Heather(93)

That afternoon they pack up the tent. “Can’t we stay?” she asks Adrian.

“Live off of the land?”

“We’d figure out the logistics.”

He takes her by the shoulders. “We’ll figure them out back home, too. I’m not trying to pressure you. I know your situation is complicated. Me, my work—I’m tied to the water. Tied here. My house. The university a half hour away. Sometimes it’s hard for me to see outside of that, that other people have choices in their life that are still up in the air, or things that are evolving. You’re the only thing that is up in the air for me. It’s exciting and it’s scary. And I love you.”

“I’m not up in the air,” she says, leans in and kisses him. In the clarity of the light it does all feel so simple.

They paddle back down the river slowly, taking in the sounds of the woods, to the flutter of birds in the trees. She feels peaceful but knows that the peace belongs to the woods, that the closer they get to the truck the more she’ll feel the weight of all that’s waiting for her on shore. You have time, she tells herself, a mantra, and tries to concentrate on the sounds of the paddles dipping into the water.



* * *



You have time, she tells herself, after they’ve loaded up the equipment and secured the boats, as she starts to feel the tug of her phone in the glove compartment. She bargains with herself, that she’ll wait until they hit a paved road to check it.

But she breaks her promise and Adrian laughs as she releases the latch on the glove compartment. She powers her phone on and for a second it seems as though nothing has happened in her absence. No one has called her, no one has sent her a message. But then, she gets a second bar of service and the notifications flood in. She can’t keep up, names flashing before her as they load—a missed call and voicemail from Healy. Four texts from Jane, three missed calls, two voicemails. She steers her attention to Jane first, because even though Callie is still furious with her, she can’t help but worry.

The first text: Look, I know you’re still pissed but I really need to talk to you about something. Can’t be over text. Can you come by? D is out.

The second: Cal, please. I wouldn’t get in touch unless it was important. It’s about the case.

The third: I just realized you might be on your camping trip. But fuck, Cal. Something else came up. There’s something you need to see.

The fourth message is from Healy.

We got a match on your cold case. Making an arrest tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The message was sent yesterday. It’s 3:00. Which means Annabelle was probably already arrested today.

She can barely hit send on the call, her fingers are trembling.

Healy picks up with a sing-song hello. “I was wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before … Why didn’t you warn me you had DNA evidence?” She would never had made that promise to Annabelle if she had known. That promise to protect her.

His tone shifts. “Why would I need to warn you? This is good news, Hauser.”

“I thought you said you didn’t find any matches.”

“Things change. That’s why DNA works. The databases are always growing.”

“I—she … It was my case, Healy.” She knows she sounds ridiculous, petulant.

“I believe the files were with my department, had been with my department for some time now. And once her kid submitted the sample for genetic testing.… well, it was a slam dunk. Kid didn’t opt out of anything, naturally. No one does, who has time for all that fine print? So it went into all the other public databases. And Rebecca made the match.”

Callie closes her eyes, sees the photographs on Annabelle’s wall. It must have been the daughter. Eighteen years old. A legal adult, she could submit her sample without needing permission from her parents.

She scrambles. “You really think you’ll get a conviction? I mean, do you have enough evidence? Isn’t this all a bit … rash?”

“Hauser, why do I feel like we have a problem here? We have conclusive DNA evidence linking Annabelle Riley to the child. She’s also got a fake passport and fake birth certificate, has been going by a different name for thirty-some-odd years. We can ding her on a bunch of other charges if we feel like it. And look, my department is under a lot of pressure. We need to close cases. We need all the straight-up solves we can get. You want us to be able to go after the murderers and rapists? We need a budget for that. For a budget, we need good numbers. I won’t pretend that I don’t feel a little bad for the family here, okay? But she’s a criminal, and what I do is put away criminals. You know how this goes.”

A new idea occurs to Callie. “The DNA. Wouldn’t her profile be similar to Sabrina’s? How can you tell which sister gave birth to the child if a mother has an identical twin? That has to affect your case.”

Healy sighs. “She already told us the baby was hers. She talked before her lawyer even showed up.”

She thinks of her morning with Annabelle. How she had seemed torn: desperate to tell someone the truth, and desperate to keep her secret. Had a part of her been relieved to feel the cuffs cinch around her wrists? Been relieved to just say it? The baby was mine.

She can’t think of anything else to say. She has no right to tell him that he’s not allowed to do his job. She’s the one who asked him to look into this case in the first place. But that was before … before she had sat in Annabelle’s living room. Before she knew there had been a second sister. When she thought she was chasing down a double homicide, when she thought she would emerge from the whole process triumphant and self-righteous, carrying the banner for justice. Redeemed.