She and Rick left a minute later.
The next morning, Rick somehow bought two dozen red roses. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, he told Cassidy, tears sparkling in his eyes. He was jealous, that was all. Just jealous. And, he added, it was only because he loved her.
The first day of the new year was a lazy one for Allison. She slept for nearly eleven hours. When she finally got up, she and Marshall went out for a long, leisurely brunch.
They spent the day catching up on chores and looking online at cribs, changing tables, rocking chairs, and the million other things you supposedly needed when you had a baby.
In a few weeks, Allison would be in her second trimester and they would make it official. Tell coworkers and relatives. She would buy maternity clothes and stop trying to button her pants by looping a rubber band through the buttonhole and over the button.
And whenever she started to think about Katie, Allison pushed the thought away. Just for today, her life was her own.
PIZZICATO PIZZA
January 3
But if Katie’s body never turns up, how could you prosecute someone for murder?”
Cassidy leaned over her plate and took a big bite of pepperoni and cheese pizza. It always amazed Allison that her friend could eat the messiest foods while somehow managing not to drip on her clothes or smear her lipstick.
Pizzicato Pizza was Portland’s local version of a chain, and a great place to grab a quick slice. Allison, Cassidy, and Nicole were sitting in the back of the hole-in-the-wall downtown branch, which catered to every-one from businessmen to tourists to street kids who had managed to panhandle enough change to buy a cheese slice.
“Obviously, it’s a lot easier with a body, but it’s not impossible without one.”
Trying not to enviously watch the other two women devour their pizza, Allison dipped her fork in a little cup of balsamic dressing and then speared another bite of her arugula pear salad.
“I prosecuted a case six years ago where a woman had gone missing. Her car turned up at the airport. Wiped clean of prints, so it was pretty hard to believe she had just hopped a plane. Her credit cards and bank account hadn’t been touched. All we found were a few spots of blood in her driveway.”
“I wasn’t living in Portland then, but I remember that case,” Nicole said. “That’s the one where her husband was seen hosing down the driveway the night after she disappeared.”
“Right,” Allison said. “So we took him to court. At the trial, his defense lawyer said that Darcy had probably run off with some mysterious guy she might have met. In his closing arguments he says, ‘Because her body has not been found, it’s possible that Darcy is still alive. In fact, ladies and gentleman, Darcy might walk through that door right now.’ And he turns and points dramatically to the door. Everyone in that room—the judge, the jury, the gallery—they all turned and looked. But I didn’t. I was watching the defendant. And he was the only other person who didn’t look.”
Cassidy said, “Because he knew Darcy wasn’t coming back.”
“Exactly. But even without a body, I still got him sentenced to twenty-five years.”
“Did her body ever turn up?” Cassidy asked.
“No.”
At night, Allison used to lie awake next to Marshall, thinking of places they might search—a patch of woods near the guy’s house, a friend’s farm, under a nearby overpass. Even after Darcy’s husband was convicted, he refused to say where her body was, or even to admit that she was dead. But Allison had sensed it from the moment Darcy’s mother had handed her a photograph of her daughter.
Just as part of Allison had known when she first saw Katie’s picture on TV.
“Men!” Nicole said with a snort. “If a woman kills her husband, an hour later you’re going to find her still standing over his body holding the gun and crying. If a guy does it, the next minute he’ll be figuring out how to hide it. Women don’t kill their spouses unless the guy gives them a darn good reason. Women don’t go online and try to talk some eleven-year- old coming over to their house to play doctor. It’s men who rape and rob and steal.”
“And start wars,” Cassidy added helpfully.
Allison straightened up. “Hey,” she objected. “Don’t let a few bad examples let you write off half the human race. Not all men are serial-killing robbers slash rapists slash warmongers. Look at Marshall. Look at your dad, Nic, or your brothers. They’re all good guys.”
“Maybe.” Nicole shrugged. “But sometimes I think they are the exception to the rule.”
“Until recently you were spending all your days chatting with pervs,” Cassidy said. “That tends to make you jaded.”
Nicole nodded, but Allison could tell she wasn’t fully convinced.