The Night She Disappeared

by Kevin O'Brien

  But she wondered if all of this was worth it if she ended up alienating her daughter.

  The assistant director gave her the cue and started counting backward from five.

  In her earpiece, Sally heard a few bars of her theme music. She turned to the camera with her usual intense stare. The green light went on.

  “We’re back!” Sally said.

  From: TaylorHofstad322@gmail.com

  To: AnnaM@kixitvnews.com

  Subject: Sally & Your Brother

  Date: Fri, July 17 3:52 PM

  Dear Anna,

  I was so sorry to hear the news about Dr. Knoll.

  I don’t know if you watched my mother’s show last night, but she spent most of it trying to convince her viewers that Dr. Knoll’s suicide was a hoax and that he’s really alive. I told her she’s just being cruel—to his memory and to you.

  Sally put it up for the usual online vote at the end of the show: Do you believe Dr. Russell Knoll really committed suicide? The results came in that 46% of the viewers believe he killed himself; 15% were undecided; and only 39% agreed with Sally. That’s extremely low for her. I take this as a good sign. She may move on to other topics for the show if her audience continues to vote against her like this.

  I’m sure all of this doesn’t really matter much to you right now. But I just thought you should know. My mother also touched upon the fact that you don’t remember what happened a week ago on the night Courtney disappeared. She says that’s “bunk.” My offer to put you in touch with this hypnotherapist, Dr. Tolman, still stands. She isn’t taking any new clients right now, but I’m sure she’ll make an exception for me. Then again, defending yourself against Sally might not be a high priority right now. At the same time, you’ve just suffered a horrible loss, and if you need someone to talk to and don’t have anyone, I can give you Tolman’s number.

  Your brother, Stuart, is down in Longview. The name Eddie Vaughn is a total fake that he used exclusively for the show. One of Sally’s detectives, Brenda Melnick, tracked him down. They paid him to appear on the show. Sally’s associate producer, Dan Lassiter, set him up for the interview in a motel down there. Dan said your brother was on crystal meth most of the time he was with him (I’m sorry, but I thought you should know).

  Brenda has agreed to find your brother again and have him get in touch with me. Sally isn’t in on this, and Brenda doesn’t ask questions. I’m paying her separately. Please don’t worry about paying me back. After all the pain my mother has caused you, this is the least I can do.

  Once I hear from your brother, I’ll let him know that you miss him and you want to see him. Does that sound ok?

  Sorry about this long e-mail, Anna. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

  Sincerely,

  Taylor

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Monday, July 20—8:58 P.M.

  From the Magnolia neighborhood’s Ella Bailey Park, Anna had a spectacular view of Seattle. The bottom half of the Space Needle was obscured by Queen Anne Hill, but the slope of lush, green trees and the view of the city beyond it took her breath away. She could also see the grain elevators, the railroad yard, and Puget Sound—all bathed in the magic glow of summer twilight.

  The park had a big playground and picnic tables. But this time of night, things were quiet for the most part, with only a few people around—perfect for Anna’s melancholy mood.

  This was one of Russ’s favorite spots. Anna had come here hoping to connect with him somehow. Instead, she just felt very much alone.

  She almost regretted making the trip here. It had been a hassle getting past all those reporters earlier. They’d been lying in wait for her on the street by her dock gate. But their numbers had dwindled a bit over the weekend. Anna had counted them as she’d made a beeline to her car: two news vans, four reporters, and two videographers. She’d managed to count them without looking a single one in the eye.

  She did a bit of tabulating now. It had been ten days since Courtney had disappeared and since Russ had come to this park for the last time. It had been four days since his apparent suicide. Neither Russ nor Courtney had been found yet. Every time the phone rang or Anna turned on the news, she expected to hear something about one of their bodies washing ashore someplace.

  Detective Baumann had stopped by on Friday afternoon—Anna’s only visitor since Russ’s death. Baumann had come on behalf of the Tacoma and Pierce County Police Departments. They hadn’t been able to track down the 911 caller who had reported Russ’s suicide.

