The Dying Hour by Rick Mofina

here she was sitting in Stralla’s office. He opened a manila folder identified with neat block letters in felt-tip pen: KAREN KATHERINE HARDING .
    “Anything else come to mind today, Marlene?”
    A trace of cologne floated toward her after he opened the folder, clicked his ballpoint pen, and dated a clean note sheet.
    “I think I told you everything yesterday.”
    He held her in his gaze for a moment. Marlene’s voice was steady. She had been an experienced trauma nurse before becoming an OR nurse. Stralla had been a cop for too damned long. In their professions, they had seen more human devastation than people could imagine, a fact that gave rise to an unspoken mutual respect.
    “Have your parents been notified?”
    “Yes. They’re working with an aid group, delivering medicine in a mountain region of Guatemala. We’ve sent word through the embassy.”
    Stralla nodded.
    “You told me Karen has visited you before without calling first.”
    “A few times, yes.”
    “So this isn’t entirely out of character?”
    Marlene thought for a moment. Stralla made a mental note of her hesitation. “No.”
    “What’s your read on Luke Terrell?”
    “Bright. Karen loves him. Why? What about Luke?”
    “He told us he called her during a break at his job, they talked for a while, and everything was fine.”
    “That’s what he told me, too.”
    “But shortly after that call, she leaves Seattle heading north. She left without her cell phone in a storm. It tells me she was distracted by something. And the next morning Luke is in her apartment. What do you make of that?”
    “I know Luke and Karen had exchanged apartment keys. Luke told me he’d gone to her place to talk to her and was there when a deputy called looking for Karen. You think he’s hiding something?”
    “Maybe.” Stralla shrugged. “I’m just trying to get a full picture of Karen’s state of mind and the circumstances leading up to this.” He stared at the little circles he was making in his notes. “We just need to be certain everyone’s telling us all they know about Karen’s case.” He looked at Marlene. “Describe for me again how Karen was the last time you talked to her.”
    “Happy, looking forward to Africa.”
    “She mention any problems with debts, school, drugs, Luke? Any little thing or person that troubled her enough that she would’ve mentioned it?”
    Marlene shook her head, then stopped.
    “She’d mentioned one man, actually she thought it was funny, but he liked to touch women a lot.”
    “Touch women?”
    “She said he just put his hand on their shoulders sometimes when he talked. Demonstrative. She thought it was forward, not rude. All women know men like that.”
    “She ever say his name, or where she knew this guy?”
    “Honestly, I don’t know. It was a little thing she’d mentioned about three months ago over the phone. I don’t know but it’s possible she’d met him through the college or one of her church charity groups. You think someone followed her?”
    “We can’t rule out anything.”
    Stralla collected his notes. Because Marlene had filed the official missing person’s report and was Karen’s closest relative, she’d signed off on Stralla to check her sister’s bank and credit card activity. Nothing so far. Stralla closed the file folder. Time to return to the 539 site.
    “Is my sister dead?”
    Stralla hadn’t expected the question.
    “Because”—Marlene’s voice was ragged—“you and I know how most of these cases end, so you tell me right now if you think my sister’s dead. You tell me.”
    Stralla recalled images of corpses, autopsies, and funerals and knew the odds were against them here.
    “We don’t know if Karen’s dead. No evidence has surfaced telling us she’d been hurt. Right now, all we know is that she’s missing under unusual circumstances. Until we have answers, all we have are more questions.”
    Marlene searched Stralla’s face for deception until she was