Prologue
Gwen
Now
Gwen Fisher has never been inside a police station before. She assumes many people her age (thirty-five) have been in a police station for one reason or another. A class field trip in elementary school, at the very least. Not Gwen, though.
The Bainbridge Island Police Department is in a sleek, modern building that looks nothing like a police station. A sign out front refers to it as theTed Spearman Justice Center, and Gwen wonders if that’s the new, more politically correct way to refer to a police station.Justice center.
A fleet of black Ford police SUVs occupies the parking lot, more patrol vehicles than she expects for a relatively small town. How many calls do they get in a day? She assumes today’s events are significant by Bainbridge Island standards. The shooting will be all over the news.
The shooting. Gwen has been involved—loosely, but still—in ashooting.
She parks in a spot near the front of the building and gets June from the back seat. When Detective Steele asked her to come in for questioning, Gwen hesitated, said, “But I have my baby with me.”The detective said coolly, “I don’t mind if your child is present.” She didn’t seem to consider that Gwen might mind. Sure, June is only three months old and has no idea what’s going on, but Gwen still doesn’t like her being party to a conversation about a potential attempted murder.
Gwen approaches the building, lugging the car seat with sleeping June inside it. She’s nervous. She doesn’t want to talk to Detective Steele. What she has to say will make her sound like a lunatic.
How did I get here? What was I thinking?The questions torment her. It’s like she was hypnotized, wandering through a dream, and that gunshot broke the spell.
The lobby is warm, in sharp contrast to the damp, cool air outside. It’s August in the Pacific Northwest, but it feels nothing like summer today. June stirs in her car seat as Gwen sits in one of the lobby chairs. She frees June, places her in the baby wrap against her chest. Two female officers come to look at June, cooing—Isn’t she just darling?When Detective Steele comes out, she does not coo. She just says, “Ms. Fisher?”
Detective Steele looks to be in her early thirties, though she has the disposition of a curmudgeonly old man. Her hair is pulled back and seemingly shellacked into a bun that’s as tight as her smile. She is very short, even with the solid inch from the shiny black police boots. The uniform looks like a costume on her. It would be hard to take her seriously except that she has the deep voice of a burly man.
She leads Gwen to a small room with a table and four chairs and closes the door behind her.
“Thank you again for coming in, Ms. Fisher,” she says.
“No problem. And you can call me Gwen.”
Detective Steele looks at her likeNo, I fucking cannot call you Gwenand extends an arm toward one of the chairs, indicating that Gwen should sit. She does, then removes June from the wrap and places herin her lap. Detective Steele remains standing. She must appreciate any opportunity to be taller than a suspect.
Not that Gwen is a suspect.
Is she?
“Is my husband still here?” Gwen asks.
They called Jeff in too. She can only imagine what he is telling them. Whatever it is will confirm her lunacy. Gwen doesn’t know if they can survive this—her and Jeff. If she were him, she would consider calling a divorce attorney, stat.
“Yes, they should be finishing up soon.”
Detective Steele walks in a little circle around the table, hands clasped behind her back. June’s eyes follow the detective’s movements. She breaks into an adorable gummy smile. Unlike Gwen, June finds the detective amusing.
“Your family ... you don’t live here on the island, correct?”
“Correct,” Gwen says. “We live in Seattle.”
Bainbridge Island is about a half-hour ferry ride from Seattle. All these years it’s been so close, and yet she’s never visited until now. She can’t imagine they’ll make another family visit anytime soon, not after this.
“And what brought you over here?”
There is no way to answer this that makes Gwen look good.
“I wanted to visit the ... compound,” Gwen says, immediately regretting her word choice.Compound? Is that the right word? It sounds very David Koresh.
“Thecompound?”
“Where Angeni Luna lives . . . with her . . . people.”
