The next sequence was an interview outtake from the profile. Courtney looked beautiful and relaxed in her living room—the same living room where the police had unearthed traces of blood. Courtney was talking—and signing: “I’ve been writing stories ever since I was a kid. And even though the first Defective Squad book came out five years ago, I’m just starting to make a name for myself. I hope it doesn’t sound conceited, but I feel like I’m on the brink of becoming famous.”
The image on-screen switched to George’s photo montage of Courtney and Russ looking so beautiful and happy together. “Courtney has been married to Seattle pediatrician Russell Knoll for six years,” Anna’s voice-over explained. “I met the couple for dinner at Canlis restaurant on Thursday night.”
George’s shot of the restaurant at night came up on the screen.
Next came the part of the story that Anna had struggled over until the very last minute. She still wasn’t happy with it. “Courtney had too much to drink and became rather argumentative. Dr. Knoll drove us to their floating home on Lake Union . . .” George had gotten some good shots of the $2.5 million house. “But I wasn’t feeling well, so Dr. Knoll took me home. Instead of returning to his house, he went for a drive. According to Dr. Knoll, he wanted to avoid going home until he thought Courtney would be asleep. But when he returned to their house at around two-thirty in the morning, his wife was gone.”
There was another shot of the floating home—this time, George had pulled back to include the police boat, the helicopter, the diver, and the men searching the water with hooks on telescoping poles.
“I spoke with Seattle Police Detective Kit Baumann, in charge of the investigation.”
Anna had interviewed the detective in front of the house about an hour ago. Obviously still battling her hot flashes, Baumann held a battery-operated, personal mini-fan in front of her face—right up until George was ready to shoot. She looked cool and collected in the interview. “Dr. Knoll noticed one of his wife’s suitcases was missing—along with some of her belongings,” Baumann said. “He said he thought she might have packed up and left in the middle of the night. But he called several people on Friday, and they hadn’t seen her. When Courtney didn’t show up for a book signing on Bainbridge Island at noon on Saturday, Dr. Knoll notified us that his wife was missing. A check of Courtney Knoll’s phone and credit cards has shown no activity since Thursday.”
Before the interview had started, while Baumann had still been cooling herself with the fan, Anna had asked about the traces of blood they’d found in Russ and Courtney’s house. “We won’t be discussing that,” the detective had growled. “I heard from Dr. Knoll about it. He wasn’t supposed to know. The results of the luminol tests aren’t conclusive yet. At this point, it could be old animal blood or urine or even bleach. If I find out who’s responsible for leaking that little item to your boss, I’m kicking his ass from here to Walla Walla. If you ask me about that on camera, I’ll end the interview.”
For the piece, Anna had asked if there had been signs of a break-in or a struggle in the Knolls’ home.
“There was no apparent sign of a break-in, but some items are missing from the house,” the detective answered for the camera. “It’s possible Courtney may have packed them. Our forensics team is still searching the house for clues that might help us determine Courtney’s whereabouts.”
“Have they eliminated the possibility of foul play?” Anna asked.
While they’d been editing the piece, George had made fun of her for the way she’d asked the question. He’d claimed, “I’m sorry, but it sounds so corny, like something Brenda Starr would ask.”
But Baumann hadn’t found it amusing. “No, we haven’t eliminated that as a possible cause for Ms. Knoll’s disappearance,” she answered glumly.
“Has Dr. Knoll been helpful with your investigation?” Anna couldn’t help asking. She knew people would automatically suspect him, and she wanted it on record that he was working with the police on this.
Detective Baumann nodded. “Yes, Dr. Knoll has been very cooperative. And if any of your viewers think they might help us locate Courtney, they can call our missing persons hotline: 1-800-MISSING.”
While this prerecorded portion ran, Anna kept glancing over at the long-haired man with the camera—aimed at her. The search crew continued to explore the water around the dock. But most distracting of all was what was happening near the dock’s entrance gate. Three cars and two more news vans had shown up—all within the last couple of minutes. Reporters clustered at the dock gate. Anna wondered if the other reporters had just gotten the same unconfirmed story about the luminol test.
