Magic hour: a novel

by Kristin Hannah

  Ellie pulled into the parking slot marked CHIEF OF POLICE and parked.

  Julia stared at the sign. The beam of the headlights seemed to set it aglow. At the same time, the falling snow obscured it. Everything about this night was conflicted, it seemed. “I understand you have a job to do, El. We both do. We let ourselves get too involved with her. I get it. But I’m a professional. Believe me when I tell you that I never lost sight of the risk I was taking, and I understand what’s best for Alice.”

  “That’s a bunch of shit, but I know why you’re saying it.” Ellie turned to her. In the weird mixture of light and darkness, her face seemed older and full of shadows. “There’s a problem.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Do you know who George Azelle is?”

  Julia frowned. It took her a moment to remember. “Oh, yeah. The guy who murdered his wife and baby daughter? Sure. He—”

  “He’s her father.”

  “No.” She shook her head. There must be some mistake. The Azelle case had been a big deal. The millionaire murderer, they’d called him, referring to the dot-com empire he’d built. A circus of media attention had followed every confusing aspect of the process. The only certainty in the whole proceeding had been his guilt. “But he was convicted. He went to prison. How—”

  “I’m not the one with the answers. He is.”

  Julia couldn’t seem to move.

  Ellie touched her arm. “I can go in alone, tell him I couldn’t find you.”

  “No.”

  As Julia stepped out into the freezing night, she tried not to panic. Losing Alice to a loving family was something she would have made herself deal with. George Azelle was something else. “Not to a murderer,” she muttered more than once on the long walk across the yard and up the stairs. All the way there, she tried to remember what facts she could about the trial. Mostly, she recalled that the jury had found him guilty.

  Cotton-ball snowflakes drifted lazily from the night sky, glowing in the pyramids of light from streetlamps and windows.

  Inside the station it was quiet.

  Julia blinked, letting her eyes adjust slowly to the light. The main room seemed larger than usual, but that was because she’d usually seen it during press conferences. Cal was at his desk, headphones on, and Peanut stood beside him. Both looked at Julia through worried eyes.

  Ellie’s desk was empty. So was the chair in front of it.

  “He’s in my office,” Ellie said.

  “Oh.”

  Ellie looked at Peanut, then at Cal. “You two stay out here.”

  Peanut’s eyes filled with tears. “We don’t want to hear it.”

  Cal nodded and reached for Peanut’s hand.

  Ellie led Julia through the main room, past the twin jail cells with their open doors and empty bunks, to an open door. On it was a brass plaque that read: CHIEF.

  Ellie went in first. Almost immediately there were voices; hers a little too fast, his gravelly and low.

  Julia took a deep breath and followed her sister into the office.

  There were things to notice, of course—bookcases and a desk, and family photos—but all Julia saw was George Azelle.

  She might not have recognized him on the street or in a crowd, but she remembered him now. Tall, dark, and deadly. That was how the press had characterized him, and it was easy to see why. He stood well over six feet, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His handsome face was all sharp angles and deep hollows and bruiselike shadows; the kind of face that darkened easily into anger. Black hair, threaded with gray, hung almost to his shoulders. His was the kind of face that launched a woman’s dreams, although he looked worn.

  “You’re the doctor,” he said. There was an accent in that voice, an elongation of syllables that made her think of Louisiana and bayous, of hot, decadent places and conversations that went on long into the night. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for my little girl. How is she?”

  Julia moved forward quickly, almost jerkily, and held out her hand. His handshake was firm, maybe even a little more than that.

  “And you’re the murderer,” she said, drawing her hand back. She had a sudden urge to wash the feel of him away. “A murder-one conviction, if I remember correctly.”

  His smile faded. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it on Ellie’s desk. “To make an extremely long story short, the Court of Appeals reversed the trial court’s denial of a Motion to Dismiss. It was a sufficiency of evidence thing. The Supreme Court agreed. I was released last week.”

  “On a technicality.”