  “We know it couldn’t have been you,” the detective had assured Anna as they’d talked in her living room. “The 911 call was automatically routed to the Tacoma Police Department. So you couldn’t have phoned from your home. And you couldn’t have left here early Thursday morning without getting spotted by all the reporters camped overnight here. So we know you weren’t who called 911. Now, if this 911 call was part of a scam by Dr. Knoll to make it seem like he’d killed himself, he’d have needed this mystery woman to help him pull it off.”

  “You watch Sally Justice, too?” Anna asked.

  “Yes, that seemed to be Sally’s theory.” Baumann nodded. “So here’s the ten-thousand-dollar question, Anna. I know it’s tactless, but I have to ask. Do you think it’s possible Russ had another girlfriend—besides you?”

  The question had hit her like a punch in the stomach. Anna let out a startled laugh and automatically shook her head.

  Then she remembered Courtney’s claim that Russ had been involved with a yoga instructor at one time. But that woman—if she even existed—was supposed to have moved to Pittsburgh two years ago.

  Anna also briefly considered the possibility that Courtney was still alive, and that she’d been the 911 caller—as part of some sort of elaborate scheme to murder Russ. But it didn’t make any sense. Besides, a standard burner phone wouldn’t be equipped for a deaf woman to use—even on a 911 call.

  Anna found herself once again telling Detective Baumann of her suspicions about Courtney’s onetime fellow writers’ group member Sandy Myron. Anna still thought Crazy Sandy might have been responsible for killing Courtney. Perhaps Sandy was somehow involved in Russ’s death, too. “Maybe she wanted to make it look as if Russ had killed Courtney and then committed suicide,” Anna suggested.

  Nodding, Baumann took notes and said she would look into it. But Anna could tell the detective didn’t take the Crazy Sandy theory very seriously.

  “So you think it’s possible Dr. Knoll isn’t really dead?” Anna asked. “What do the Tacoma Police think happened?”

  Baumann hesitated.

  Staring intently at her, Anna waited for an answer. Did they think Russ could have faked his own death and might still be alive? Or did they believe someone might have killed him and made it look like a suicide?

  “They’re examining every possible scenario right now,” Baumann finally replied. “The circumstances of Dr. Knoll’s apparent suicide might seem inconclusive. But it’s not all that uncommon for someone to phone 911 to report an incident and want to remain anonymous. It happens quite a lot, as a matter of fact. So chances are this mystery caller was telling it like it is.”

  “Is that the general consensus among the police?” Anna asked.

  “Don’t quote me,” Baumann said quietly. “But yes. For now, they think the 911 call was authentic. They believe Dr. Knoll jumped off the bridge—just as she said. And they believe that what he said about you in the note is true.”

  Anna sighed. “But they also believe he killed Courtney, don’t they?”

  Baumann nodded. “And that’s all you’re going to get out of me about what the police think.”

  Anna still considered Crazy Sandy a major suspect in Courtney’s disappearance—even if the detective didn’t agree.

  Becky Arnett had texted her over the weekend. According to a third member of Courtney’s writers’ group, Sloane Lindquist, time hadn’t healed any wounds as far as Sandy was concerned:

  Sl
oane said she got an e-mail from Sandy several months back. Sandy moved to Florida. She asked about us and said she hoped that “bitch” Courtney was dead. She swore to get even with her—for about the 100th time. Sloane said she’ll try to hunt down the e-mail for me. She might have deleted it. Stay tuned!

  George had called a couple of times since Friday morning—just to check on how she was doing. He’d offered to come over if she needed company. But with the reporters keeping a vigil by her dock, Anna didn’t think his sneaking through their ranks to visit her was such a terrific idea.

  “I don’t care how it looks,” he’d told her at one point Saturday night. “Beebe and I are finished. The atmosphere is toxic around here. I’m looking for an apartment.”

