The Anniversary (8 page)

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After she hung up, Diane grabbed a Polartec jacket and headed 2

outside for her daily run. Every day her route was the same. Up 3

Harbor Road, the main island thoroughfare, then off toward Car-4

son’s Cove. Down a spruce-shaded dirt path, past Fischer’s aban-5

doned boatyard, then onto the rocky promontory that ran along 6

the water.

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She always felt better once she started to run, and today was no 8

exception. The wind rustled in the tall old trees; empty sky arced 9

above. It was easy to lose perspective, to forget how lucky she 10

was. She found herself thinking about Nashville, the place where 11

it all began. Remembering the chance meeting from which every-12

thing had followed. From the vantage point of where she sat, it 13

could seem inevitable. But when she was honest, she had to ad-14

mit how much she owed to luck.

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Her first job was at Nashville’s morning paper, general assign-16

ment reporting. Weather stories and car crashes. Filling in at school 17

board meetings. Tedious in retrospect but exciting at the time. Of 18

course, she hadn’t stood a chance of covering the Gage trial.

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That plum had gone to Bryce Watkins, the paper’s veteran court 20

reporter. But like readers everywhere, she’d been riveted by the 21

story, mesmerized by the drama unfolding in the Davidson County 22

Courthouse. She read every word she could get her hands on, 23

pumped Watkins for information. A couple of times, she played 24

hooky from work to watch parts of the trial.

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Still, she would have stayed on the sidelines if it hadn’t been 26

for Laura Seton. They met at an AA meeting at a church in 27

downtown Nashville. Because she was seated at the side of the 28

room, she saw Laura walk in, watched her slip quietly into a seat 29

in the very last row of chairs. Despite the dark glasses and hat, Di-30

ane recognized her. She lost all track of what was being said as 31

she concentrated on Laura, wondering how she might approach 32

without scaring her off. She had a brief tussle in her mind about 33

the ethics of this maneuver, knowing that she’d be taking advan-34

tage of Laura’s vulnerability. But even as she argued with herself, 35 S

she knew what she had to do. Gage’s former girlfriend was the 36 R

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prosecution’s star witness. An exclusive interview with Laura Se-1

ton would be the story of a lifetime.

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At the end of the meeting, she rushed forward, caught Laura 3

on the steps of the church. “You looked upset,” she babbled. “I 4

wanted to give you my number. If you ever want to talk, call me 5

anytime.” She handed Laura a piece of paper with her home 6

number scribbled on it.

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Laura was looking down. “Thanks,” she muttered softly. She 8

stuffed the paper into a pocket and quickly turned away. After 9

that, weeks passed, but Laura didn’t return. Not that Diane was 10

really surprised; it happened all the time. A newcomer checked 11

out a meeting or two, then went back to drinking.

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Steven Gage’s trial continued.

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The night after he was sentenced, Diane awoke to a ringing 14

phone sometime after 2 a.m.

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“I need to talk,” Laura said, sobbing, the words barely audible.

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“I’m sorry, but I had your number. I didn’t . . . know who to call.”

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Diane rushed over to Laura’s apartment, where she dumped 18

out half-empty bottles of vodka, then listened as Laura talked.

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For hours, the words poured out in a self-lacerating stream. Laura 20

seemed to assume that Diane knew who she was. Either that or, 21

because of the booze, she wasn’t thinking clearly.

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“I loved him so much,” Laura said, weeping. “And even 23

with . . . everything that’s happened, I still do. Love him. I can’t 24

believe I’ve done this. I’ve killed the man I love.”

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“You didn’t kill him, Laura. You had to tell the truth.” She said 26

the words mechanically, patting Laura’s shoulder. One part of her 27

present, comforting, another part taking notes. Her mind was al-28

ready on overdrive, thinking about the book.

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More than ten years later, she was slightly appalled by the am-30

bitious young woman she’d been. Appalled but also grateful. While 31

all her later books had been bestsellers, her first had been a smash.

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Eight years after its initial publication,
The Vanishing Man
was 33

still in print, having sold millions of copies in twenty-three lan-34

guages.

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Diane had emerged from the woods and was back on Harbor 2

Road. She ran past a timeworn wooden barn caving in on itself.

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She was thinking about what to make for dinner; she didn’t have 4

much at the house. Maybe pasta with red sauce, something sim-5

ple and quick. Then she’d go back to work until it was time for 6

bed. If she could keep up today’s momentum, she might even 7

meet her deadline. Today was, what? April 6. She had almost two 8

months left. If she could just —

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Happy Anniversary, Diane. I haven’t forgotten you.

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A thought ricocheted through Diane’s mind, the present and 11

past colliding. She glanced at the date on her Cartier watch. To-12

day was April 6. If the letter came yesterday, as Kaylie said, that 13

meant it had arrived on April 5. It was a date that stuck in her 14

mind, a date she’d never forget. Odd how she’d been thinking of 15

him just before she made the connection. As if her subconscious, 16

leaping ahead, had already found the link.

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April 5, five years ago.

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The date of Steven Gage’s execution.

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h

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That night, Callie was relieved to find that Anna was in good 22

spirits. Between two helpings of roast chicken, she chattered 23

about Harry Potter, seeming to have entirely forgotten their 24

breakfast confrontation.