  “If you consider innocence a technicality. I came home one day and my family was gone.” His voice cracked. “I never knew what happened to them. The cops decided I was a murderer and that was it. They ignored any other evidence.”

  Julia had no answer to that. She tried desperately not to feel all this, but panic was stalking her. “She can’t survive without me.”

  “Look, Doc, I’ve been locked up for years. I have a big house on Lake Washington and enough money to hire the best care for her, so let’s not beat around the bush. I need to show the world she’s alive, so I want her. Now.”

  She stared at him, actually shocked by that. “If you think I’m going to just hand Alice over to a murderer, you’re crazy.”

  “Who the hell is Alice?”

  “That’s what we named her. We didn’t know who she was.”

  “Well, you know now. She’s my daughter and I’ve come to take her home.”

  “You’re kidding, right? For all I know, you were behind the whole thing. You wouldn’t be the first man to sacrifice a child to get rid of a wife.”

  She saw a flash of something in his eyes. He closed the small distance between them. “I know who you are, too, Doc. I’m not the only one here with a shady past, am I? Do you really want a public fight?”

  “Anywhere,” she said, holding her ground. “You don’t scare me.”

  He towered over her, whispered, “Tell Brit I’m on my way.”

  “I won’t let you have her.”

  His breath was warm and soft against her temple. “We both know you can’t stop me. Washington courts are pro-reunification of the family. See you in court.”

  AS SOON AS HE WAS GONE, JULIA SANK ONTO A COLD, HARD CHAIR. HER whole body was trembling. George Azelle was right; the Washington State courts valued reunification of the family over almost everything else.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Ellie said.

  “Talking won’t help.”

  Thinking will.

  She took a deep breath. “I need information on his case.”

  “He gave me this.” Ellie pushed a stack of papers across the desk.

  Julia took the papers and tried to read. Her hands were trembling so badly that the letters shimmied on the white pages.

  “Jules—”

  “Give me a minute,” Julia said, hearing the desperate edge in her voice. It was taking every scrap of self-control she had to not start screaming or crying, and looking into her sister’s sad eyes or hearing comforting words might push her into despair. “Please.”

  She focused on the documents. They represented the bare bones of the procedural history. The original Motion to Dismiss the case, made by Azelle’s attorney at the close of the state’s case in chief; the denial of that motion; the Appellate Court’s reversal and the State Supreme Court’s agreement with the reversal and dismissal. Of all of them, the one that mattered most to Julia was the original certification for determination of probable cause, which outlined the facts of the state’s case.

  On April 13, 2002, at approximately 9:30 in the morning, George Azelle placed a call to the King County Police Department to report that his wife, Zoë Azelle, and his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Brittany, were missing and had been missing for more than twenty-four hours. The Seattle Police Department responded immediately, sending officers to the Azelle residence at 16402 Lakeside Drive on Mercer Island.
A countywide, then statewide search ensued. Community groups responded to the call and organized extensive search parties and midnight vigils.

  Investigations conducted throughout this period revealed that Mrs. Azelle was having an affair at the time of her disappearance and had requested a divorce. Azelle was also engaged in an affair with his personal assistant, Corinn Johns.

  Pursuant to their investigation, police learned the following facts:

  On or about November 2001, police responded to a domestic disturbance call at the Azelle home. Officers observed bruising on Mrs. Azelle and arrested Mr. Azelle. This complaint was dismissed when Mrs. Azelle refused to testify against her husband.

  On the evening of April 11, 2002, neighbor Stanley Seaman reported another disturbance at the Azelle home, although he made no call to police. He stated to his wife that the Azelles were “at it again.” Seaman noted the time of the fight as 11:15 P.M.

  At almost noon on Sunday, April 12, 2002, neighbor Stanley Seaman witnessed Azelle loading a large trunk and a smaller “sacklike” canvas duffel bag onto his seaplane.

