whom Allison recognized as Senator Fairview put his arm around Katie’s father and drew him away, murmuring softly. They were joined by a tall, slender woman whom Allison guessed must be Katie’s mom.
On an easel near the school’s front doors, a huge blown-up photo of Katie watched the crowd. She was grinning, her eyes as blue as the bright sky behind her. The photo had been blown up so large that every one of her freckles was clear. Allison joined the others gathered before the make-shift shrine erected in front of the photo. More than a dozen votive candles flickered inside glass enclosures. Heaped around them were stuffed animals, snapshots of Katie, a drawing of a dove held in place by a pebble, a ceramic kneeling angel, and a dozen bouquets of flowers, still wrapped in plastic.
On each side of Allison, girls stood in clumps, their arms around each other, their faces shiny with tears as they contemplated the potential loss of their friend. Their tears, Allison thought, came as much from disbelief as they did from pain. And maybe there was a measure of fear, too, fear that whoever had snatched Katie could come for them next.
Allison closed her eyes and prayed wordlessly.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a woman slowly walking along the edge of the crowd, filming people’s faces with a digital video camera small enough to fit into her palm. Scanning the rest of the gathering, Allison picked out two men dressed in plainclothes, filming the faces that glowed in the light of candles. A uniformed police officer approached one, indicating a part of the crowd with a jerk of his chin. The cameraman turned. Allison tried to figure out who they were looking at, but she couldn’t tell. She suddenly remembered the man in the navy blue parka, but when she looked around the crowd, she couldn’t see him anymore.
She did spot Nicole, who acknowledged her with a nod and then went back to watching the crowd, her expression fierce and alert. Nicole was here for professional reasons, while Allison’s were more complicated, personal as well as professional. She thought about the fragility of life, about Katie and Lindsay and the new life inside her.
The crowd began to sing “How Great Thou Art.” In the flickering, golden light of the candles, their faces looked serene and ghostly. Their voices raised gooseflesh on Allison’s arms, despite her warm coat. Without a piano or even a pitch pipe, they were perfectly in tune. Without a director, they still found the same rhythm, still started and stopped each line at the same time.
In their unrehearsed and implausible perfection, Allison felt the presence of the Holy Spirit.
But when she looked out at the blackness that surrounded them, she felt something else. Evil. Waiting.
NORTHWEST PORTLAND
December 18
A s she drove to the Converses’ house,Nic felt exhausted. She had stayed at the vigil until every last person had gone, paying particularly close attention to those who lingered, those who wept until they could barely stand—and those who caught a glimpse of one of the cameras filming the crowd and quickly turned their backs.
And she knew this was only the beginning. Today was a Saturday, but for the time being, weekends were only a theory. You worked this kind of case until it was finished, and until then there weren’t any days off. This could eat her life up—bones and all—before it was over. She had already made arrangements for Makayla to temporarily stay with her own parents. She hadn’t seen her daughter since the day before yesterday. Nic was giving up time with her own precious child to help another family find theirs.
At least she had been in the FBI long enough that she was no longer considered a rookie. When you were the newest agent, you got handed a stack of cases no one else wanted to work, took the territory no one else wanted to drive, and drove it using the oldest car in the fleet. When every-one else went to lunch, you stayed behind to answer the
On an easel near the school’s front doors, a huge blown-up photo of Katie watched the crowd. She was grinning, her eyes as blue as the bright sky behind her. The photo had been blown up so large that every one of her freckles was clear. Allison joined the others gathered before the make-shift shrine erected in front of the photo. More than a dozen votive candles flickered inside glass enclosures. Heaped around them were stuffed animals, snapshots of Katie, a drawing of a dove held in place by a pebble, a ceramic kneeling angel, and a dozen bouquets of flowers, still wrapped in plastic.
On each side of Allison, girls stood in clumps, their arms around each other, their faces shiny with tears as they contemplated the potential loss of their friend. Their tears, Allison thought, came as much from disbelief as they did from pain. And maybe there was a measure of fear, too, fear that whoever had snatched Katie could come for them next.
Allison closed her eyes and prayed wordlessly.
When she opened her eyes, she saw a woman slowly walking along the edge of the crowd, filming people’s faces with a digital video camera small enough to fit into her palm. Scanning the rest of the gathering, Allison picked out two men dressed in plainclothes, filming the faces that glowed in the light of candles. A uniformed police officer approached one, indicating a part of the crowd with a jerk of his chin. The cameraman turned. Allison tried to figure out who they were looking at, but she couldn’t tell. She suddenly remembered the man in the navy blue parka, but when she looked around the crowd, she couldn’t see him anymore.
She did spot Nicole, who acknowledged her with a nod and then went back to watching the crowd, her expression fierce and alert. Nicole was here for professional reasons, while Allison’s were more complicated, personal as well as professional. She thought about the fragility of life, about Katie and Lindsay and the new life inside her.
The crowd began to sing “How Great Thou Art.” In the flickering, golden light of the candles, their faces looked serene and ghostly. Their voices raised gooseflesh on Allison’s arms, despite her warm coat. Without a piano or even a pitch pipe, they were perfectly in tune. Without a director, they still found the same rhythm, still started and stopped each line at the same time.
In their unrehearsed and implausible perfection, Allison felt the presence of the Holy Spirit.
But when she looked out at the blackness that surrounded them, she felt something else. Evil. Waiting.
NORTHWEST PORTLAND
December 18
A s she drove to the Converses’ house,Nic felt exhausted. She had stayed at the vigil until every last person had gone, paying particularly close attention to those who lingered, those who wept until they could barely stand—and those who caught a glimpse of one of the cameras filming the crowd and quickly turned their backs.
And she knew this was only the beginning. Today was a Saturday, but for the time being, weekends were only a theory. You worked this kind of case until it was finished, and until then there weren’t any days off. This could eat her life up—bones and all—before it was over. She had already made arrangements for Makayla to temporarily stay with her own parents. She hadn’t seen her daughter since the day before yesterday. Nic was giving up time with her own precious child to help another family find theirs.
At least she had been in the FBI long enough that she was no longer considered a rookie. When you were the newest agent, you got handed a stack of cases no one else wanted to work, took the territory no one else wanted to drive, and drove it using the oldest car in the fleet. When every-one else went to lunch, you stayed behind to answer the
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