George waved at her, cuing her for the live wrap-up.
She quickly turned her focus on George and his camera. “That missing person hotline number is once again, 1-800-MISSING. And they’ll be taking calls twenty-four hours a day. This is Anna Malone on Lake Union for KIXI-TV News. David . . .”
In her earpiece, she heard the anchorman, David Powers, thank her. “Anna Malone profiled Courtney on Friday’s KIXI-TV News. You can view the segment online. Just go to KIXI-TV-News-dot-com.”
George gave her the cut signal.
Switching off and lowering the mic, Anna squinted over toward the dock gate, which someone had just opened. The reporters charged down the dock toward her with their cameras and mics.
Anna turned to George. “What’s going on?” Then she looked at the long-haired stranger, who took a few steps closer to her. “Excuse me, but who are you?” she asked.
Before the man or George could answer her, the reporters and cameramen descended on her. It was a small group—only eight people—but the aggressive way they rushed toward her was intimidating. A few called to her.
“Anna!” one woman yelled, louder than the others. Anna recognized the blonde from a rival news team. She wore a red sweater set and waved a handheld mic at her. “Anna, do you have any comment on the allegations Sally Justice made about you and Dr. Knoll?”
“Is it true?” a male reporter shouted over his colleague. “Are you having an affair with Courtney’s husband?”
“Did you and Russell Knoll kill Courtney?” someone else yelled.
Stunned, Anna recoiled from all the mics shoved in front of her face. The cameras were all aimed at her. She shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Past the small mob of reporters, she saw the tall, long-haired man recording the scene with his camera. He was grinning.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sunday, July 12—5:24 P.M.
The blonde reporter and her cameraman just wouldn’t give up.
When that pack of pushy reporters on Russ and Courtney’s dock descended on her, Anna decided to get the hell out of there. She’d bolted for the dock gate—just as another reporter had arrived. She’d headed for the news van. But the persistent duo had followed her for two blocks toward where George had parked the vehicle.
“C’mon, Anna!” the blonde called, trailing behind her. “Just give us a statement! Has Sally Justice been in touch with you about tomorrow’s show? How long have you known Russell Knoll?”
Approaching the van, Anna reached into her purse for the key and realized George had it. She swiveled around and saw him, nearly a block away, hurrying to catch up.
The blonde thrust her mic in Anna’s face, and the cameraman started recording. “Anna, any comment about tomorrow’s Sally Justice Show?”
“I don’t watch it,” she said, out of breath. She shook her head. “I’m not a fan. Now, give me a break, guys. I’m not the story.” She nodded in the direction of Russ and Courtney’s dock. “The story is about the missing woman who lives back there.”
Lugging his camera equipment, George came up behind the blonde and her cameraman. “C’mon, get lost,” he said to the two of them. Breathing hard and perspiring, he took the key fob out of his pocket and aimed it at the van.
Anna heard the vehicle beep. Then she quickly opened the door and climbed into the
passenger side. Checking the side mirror, she watched the annoying reporter and her cameraman finally give up and head down the street—toward Courtney and Russ’s place.
George loaded his camera in the back and then opened the driver’s door and scooted behind the wheel.
“God, what took you so long?” Anna asked, frazzled.
He shut the driver’s door. “I stuck around for a minute to find out what the hell was going on.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “Some reporter you are. You’re suddenly the focus of a news story, and you don’t even bother to find out what it is. You just turn and run.”
“Well, what did you expect me to do? That was insane. They were on the attack—like an angry mob. All that was missing were the torches and pitchforks.”
“You know that tall hippie guy we noticed when we first got there?”
Anna nodded. “Yeah, he was really starting to get on my nerves.”