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“Mommy, don’t you think Henry looks sort of like Harry Potter?”

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“Yeah, I think he does.”

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“Except he’s not a wizard.”

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“You never know, Anna.”

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“Mommy, if you went to Hogwarts, what house would you 30

want to be in? If you couldn’t be in Gryffindor?”

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“But I want to be in Gryffindor,” Callie said playfully. That was 32

Harry’s house.

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“But . . . you can’t. So which one?”

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“Well . . .” Callie made a show of serious consideration. “I 35 S

wouldn’t want to be in Slytherin, of course.”

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Anna looked approving.

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“Maybe Ravenclaw. Isn’t that Cho’s house?”

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“Uh-huh.”

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“I could be friends with her.”

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It was one of the nicest evenings they’d had in quite a while.

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Not until she’d tucked Anna into bed did Callie realize how 5

tired she was. Lately, she’d had to put in overtime at the Wind-6

ham alumni office. The Fifth Reunion directory was overdue at 7

the printer’s, and with Debbie Slater on maternity leave, it was 8

just her and Martha. The student intern they’d managed to snag 9

wasn’t helping matters. Her name was Posy — Posy Kisch — but 10

they called her Kabuki Girl. She wore white pancake makeup 11

and red lipstick. This week her hair was green. On a good day she 12

called when she planned to skip work. Most days she didn’t 13

bother.

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Regardless of how tired she felt, she had to get some reading 15

done. Leaving the dishes in the sink to soak, Callie went straight 16

to her desk. After months of trial and error, she’d found this was 17

the only way. She turned on her halogen desk lamp and pulled 18

out a syllabus.
Now You See It, Now You Don’t: Unconscious Trans-19

ference and Mistaken Identity.
Riffling through a stack of articles, 20

she found the one she needed.

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As Callie’s eyes moved across the page, the world seemed to 22

fade away. They were studying memory, and the material intrigued 23

her. Eyewitness testimony, the author wrote, was heavily relied 24

on by juries. A single credible eyewitness could put a defendant 25

behind bars. And yet time and again, sworn witness accounts had 26

proven false. “In some instances victims lie, but many more are 27

simply mistaken. Far too little attention is paid to the vagaries of 28

memory.”

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A tapping somewhere at the back of her mind, the past paying 30

a visit.

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Things she remembered or thought she did.

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Things she’d prefer to forget.

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She finished the introductory section and moved on to the 34

rest, the case studies the author used to demonstrate his thesis. In S 35

the first, a ticket agent pointed to a sailor as the man who’d R 36

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robbed him at gunpoint. But the totally innocent sailor had an 2

alibi. It was later discovered that the sailor had bought tickets in 3

the past. It was simply because he looked familiar that he’d been 4

picked from the lineup. In a second example, a psychologist stood 5

accused of rape, again having been selected by the victim from a 6

lineup. But at the very moment the rape was occurring, the psy-7

chologist was live on TV. The explanation? The victim had been 8

watching the program when she was assaulted, and the memory 9

of what she’d seen on screen had apparently merged with the 10

rape. Another classic case of unconscious transference, a glitch 11

in memory.

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Unconscious transference.

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Callie wrote down the words. She stared at the phrase for an-14

other few moments, thinking through what she’d read.

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Far too little attention is paid to the vagaries of memory . . .

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Far too little attention. Maybe.

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But sometimes far too much.

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She’d like to know more about these witnesses, so confident 19

and unyielding. Was there a personality type especially prone to 20

making such mistakes? Or how about another type, who con-21

stantly doubts herself? Who knows exactly what she’s seen yet re-22

fuses to acknowledge it? She herself would fall in this second 23

group, of that she was sure. Asked to identify someone, she would 24

be plagued with doubts. However confident she might feel, a 25

small part of her would wonder. She thought of a girl named 26

Laura Seton, recalled her haunted eyes, pictured her on the stand 27

at trial, pointing at Steven Gage. She thought of Sharon Adams, 28

Dahlia Schuyler’s friend. Even at the time, she’d reflexively won-29

dered how you knew for sure. Wasn’t there always that shade of 30

doubt that whispered you might be wrong?

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Over the years, she’d taught herself to push certain facts aside.

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It was a skill she’d carefully cultivated, a tool she’d used to sur-33

vive. First she’d done it for her daughter; later, for herself. For 34

years, the habit had served her well, and she’d never questioned 35 S

it. Only now did it occur to her that the strategy had its draw-36 R

backs. The note she’d found in the door last night, she’d pushed 4 4

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it from her mind. Now she forced herself to take it out of the desk 1

drawer where she’d stowed it.

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Happy Anniversary, Rosamund. I haven’t forgotten you.

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Callie picked up a spiral notebook and turned to an empty 4

page. Licking her lips, she stared at its blankness, thinking where 5

to begin.

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Who could have left the note?

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That was the obvious question.

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It had to be someone who knew where she was, someone de-9

termined to find her.

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Through the window over her desk, Callie stared into the 11

night at the delicate black-lace tree limbs arced against the sky.

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Across the street, a single light burned in a second-floor window, 13

while Bernie Creighton’s black Mercedes loomed in the shad-14

owed driveway. She’d already checked the doors and windows.

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Set the household alarm. And yet, when the wind rustled 16