  Azelle asserts that he took off from Lake Washington in his seaplane, with no passengers, on or about one o’clock on April 12. According to family witness testimony, he arrived at his sister’s home on Shaw Island nearly two hours later. Experts confirmed to police that the ordinary flight time for that distance would be slightly less than an hour. Azelle returned to his Lake Washington residence at 7:00 that same evening.

  A local flower delivery man, Mark Ulio, arrived at the Azelle home at 4:45 on Sunday to deliver flowers which had been ordered by Azelle, via phone, at one o’clock that day. At the time of their delivery, no one answered at the Azelle house. Ulio reported seeing a Caucasian male in his mid-thirties wearing a yellow rain slicker and a Batman baseball cap getting into a white van that was parked across the street from the Azelle residence.

  On Monday morning, Azelle called several friends and family members to ask if they knew where his wife and daughter were. He told several witnesses that Zoë Azelle had “run off again.” At 10:30 A.M., when Brittany did not show up at day care and Zoë missed a meeting with her therapist, Azelle called police and reported them missing.

  Upon identifying Azelle as a suspect, police arrived at his home with a search warrant. On a rug in the living room, they found traces of blood. Additionally, hair samples found in the couple’s bedroom—determined to be Mrs. Azelle’s—had the roots attached, indicating a struggle. A lamp on the dresser had a cracked base.

  Throughout the search period, officers repeatedly noted that George Azelle was either inexplicably missing during the searches or seemingly unconcerned about his family’s disappearance. Such behavior led police to consider Azelle a suspect.

  Based on the information obtained, Sergeant Gerald Reeves placed Azelle under arrest for the murder of his wife and daughter and advised him of his Miranda rights. State requests that no bail be granted in this case. This was a brutal and carefully planned and executed crime. Azelle’s considerable personal wealth, in addition to his pilot’s license, makes him a serious flight risk.

  Under penalty of perjury, under the laws of the State of Washington, I certify that the foregoing is true and correct.

  It was signed by the detective and dated.

  When she finished, she sighed and set the papers back on the desk.

  Footsteps thundered in the hallway.

  Peanut and Cal fought to get through the door. Peanut was first. “Well?”

  “He’s a scum,” Julia said. “An adulterer and almost certainly a wife beater. But according to the courts, he’s not a murderer. He can’t be retried for it, either. Double jeopardy.” She looked at the worried faces around her. “He’s also her father. The DNA is conclusive on that: she’s Brittany Azelle. Washington State courts—”

  “I don’t give a shit about state law,” Peanut said, looking down at Julia. “What do we do to protect her?”

  “We need a plan,” Cal said.

  “I’d stand in front of a bus for her,” Julia said, and at that, she felt herself go calm.

  The trembling in her hands stopped.

  I’d stand in front of a bus for her.

  It was true.

  “Time to step into traffic,” she said, and though she couldn’t force a smile, couldn’t in fact imagine ever smiling again, she was okay. She wouldn’t think about what if; that would destroy her. She’d think only about Alice and how to protect her.

  “Hire a detective,” she said to Ellie. “Go through Azelle’s records back to second grade. Somewhere, sometime, this son of a bitch hit someone or sold drugs or drove drunk. Find it. We don’t have to prove he’s a murderer, just an unfit parent.”

  IT WAS JUST PAST FIVE O’CLOCK WHEN THEY GOT HOME, BUT IT FELT LIKE the middle of the night. Clouds darkened the sky. An inch of snow frosted everything—the lawn, the roof, the porch railing. The house seemed to glow amidst all that whiteness.

  Ellie parked close to the house. Neither of them made a move to get out of the car.

  “I’m not going to tell her,” Julia finally said, staring straight ahead.

  Ellie sighed. “How will you ever tell her? She hates it when you leave to make breakfast.”

  Julia couldn’t go there. Not to the imagining it place.

  No leave Girl, Jewlee.

  She opened the car door and stepped out into the falling snow, barely feeling the cold.

  She walked up the steps, going from snow to wet wood, and opened the front door. The light and warmth hit her first. Then she saw Alice, curled up in Max’s lap. At Julia’s entrance, she looked up and grinned.