“Well, I should have smelled a rat when I first saw him. It took me a while to recognize the guy. He’s a freelancer, Norbert Jobst. He does a lot of work for Sally Justice.” George took out his phone and started working on the screen keyboard with his thumbs. “Apparently, tomorrow’s Sally Justice Show is all about Courtney’s disappearance. Sally claims you and Dr. Knoll aren’t giving everyone the full story—or some such bullshit.”
“Oh God, no,” Anna muttered.
“Sally started running promo pieces for the show about a half hour ago. And . . . aha . . . I think this is it.” He showed the phone screen to Anna and turned up the volume.
A photo flashed on the screen of the Botoxed blonde, sixtysomething Sally Justice—along with The Sally Justice Show in its familiar bold font. The half-hour show ran five days a week on the 24/7 News Network.
“Tomorrow on The Sally Justice Show, the Courtney Knoll case . . . ,” Sally announced in her slightly loud, gravelly voice-over. Her narration here was accompanied by pulsating background music that must have been the soundtrack to an action thriller.
The onscreen image switched to a video clip of Courtney from an interview she’d done a year ago. Sally’s voice-over continued: “A beautiful, talented author, who overcame her hearing loss to make the top of the bestseller lists, has disappeared.”
There was a shot that Norbert Jobst must have taken earlier today—of the house and all the police activity around it. “Is she missing—or murdered?” Sally asked in voice-over.
The next clip showed a dark room with a tile floor marred by some bluish, luminescent splatter marks. “Seattle Police have uncovered the evidence at Courtney’s house—luminol tests that picked up traces of blood . . . blood left behind by a ruthless killer.”
Then the soundtrack turned somewhat salacious as side-by-side photos of Russ and Anna appeared on the screen. Russ looked handsome, and in the unflattering shot of Anna, she had an uncharacteristic haughty pout. “This is the husband who waited two whole days before he reported his wife missing, and the local TV reporter he was with on the night his wife vanished . . . what they’re not telling the police!”
The picture switched to a signature clip, which must have been a couple of years old: Sally in a black suit, turning toward the camera with her arms folded in front of her. “On the next Sally Justice Show!” she exclaimed. “It’s what everyone’s talking about!”
“Oh crap,” George said, pausing the video.
Anna was speechless. She was thinking about Russ: Had he seen this? Had the press tracked him down at his hotel? Were they hounding him right now?
George patted her arm. “Listen, something like this was bound to happen, right? This is typical Sally Justice sensationalized garbage. People are going to see through the bullshit.”
He started to replay the video.
“Tomorrow on The Sally Justice Show, the Courtney Knoll case . . .”
Anna nervously rubbed her forehead. “Oh please, not again.”
“I want to check something out,” he said, turning down the volume. He studied the phone screen. “Just what I thought, this shot of the luminol test. This wasn’t taken in Courtney’s house. That’s not her floor. It must be a stock photo. Whoever leaked the news about the luminol test must have told a bunch of people.” He shook his head. “And where did they dig up this picture of you? It’s the worst.” He laughed, but when he turned toward her, the smile ran away from his face.
Anna had automatically reached into her purse and taken out her phone. Now she realized George was staring at her. She hesitated.
“You were about to call him, weren’t you?” he whispered.
“Who?” She wanted to stash the phone back into her purse, but it was too late.
“Knoll, Courtney’s husband,” he said, his eyes narrowed at her. He shook his head. “Jesus, it all starts to make sense now—the way you’ve been defending him. And that’s why you were acting so weird around her all last week, like you owed her something. I kept thinking, Did this woman blackmail Anna into doing this story about her? It’s so clear now. Why didn’t I see it before? You’ve been sleeping with her husband. How long have you been seeing him, Anna?”
“About a year and a half,” she murmured, unable to look at him. With tears in her eyes, she gazed at the dashboard. “I broke up with him for about three months last year. I was about to break up with him for good when all this happened.”
“Did he kill his wife? Did you help him?”
Wiping her eyes, she finally looked at George and frowned. “How can you ask me that?”
“Because I thought I knew you, but obviously, I don’t.”