  “Well, I care how it looks,” Anna had told him.

  Besides, if George was infatuated with her, and he certainly hadn’t denied it, Anna didn’t want to grieve for her dead lover in front of him. That would have been insensitive. And she wanted to feel free to grieve without worrying about someone else’s feelings.

  Anna’s friend in Spokane, Christie, had offered to stay with her for a few days. But Christie had a husband and two kids. Anna didn’t feel right dragging her away from her family. Besides, she wanted to be alone.

  She sat around her apartment like a zombie most of the weekend, succumbing to crying jags whenever they hit her. Though she’d been planning to break up with Russ—hell, they’d agreed splitting up was for the best—she was still devastated. She didn’t want to believe he was dead. She couldn’t imagine never seeing him again. She still had some saved messages he’d left on her phone, and she must have played them back ten times. She knew them by heart now.

  She hated that there was no closure. Russ had left the world with everyone believing he’d murdered his wife. Worst of all, Anna still couldn’t be completely certain of his innocence.

  “That’s Anna Malone!” she heard someone exclaim.

  This was followed by a chorus of giggles and someone shushing the others.

  Anna spotted a trio of young women approaching her—all in T-shirts and shorts, each one with a phone in her hand. Anna couldn’t tell if, age-wise, they were in late high school or their early college years. She’d noticed them earlier. They’d been hard to miss. They had that extra-loud-talking-and-laughing syndrome some girls acquired when in a group. Fortunately, they’d wandered out of earshot to another part of the park for a while. But Anna could hear them again now.

  Obviously, she’d been spotted. They suddenly spoke in hushed tones—until one of them screeched and burst out laughing.

  Anna decided to head for her car. She’d been practically hibernating on her houseboat since Sally had first gone on the attack a week ago. Though the press had been hounding her, this was her first brush with the general public since everything hit the fan.

  Her head down, she started to loop around them to get to her car. She tried to keep her distance.

  “Hey, Anna!” one of the girls called.

  She glanced at them long enough for a brief nod and timid wave. Then she kept walking.

  “Anna, can we take a selfie with you?” Brandishing a smartphone, one of them scampered toward her. Her two friends followed.

  “I’m so sorry about your boyfriend!” another one of them called. She almost sounded sincere. But then the third girl giggled.

  All three young women hurried to catch up with her. It looked like one girl was taking a video of her. “C’mon, Anna! Just one group selfie.”

  Anna started walking a little faster. Shaking her head, she managed a polite smile. “Not now, thanks. Sorry.”

  All three young women stopped in their tracks. “God, what a bitch,” one girl said.

  Her head down, Anna continued toward her car. She still could hear them behind her.

  “Fuck her,” one of them said.

  “What do you expect from a murdering skank?” her friend asked. “I’m sure she helped that guy kill his wife. That’s what Sally Justice says. Did you get her picture?”

  Anna finally reached her Mini Cooper and ducked inside. She wished she knew which car the three girls had come in. She’d ram into it—Kathy Bates Fried Green Tomatoes style. Let them take a video of that.

  Yeah, right, that’s all you need, she thought, more publicity.

  Anna started the car and headed for home.

  On the Magnolia Bridge, she thought about The Sally Justice Show. She’d purposely missed it tonight. She’d been feeling too vulnerable. Another battering from Sally would have pushed her over the edge. Apparently, tonight’s episode had been bad enough. Taylor had sent another one of her postshow apology e-mails.

  According to Taylor, among other things, her mother had replayed and then picked apart Anna’s statement “outing herself ” on KIXI-TV News at Five from a week ago. Sally had criticized everything from her sincerity to the “virginal white” blouse she’d worn. The question for Sally’s voting viewers had been whether or not they thought Anna had been complicit in the disappearance of Courtney Knoll.

