The Anniversary

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The Anniversary Page 14

by Amy Gutman


  was getting closer. Beneath the sink was a cabinet. He knelt 20

  down and opened it. Breathing in, he almost gagged, enveloped 21

  in rotting foulness.

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  Jesus.

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  Breathing through his mouth, he gingerly fished out the plas-24

  tic wastebasket. Tuna fish cans, molding rice and beans, a gelati-25

  nous stinking mess. Who would have thought that ordinary food 26

  could give off such a stench? Stomach heaving, he closed the cab-27

  inet. His mind continued to work. During the summers, the is-28

  land dump was open on Tuesdays and Saturdays. But even if the 29

  schedule were less frequent off season, she’d have put her trash 30

  outside. Could she have gone off island, forgetting to take it out?

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  That was possible, of course, but it didn’t seem so likely.

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  His skin felt prickly, like when he was a kid and his dad would 33

  take him hunting and he knew that something was about to hap-34

  pen but wasn’t sure what or when. Leaving the kitchen, he went S 35

  down the hall, heading for the stairway.

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  He walked past the shrouded living room, furniture covered in 2

  sheets. For the first time, he noticed another door on the other 3

  side of the room. Crossing the floor, he opened it and found him-4

  self in a study.

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  Unlike the other rooms, this one showed signs of use. On the 6

  massive desk was a Sony laptop attached to a portable printer.

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  There were stacks of papers on the desk and floor, a space heater 8

  in the corner. Newspaper clippings were everywhere, spilling out 9

  of folders. Glancing at one of the headlines, he saw the name 10

  Winnie Dandridge. Everything suddenly fell into place. Diane 11

  Massey had come here to write.

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  O’Hara walked back through the living room and into the en-13

  trance foyer. From there, he proceeded up the stairs, into another 14

  hallway. Off the hall were half a dozen doors, all but one of them 15

  closed. He went toward the door that was slightly ajar.

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  “Ms. Massey? Are you there?”

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  His heart was beating faster now, and he kept a hand on his 18

  gun. But when he looked inside the room, he saw that it, too, was 19

  empty. White curtains. Water views. Two single beds. One of the 20

  beds was rumpled, the other piled with clothing. At least half a 21

  dozen pairs of shoes were lined up beneath it. Running shoes.

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  Hiking boots. A pair of sandals with heels so high that he 23

  couldn’t see how she’d walk. The only time he’d seen shoes like 24

  that was on that TV show Molly made him watch, the one with 25

  the four cute New York girls who had sex with everyone.

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  He checked the closets, under the beds, then moved to the 27

  other rooms. Then, back downstairs, he did a sweep of the areas 28

  he hadn’t covered. Now that he was sure that the house was 29

  empty, he considered his next move. Who would Diane have 30

  been most likely to see? He thought of Jenny Ward. Someone as 31

  famous as Diane Massey had to be getting mail. The post office 32

  closed in the afternoons. Jenny was probably home now. O’Hara 33

  turned on his cell phone and got the number from information.

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  “Yeah?” It was a man’s voice, Jenny’s husband, Phil.

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  “Is Jenny there?”

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  “Who’s calling?”

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  “It’s Tim O’Hara. From the sheriff’s office.”

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  Something that sounded like a snort from the other end of the 2

  phone. And what can I do for you, Mr. Columbo? O’Hara felt him-3

  self flush. While he hadn’t been to the island for months, his rep-4

  utation survived him.

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  “She there?”

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  Silence and then Jenny was on the line.

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  “Hello?” Jenny said. As if she were asking a question. He re-8

  membered her, pleasant and matter-of-fact. She’d always been 9

  nice to him.

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  “I’m trying to find Diane Massey. I understand she’s been on 11

  the island.”

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  “Yes, she’s been out here writing. I told her I think she’s crazy 13

  staying up there on the water. The house isn’t winterized, you 14

  know. Even with space heaters, she’s still got to be freezing. And 15

  then there’s the danger of fire. I really think —”

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  O’Hara broke in. “I was wondering if you’d seen her in the past 17

  few days.”

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  A pause.

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  “No,” Jenny said finally. “Not for a week or so. Why?” In the 20

  background, a baby had started to cry.

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  O’Hara hesitated. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to 22

  have on an easily monitored cell phone. “Listen, would you mind 23

  if I stopped by? Just for a couple of minutes.”

