The Last Thing She Ever Did(46)

“The test was important to Liz,” Owen said, reaching for her hand.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m really sorry, Owen. I just . . .”

“It’s all right,” he said, leading her back inside. “There’ll be other tests.”

Jake turned to Esther as they went back to the cruiser.

“Family drama there for sure,” he said.



When the detectives were gone, Owen put his arms around Liz.

“You were perfect,” he said.

She pulled away and found a seat on the couch. She grabbed an old embroidered throw pillow to hug. “I don’t understand why you want it to look like I lied to you. I told you about everything I did.”

He sat next to her. “I just think it plays better this way. It makes it seem more realistic if you are so deeply embarrassed about your failure at the bar exam that you couldn’t even tell me.”

“It makes me look like a liar,” she said, forcing him away.

“No,” Owen insisted. “It makes you look real.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MISSING: FIVE DAYS

A thunderstorm that had been forecast had moved over Bend early the morning of the fifth day of Charlie’s vanishing, darkening the skies and making the world seem even heavier than it had been when Esther arrived at the Franklins’ place five days ago. The thunder was coming from far away. It was the bass of her brother’s stereo system, pounding in the background as she kept her nose in a book. She and Mark rarely talked anymore, a casualty of the geography that separated them. He worked for a youth organization with a facility somewhere in the jungles of Belize. She missed him. She missed many things.

Before going to the office, the detective walked up the street to the footbridge over the river. She looked downriver at the Franklins’ house. Two paddleboarders passed under as she stood there; a group of tubers floated by the beaver lodge.

Where are you, Charlie? Did someone take you? How come no one saw anything?

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts.

It was Jake. “Detective, we got something. Something big, I think.”

“What?”

“Got a hit off the sexual offender database. One of the names off the rental waivers. Brad Collins, forty, Dayton, Ohio.”

“Good work,” she said. “Where is Mr. Collins, do you know?”

Jake was excited, nearly out of breath. “Got that too,” he said. “Called his home number on the waiver and—get this—his mom answered. Nice lady. Said that her son is staying at the Pines. Drove out here with a buddy, a kid that she says lived out West and needed a ride home. Said he was even thinking of moving out here. Don’t think she knows a thing about her son’s past. Used to be a teacher. Said he’s always doing nice things for kids.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Esther said. “Good work, Jake.”

“I got more,” he went on. “I called the manager at the Pines. He’s in 22, the cabin on the end, farthest away from the manager’s office. He’s there now.”

Jake was nearly giddy, and Esther couldn’t help but smile.

“Meet me there,” she said. “Don’t drive into the lot. We don’t want to scare off Mr. Collins. He might have Charlie.”

“Right. Right. I’ll be there. Quiet, like.”



Brad Collins sat on his bed in his monthly rental cabin at the Pines. He hadn’t put up a fight or tried to escape out the back way when Esther and Jake showed up at his door. Indeed, from the moment he saw the Bend detectives, he exhibited nothing but weary resignation. He even invited them to look around the cabin before Esther could ask to do so.

“When things like this happen,” Brad said, “I know I’ll see people like you. I came here in part for a fresh start. Some fresh start.”

Esther and Jake studied the scene. Nothing remarkable. An Ohio State T-shirt hung on the back of a chair. Fast-food wrappers. Coffee in a small pot scented the air. No indication of Charlie Franklin. No sign of the friend he said he brought out to Oregon.

“Cam is nineteen and that’s all I need to say about him,” Brad said.

“Where is he?” Esther asked. “We might need to speak with him.”

“I dropped him off in Madras with his family.”

“Do you have an address?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll give that to you. Like I said, I’m used to this. Jesus, you people always come sniffing around whenever a kid’s involved.”

“You might be able to help us, Mr. Collins,” Esther said. “Can you come downtown?”

His face went red. “I’ve been through this before and I’ve played it both ways. I’ve gotten a lawyer and I’ve gone in to be interviewed without, as you say, ‘incident,’ and either way I end up with nothing but humiliation and, in the case of a lawyer, a big fat bill to pay.”

“You can take your own vehicle or ride with us,” Esther said.

The Ohio man picked up his keys from the nightstand. “I’ll drive,” he said.



Brad Collins was overweight, with a receding hairline and hooded eyes that darted around the space with more energy than his girth might have suggested. The Ohio State T-shirt was tugged over the roundness of his stomach, leaving a bare stretch of skin exposed. Esther had watched him pull it down several times on the closed-circuit TV that captured every move he made and everything he said.