  “Jewlee!” she squealed, sliding out of Max’s arms and running for Julia.

  She picked the little girl up, held her tightly. “Hey, little one.” She tried to smile. Hopefully it didn’t look as brittle as it felt.

  Alice frowned up at her. “Sad?”

  “Happy to be home,” Julia said.

  Relief shone in Alice’s eyes. She hugged Julia again and kissed her neck.

  Ellie came up behind them and smoothed Alice’s hair. “Hey girlie-girl.”

  “Hi Lellie,” she said in a muffled, happy voice.

  Max was standing now. Firelight backlit him; the brightness made his face appear shadowed. “Julia?” he said. There was no mistaking the concern in his voice.

  It almost undid her. She sidestepped his touch, trying to make it look like an accident, but she saw that he wasn’t fooled. Of course he wasn’t. She didn’t know much about Max, but she knew this: he recognized heartache, understood its taste and feel and texture. And he saw it now on her face. There was no way for her to hide it, not with Alice in her arms and George Azelle’s envelope in her coat pocket.

  If Max touched her now, she’d cry, and she didn’t want that. God knew, she would need strength for what was to come.

  “He wants her back.”

  The sad understanding in Max’s eyes was almost more than she could bear. He moved slowly toward her. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he said, “I’ll wait up for you.”

  “But—”

  “It doesn’t matter when. Come over when you can. You’ll need me.”

  She couldn’t deny that.

  “I’ll wait up for you,” he said again; this time he didn’t wait for a response. He said good-bye to each of them and left.

  Silence swept in behind him.

  “Max bye-bye,” Alice said. “No Jewlee leave?”

  Julia swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears. She clung fiercely to Alice. “I won’t leave you, Alice,” she said, praying it would be true.

  FOR THE REST OF THE EVENING JULIA MOVED IN A FOG. ALICE SEEMED TO sense that something was wrong. She shadowed Julia even more closely than usual.

  By nine o’clock they were both exhausted. Julia gave the little girl a bath, braided her hair, and tucked her into bed. Snuggling in close on the narrow mattress, she tried to read a bedtime
story, but the words kept blurring before her eyes.

  “Jewlee sad?” Alice said repeatedly, her small face scrunched into a frown.

  “I’m fine,” Julia said, closing the book and kissing the girl good-night. “I love you,” she whispered against the soft baby-scented cheek.

  “Stay,” Alice murmured, her eyes heavy.

  “No. It’s nighttime. Alice sleeps now.”

  Alice nodded and popped her thumb in her mouth.

  Julia stared down at the girl.

  My girl.

  An ache blossomed in her chest. She turned away from the bed and went downstairs.

  Ellie sat at the kitchen table, reading through a stack of papers. The dogs lay on the floor beside her, uncharacteristically docile. “The court said—”

  Julia lifted a hand as if to ward off a blow. “I can’t talk about it right now. I need some . . . time. Will you watch her?”

  “Of course.”

  Julia went to the kitchen, grabbed the car keys and her purse. Every step seemed to jostle her bones. It felt as if she were held together with old Scotch tape. “Good-bye. I’ll be back soon.”

  Outside, she drew in a deep, shaky breath. The night smelled of wet wood and new snow and the coming night. It wasn’t until she was almost to the car that she realized she’d forgotten her coat.

  Freezing, she drove to Max’s house. The heat came on just as she turned into his driveway.

  By the time she crossed the white yard and reached the porch steps, he was there, on the deck, waiting for her. Pale light spilled through an open window and cast him in a beautiful golden glow.

  She felt a powerful jolt at the sight of him. It came from somewhere deep inside of her, past muscle and bone, a place that was normally still. Coming home; that was how it felt.

  She climbed the steps toward him. He started to say something else, but she didn’t want to hear his words, his voice, his questions. They would be concrete, somehow, too heavy. She couldn’t carry any more weight right now.