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  “Uh, just a sec.” Muffled sounds in the background, then Jenny 25

  was back. “We’re about to go out.”

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  Her voice sounded artificially bright, and he could tell that she 27

  was lying. “It won’t take long,” O’Hara said.

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  “Well . . .” She sounded helpless.

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  “I’ll see you in about five minutes.”

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  Before she could answer, he hung up.

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  The Wards lived in a snug white house halfway across the island.

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  This neighborhood was a world apart from the grand homes lin-34

  ing the shore. These houses were stolid, compact dwellings built S 35

  for year-round living. The lobster traps piled in yards attested to R 36

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  hard daily work. Parked in the driveways were pickup trucks, 2

  older Fords and Chevys.

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  Jenny greeted him at the door, a baby slung over her shoulder.

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  “So what’s this about?” she asked him, once they’d both sat down.

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  “It’s probably nothing,” O’Hara said, echoing the sergeant.

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  Jenny bounced her enormous baby. Man, that kid was ugly.

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  Smiling at the pie-faced child, O’Hara pulled out his notebook.

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  “I’ve just been trying to catch up with Ms. Massey. She isn’t at 9

  the house. You have any idea where she might have gone?”

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  As he spoke, he quickly numbered the pages: 6, 7, 8 . . .

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  Phil Ward lumbered into the living room, a dark, hulking man.

 
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  “We gotta go to my mother’s now. We’re already late,” he said.

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  Jenny looked up. “I thought she said five.”

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  Her husband scowled at her.

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  “The sooner we get through these questions, the sooner I’ll be 16

  gone.” O’Hara kept his tone polite, though it really took some ef-17

  fort.

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  “Whatever you say, Mr. Columbo. ” Phil Ward shambled out.

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  O’Hara heard him in the kitchen, popping open a can.

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  Jenny’s brows were knit together. She looked distracted now.

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  Still bouncing her huge kid, she glanced toward the other room.

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  “About Ms. Massey?” O’Hara prompted. “Can you think where 23

  she might be?”

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  Jenny shook her head. “She pretty much stays at home. She 25

  doesn’t even hardly go to the market. She brought food from the 26

  mainland.”

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  “She have any visitors?”

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  “No. At least, I don’t think so. She came out here to finish this 29

  book. Have you read any of the ones she’s written? They’re all 30

  really great. The first one is still my favorite though, the one 31

  about Steven Gage. I can’t remember what it’s called. Something 32

  about disappearing.”

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  “The Vanishing Man.”

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  Jenny looked at him, pleased. “Yeah. That’s right. You read it?”

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  “Yup.” He quickly moved ahead. “When was the last time you 36 R

  saw her?”

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  “I’m not exactly sure. Not this week. Maybe early last week?

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  The last time she was in, she picked up some FedEx packages.

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  We’d have a record of that. I could —” Jenny broke off. “I just 3

  thought of something. Diane went running every day, out by Car-4

  son’s Cove. She said it helped her think. Gosh, I hope she’s okay.”

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  The baby let out a fretful wail. Jenny patted its back.

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  “She’s probably fine,” O’Hara said. “Made a trip to the main-7

  land or something.”

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  “Maybe.” Jenny didn’t sound convinced. “We’ve had some 9

  trouble with a few boys shooting off guns in the woods. I should 10

  have reminded her to wear bright colors. She’s from the city, you 11

  know? She might not have remembered.”

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  The rutted dirt road that led to Carson’s Cove was lined with 14

  towering trees. As O’Hara drove down the curving path, the 15

  shadowy air grew cooler. The road ended in a small clearing, and 16

  O’Hara parked his Jeep. He jumped out and headed for the break 17

  in the woods that led to a narrow footpath.

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  It hadn’t rained for a couple of weeks, and the path was cov-19

  ered with dry brown leaves. Even if Diane had been through 20

  here, she wouldn’t have left footprints. It occurred to him that he 21

  hadn’t seen a car when he’d stopped by the Massey house. He 22

  should have thought to ask Jenny if Diane had brought one over.

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  He’d just caught the first glimpse of slate-blue sea when he no-24

  ticed a change in terrain. A few yards back, the leaves and pine 25

  needles had formed a smoothly packed bed. Here they were looser 26

  in places, as if they’d been disturbed. He got down on his hands 27

  and knees to study the ground more closely. Twigs and pine cones 28

  gouged his palms as he slowly edged forward. But there still weren’t 29

  any footprints that he could see, no sign of human presence. The 30

  most likely explanation, he decided, was some sort of animal.

