’m not much of a drinker. I should be. I have reason to. I should be a raging alcoholic by now. No one would blame me if I were. Sure, they’d feel sorry for me.

If they knew.

Only three people know the sum of everything I’ve done. Hayden, Dr. Albright and me.

A few like the sheriff know the end of my story, not the beginning. As I swallow my wine and stare at the box, I hope more than ever that no one knows the middle. That’s the part that makes me question who I really am.

And why I did what I did.

My hand swipes lightly over the tapes. They are numbered by date. I take a deep breath as I pull out the one from my second session with Dr. Albright. I remember thinking at the time that she had the kind of effect that suggested she was a genuine do-gooder, not some poseur there to enjoy the troubles of others, as though what unfolded during each session was only about entertainment.

I take a breath and press the button.

I hear her calming voice reminding me.