“Everything happened just as I told you. That’s the truth. The only thing I left out was that Russ and I have been involved—”
“‘Russ and I’—Jesus, gag me,” he muttered. He opened his door and climbed out of the van. He unloaded his video equipment from the back. Then he opened Anna’s door and held out the key to the van. “Here, you can drive back to the base. I’ll Uber home.”
Anna sighed. “George, please, you’re my best friend. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. If you only knew.”
“Save it. Call your married boyfriend. That’s what you want to do right now. So call the SOB.” He rattled the key fob. “Take the goddamn key.”
She took it.
“I’m so disappointed in you,” he whispered.
Anna started crying again as she watched him walk away with his video equipment cases. What killed her was that George knew her so well. He was right. All she could think about was calling Russ to make sure he was all right.
She stepped out of the van. “I’m sorry, George!” she called.
But he kept walking and turned the corner.
Anna shut her door, walked around the van, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Reaching inside her purse, she took out her phone again—along with a travel packet of Kleenex. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.
She was about to tap Russ’s number on the phone screen, but hesitated. She wondered if the police were indeed monitoring his calls, but it didn’t matter anymore. They knew. Everything was out in the open now. Hell, strangers knew about them.
With a sigh, she tapped the phone. It rang twice before he picked up.
“Hey,” he said, sounding listless. “I was just watching you on the news.”
“Did you hear about tomorrow’s Sally Justice Show?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s why you’re on the news—all the stations.” His voice seemed flat.
“Have the reporters stormed your hotel yet?”
“I don’t think they know where I am. Guess I’m lucky on that score.”
“You sound horrible.” She let out a sad laugh and wiped her eyes. “You sound like I feel. I just talked with George—about us. He didn’t take it well. This whole thing—”
“I guess I should have expected something like this Sally Justice fiasco,” he interrupted.
Anna paused. It wasn’t like Russ to cut her off in the middle of a sent
ence. She wiped her eyes again. “Um, I know. George said pretty much the same thing about Sally—”
“But I was completely baffled by your news report. I didn’t expect you to throw me under the bus the way you did.”
“What?” She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
“That’s how it felt, Anna. Maybe you didn’t mean for it to come out that way. But, God, did you have to talk about Courtney getting drunk and argumentative at the restaurant? And then, the two hours when I can’t account for my actions—”
“But that’s how it happened, Russ! People are going to find out eventually. Everyone around us at the restaurant saw what was going on. If something really happened to Courtney, people will come forward and talk about how drunk and loud she was that night.”
“But did you have to go into it now? It was like you were telling viewers to connect the dots and figure out who the killer is. Anyone watching that report would think I’m as guilty as hell.”
“I was doing my damnedest to make you seem innocent!” she cried. “That’s why I pointed out the reason you went for the drive. I would’ve mentioned the park in Magnolia—and the fireworks that proved you were there—but I only had two minutes and twenty seconds. Didn’t you see me with Baumann? I got her to talk about how much you were cooperating with the investigation. I wanted people to know you’re a good guy.” Her voice started cracking, and she felt tears in her eyes again.
“I’m sorry. I know you didn’t mean to make me look bad—”
“I didn’t even want to do the goddamn report!” she yelled. “And Russ, I didn’t make you look bad. You’ve made yourself look bad. God, our whole relationship started out on a lie. You lied to me, and you’ve been lying to your wife all this time. You know, we haven’t even discussed what Courtney said at dinner on Thursday. She pointed out, very clearly, that she was never leaving you. And that basically goes against everything you’ve told me about this friendly separation you were planning with her. God, who am I supposed to believe? Last week, working with her was sheer torture. How the hell did I let myself get talked into making that stupid profile piece on her anyway? Oh, wait a minute, I know! You kept telling me, ‘Go ahead, do the piece . . . you’ll never have to see her again!’ Goddamn it, I really wish I’d never met either one of you.”
The Night She Disappeared Page 13