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  O’Hara climbed to his feet. A bird cried shrilly. Leaves and dirt 32

  clung to his pants. He brushed at them with his hands. The 33

  woods seemed to close around him, silent and oppressive. Con-34

  tinuing down the path toward the water, he walked just a little S 35

  bit faster.

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  Twenty feet farther, to the side of the path, he saw an aban-2

  doned shed. Its weathered boards had shrunk apart and the roof 3

  was caving through. In front, there was a gaping hole where a 4

  door must once have been.

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  Making his way through the undergrowth, O’Hara peered in-6

  side. He aimed a flashlight into the shed, exploring its dark cor-7

  ners. The cavernous space was overflowing with what looked like 8

  the refuse of a lifetime. A rusting boat trailer. Woodworking 9

  tools. Ancient lobster traps and buoys. Slowly, O’Hara moved 10

  the light from one object to another. No sign that anyone had 11

  been through here anytime recently. When he was through, he 12

  clicked off the flashlight and went back outside.

  13

  Later, he couldn’t say exactly what drew his attention to the 14

  side of the shed, to the thick tangle of fallen branches piled 15

  against a wall. But as he moved in for a closer look, he glimpsed 16

  something there behind it. There was a sparking sensation in his 17

  mind and heart. For an instant, he couldn’t think.

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  She was curled up on her right side, her body stripped of cloth-19

  ing. O’Hara crashed through the underbrush and knelt down be-20

  side her. Flat brown eyes stared blankly at the tops of his leather 21

  boots. A stream of dried blood ran from her mouth, the color of 22

  molten rust. Her face was bloated and deeply bruised, but he had 23

  no doubt who she was.

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  The smell floated up around him, like fish or shrimp gone bad.

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  There was something wrapped around her neck, a tight black lig-26

  ature. He checked the ordinary human impulse to reach down 27

  and loosen it. His job was to protect the crime scene, leave every-28

  thing as it was. The body had to stay as he’d found it until the 29

  state police arrived.

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  Then he noticed something else, and his body seemed to 31

  clench. Her arm, it was something on her arm, a series of deep 32

  gashes. All in a row. Orderly. Someone had taken their time. The 33

  image was something that he’d seen before but only in a book, in 34

  a homicide manual showing examples of serial killers’ work.

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  A shiver passed through O’Hara’s body, and he felt a little lost.

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  For the first time, it occurred to him that he’d never seen a corpse 1

  before.

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  Then he was back on his feet, pulling out his cell phone.

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  Cutting his eyes away fr
om the body, he placed the call to Dis-4

  patch.

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  Thursday, April 20

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  After an exhilarating post-graduation trip to Europe, I settled into the 2

  training program at Lowell, Cafferty, a brokerage firm in Boston. It was 3

  there that I met Joe Flick. Right away, we knew we were soul mates. Both 4

  of us were marathon runners, and could think of no better way to spend a 5

  Saturday night than to search out great live music. Perhaps most impor-6

  tantly, though, we discovered a shared obsession with Fresh Samantha’s 7

  Vanilla Almond Soy Shake! Last Christmas, we announced our engage-8

  ment. If all goes as scheduled, we’ll be married by the time you read this 9

  and settling into our new apartment in Boston’s Back Bay.

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  11

  Callie looked up from the Fifth Reunion report she’d been 12

  editing for the past two hours. She was awash in stories of prom-13

  ising lives, a sea of self-congratulation. A bit cynically she won-14

  dered how the reality measured up. These seamless records of 15

  accomplishment, what did they leave out? She thought, too, of 16

  the graduates who hadn’t sent in the survey, of those who’d pro-17

  vided just name and address or hadn’t responded at all. Maybe 18

  they’d tried to answer the questions, then finally given up, over-19

  come with a sense that at age twenty-six they’d already lost the 20

  race.

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  Callie rubbed her eyes. Time for a break, she thought.

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  Crossing through the reception area, she dropped a stack of 23

  edited pages on Posy Kisch’s desk. As usual, Posy was on the 24

  phone. She didn’t look up. Her hair, a purplish red today, almost 25

  matched her lipstick. “So I was, like, no way. And he told me to, 26 S

  like, shut up . . .”

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