Page 38 of Silent Ridge

I gave him the same line I’d given Mrs. Blume about the story I was doing. He said it would be a short story, and Mrs. Blume went to get the pizza.

That was when I saw Shannon’s shrine. There were nearly a dozen pictures of a girl my age lining the mantel and a large silver urn, which I can only assume held her remains. I don’t know why people keep ashes. I don’t get that at all. The person is not the residue of their burned-up flesh and pulverized bones. The person is the spirit that was left when she was brutally killed. By my bio-dad.

Mr. Blume said Shannon’s death had ruined their lives. He had taken to drinking. Debra had taken to antidepressants until she had to go into treatment.

I told him I was sorry. I didn’t know what else to say.

He said he was too and I could see a sheen of tears behind his glasses. He said the short story was that Shannon was everything.

Dr. Albright asked if it helped me to find my mother.

I told her: “You have to understand that I needed these people to like me. I needed them to tell me what they knew. I needed to process all of it and somehow figure out where my mother was being held captive.”

I pick another tape out of the box and slot it in. Before I turn it on I think back to that day. We ate pizza. If I think about it I can taste the chicken pesto, but I don’t want to think about it. Disgusting.

Thirty-Five

I start the tape.

Me: The Blumes started at the beginning. They told me about the kind of hurt that comes from when forced to identify their daughter’s body on a gurney through the thick glass of the morgue’s viewing room. And they told me how much they regret not telling her they loved her as much as they should have.

Dr. A: That must have affected you greatly.

Now I know what Karen was really asking was how I could be so callous. I wonder that myself sometimes but I live with it. On the tape I didn’t answer her question.

Me: I watched Mrs. Blume put a trembling hand on her husband’s. She’s the stronger of the two.

He asked her to get him a drink and I remember him saying, “And don’t be stingy on it, either.”

I muttered something about being sorry and told them they at least got some justice. At least the killer was caught and punished.

Mrs. Blume said in a small voice. “That’s what they tell us.”

The remark was odd and I waited for her to explain.

“Honestly, Tracy,” she said, “we never really felt comfortable with the prosecution of Steve Jones, that homeless man, for the murder of our daughter. Don’t get me wrong.” She stopped and looked at her husband. She said, “Don’t getuswrong. We don’t doubt the prosecution did the best they could, but, well, we sort of believed Mr. Jones’s alibi.”

I was surprised. I didn’t remember what his alibi was and then it came to me.

He’d said he was out drinking and had a blackout. A friend of his, another drunk, had told him the police had picked him up. He didn’t remember that. The next thing Jones knew was that he was in front of Shannon’s dead body when sirens woke him up.

I asked her who had called the police.

Mr. Blume said it was an anonymous caller. The police tape of the call was lost before trial. There was no evidence that the tape really existed, and who would believe a drunk?

I asked them if they thought Jones might have been set up.

Mr. Blume said they thought someone had tampered with the evidence. The homeless guy was convenient for the murder. He said they were happy about the conviction at first but there were other questions the police couldn’t answer. He said Shannon was missing for a week and when her body was found she had a tattoo.

I pause the tape. I remember the tattoo clearly. A heart with the number 16 inside it. Alex’s trademark. All of his victims had the tattoos. I continue listening.

Me: Mr. Blume said Shannon would never have gotten a tattoo. He showed me a picture of her taken at a Highline High School performance ofLes Misérables.He said she played Cosette. She was beautiful and perfect.

Dr. A: How did you feel about bringing up memories for Shannon’s parents? It must have been hard to listen to.

Me: Mr. Blume wasn’t kidding about getting into a bottle. When he’d asked his wife not to be stingy with the drink, it had nothing to do with the number of ice cubes she put in it. His head bobbed slightly and his words were beginning to slur. He was getting drunk.

Mr. Blume said something about the detective leaving the tattoo out of the investigation.

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