  At least Taylor had included some fairly hopeful news in the e-mail:

  The private investigator, Brenda, was able to track down a friend of your brother’s in Longview. All I got was a first name, Tony. I talked to Tony on Skype and told him that you’d really like to see your brother. I said that you aren’t mad at him or anything. You just miss him. Tony said he’d pass it along to Stuart if he runs into him. I know it’s not much, but it’s something. Brenda isn’t giving up there. She says she’s determined to find Stuart for me.

  Anna had e-mailed back that she was grateful—and she really was. Having an ally in Taylor took some of the sting out of Sally’s on-air diatribes. Taylor hadn’t mentioned her hypnotherapist contact in tonight’s e-mail. But Anna was seriously starting to consider making an appointment with this Dr. Tolman—if for nothing else than an excuse to get out of the house for a couple of hours. She found positive write-ups on her in the Seattle Counselors Association and Western Washington Therapists Group, but there was no photo of her and no mention of hypnosis in either recommendation. Still, Anna needed someone to talk to. Besides—what if she could actually remember something that would prove Russ and she didn’t have anything to do with Courtney’s disappearance?

  As for Stu, Anna tried not to get her hopes up for a reunion anytime soon. He was probably afraid to face her—after lying about her the way he had on the air coast-to-coast.

  One person she hadn’t heard from over the weekend was her anonymous caller. There hadn’t been any of those raspy-voiced calls since Russ had thrown himself off the Tacoma Narrows Bridge. Of course, Anna couldn’t help wondering if her androgynous-sounding caller and the anonymous 911 caller weren’t one and the same person.

  Anna was only five minutes from home and about to start down Eastlake Avenue when the lights started flashing on the University Bridge. With a warning bell, the gate went down. It meant the bridge was going up, and she could add another ten minutes to her drive. Anna was in no hurry. She stopped and turned off her engine. She was second in line on the bridge.

  She grabbed the phone off the bracket on her dashboard, leaned back, and started composing a text:

  Thank you again for everything you’re doing for me, Taylor. Could you please give me Dr. Tolman’s contact information? I think you’re right. She might be very helpful. Thank you!

  Anna sent the text. She was just setting the phone back into the bracketed holder when it rang. Her first thought was I shouldn’t have wondered about my creepy anonymous caller. But then she checked the Caller ID: Rebecca Arnett.

  Anna tapped the phone screen. “Becky?”

  “Hi, Anna,” she said. “I know I usually text you, but I believe bad news should be given in person—or something close to in person.”

  “What is it?” Anna asked, watching the grid sections of the four-lane bridge open up.

  “Sandy Myron couldn’t have anything to do with Courtney’s disappearance�
�unless she hired a hit man to do the job for her. I just heard from Sloane, who got the lowdown from someone else who knows Sandy down in Florida. Sandy’s been sick—cancer. For the last two months, she’s been in a hospice in Orlando.”

  “Oh. Well, I—I’m so sorry for your friend,” Anna said sympathetically.

  “Yeah, it’s sad, but to be honest, we weren’t very close. I feel bad I steered you into thinking she might have had something to do with Courtney’s disappearance.”

  “That’s all right,” Anna said, hiding her disappointment. “I appreciate your trying to help, Becky. I really do.”

  “Maybe I should get the address of this hospice and write a note to Sandy. I’ll tell her what happened to Courtney. That ought to perk her up a bit.”

  Anna actually smiled for a moment. “Good idea.”

  “Listen, Anna, I’m sure there are plenty of people who couldn’t stand Courtney, plenty of other suspects in this case besides Dr. Knoll and you—despite what Sally Justice says. You know, I met him once. You don’t drive a bus for seven years without learning to read people. And he struck me as a good guy. I don’t think he killed his wife. I don’t believe you had anything to do with it, either. The police and everyone else will figure that out soon enough.”

  “Thank you, Becky,” Anna said.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help,” she said. “Good luck, Anna.”

  After she hung up, Anna felt another crying jag coming on. She’d invested a lot of hope in the possibility that Sandy or someone like her had been responsible for Courtney’s disappearance. She really thought this might lead to something. It was a crushing setback.