“Yeah,” Shannon says. “Of course.”

“We can complete that at the station,” Kateri says. “There are some other questions I need to ask you, and Dr. Diaz has quite a bit of work to do.”

Diaz stands and reaches for Shannon’s hands.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says.

Shannon bows his head, letting her hold his hands. “Thanks,” he mutters.

Diaz nods toward the lanyard that hangs out of his pocket. “I’m quite fond of bears,” she says.

“Oh,” he says, and blushes hard and sudden, his face flared hot pink. “Me too,” he says.

Outside, the wind has picked up and blasts across the parking lot. Shannon hunches up his shoulders, but his ears and cheeks remain hot.

“I thought I had to see her,” he says inside the squad car. “I thought there was a body.”

Kateri shakes her head. “There are only pictures and things,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

She had no intention of telling him. She wanted to see how he reacted to the possibility of seeing the body. He has remained quiet, ashen, and pinched the entire time. Except for the blush, she thinks.

That afternoon, Hurt appears on the TV news in a black suit and a black-patterned tie. He looks taller, slightly older on-screen, his hair darker, his face more serious.

He announces that they have uncovered the body of a young deputy and that they are looking into possible foul play, with a suspect at large, who should be considered armed and dangerous. In addition, he says, they are investigating the disappearance of Pearl Jenkins and the connection to recently discovered remains inside Silver Lake Park.

“This is an ongoing investigation,” Hurt says, without mentioning the missing girl. “I’m unable to take your questions at this time.”

He steps away from the podium, and Chief Whittaker waves his hand to the crowd, dismissing them, and leans into the mic to say, “Thank you, Detective Hurt.”

In the hallway, he caves in a little. Kateri watches him as he closes his eyes, his spine curved forward like he’s folding inward.

“Joel,” she says, approaching.

“What time is it?” he asks her.

“Three thirty,” Kateri says.

“I need a drink,” Hurt says, and eyes her, tentative.

“I can handle a drink,” she says.

TEN: SHANNON

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 9

Bear Miller’s house was a mock Italian villa on the edge of town, one of the new houses going up in the luxury tract. In fact, his was the only house on its street, and empty lots in various stages of construction sat around it. They were all huge, five thousand or more square feet, Bear’s house with an in-ground swimming pool, a tennis court, a three-car garage.

It sat alone at the top of Fountain Street, the way my house sat alone at the bottom of Hidden Drive. Around it, poured-cement basements. No streetlights. Few trees, except where the woods began to encroach from behind.

He could kill me, I thought, and just have me poured into the foundation of another home. No one would ever know. I wasn’t even sure when someone would start looking.