Authors: Kristin Hannah
The Grimm sisters advanced, three abreast; Julia had a sudden thought about the horsemen of the Apocalypse. These days, apparently, Death rode in a battered urn in an old woman’s arms.
They stared at Julia, then at Alice.
Julia stared back.
Alice snorted nervously, tugged on Julia’s hand.
Violet reached into her purse and pulled out a bright purple plastic coin purse. “Here you go. My granddaughter loves these.”
Alice’s eyes lit up at the gift. She touched it reverently, took it in her small hand, and stroked her cheek with it. After a moment she blinked up at Violet and said, “Ank ’ou.”
The three old women gasped and looked at one another. Finally they looked at Julia. “You saved her,” Daisy said in a stiff voice, obviously bothered by the emotion behind the words.
“Your mom would be so proud,” Violet said, nodding to her sisters for confirmation. They bobbed their heads in unison.
Julia smiled. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without all of you. The town really protected us.”
“You’re one of us,” Daisy said simply.
As one, the trio turned and left the diner.
Tightening her hold on Alice’s hand, Julia led her to a booth in the corner. There, they ordered grilled cheese sandwiches, fries, and milk shakes from Rosie. The food hadn’t been served yet when the bell over the door tinkled again.
Alice glanced up and said, “Max,” matter-of-factly.
He didn’t see them until he’d picked up his lunch order and turned for the door.
When he looked at her, Julia’s heart did a little flip.
“Hey,” he said.
She smiled up at him. “No date for lunch, Doctor?”
“Not yet.”
“Then perhaps you should join us.”
He looked down at Alice. “May I sit next to you?”
Her little face scrunched in thought. “No hurt Jewlee?”
Max looked surprised by that. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” When he saw Alice’s confusion, he said softly, “No hurt Julia.”
Alice finally scooted sideways to make room for him.
Max sat down across from Julia. He’d barely made contact with the vinyl seat when Rosie swooped in beside him. She was grinning from ear to ear. “It’s like watching the moon landing. I
knew
it was true about you two.” She set out a place setting in front of him.
“Alice is my patient,” Max said evenly.
Rosie winked one heavily made-up, false-lashed eye. “ ’Course she is.”
When she was gone, Max said, “Before I finish my sandwich, everyone in town will know about this. Every patient I see for a week will ask about you.”
A few minutes later Rosie showed up with their lunches.
“Ank ’ou,” Alice said, grinning up at the waitress.
Rosie returned to the kitchen.
Julia was about to tell Alice to eat one french fry at a time when she realized that Max was staring at her.
She met his gaze and saw fear in his blue eyes. He was afraid of her, of
them.
It was a fear she understood; it had shaped much of her life. Passion was a dangerous thing, and love even more so. More often than not, it was love that had devastated her patients—either its excess or its lack. But Alice had taught her a thing or two about love … and courage.
“What?” he said, unsmiling.
Julia felt something new, a kind of opening wonder. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
“Come here.” She said it softly.
Frowning, he leaned toward her.
She kissed him. For a heartbeat of time, he resisted. Then he gave in.
Alice giggled. “Kisses.”
When Max drew back, he was pale.
Julia laughed. “Might as well give the gossips something to talk about.”
After that, they went back to their lunches as if it hadn’t happened. Later, as they stood at the front door putting their coats on, Julia dared to touch his arm. She’d already branded him publicly with her mouth; what was a touch on the arm after that?
“I’m taking Alice to the game farm in Sequim. Would you like to join us?”
He paused just long enough to look at his watch, then said, “I’ll follow you.”
Julia bustled Alice out of the restaurant and back into the car. By the time they reached the entrance to the Game Farm, it was snowing in earnest. Big, fluffy white flakes fell from the sky. A few had begun to stick; a thin layer of white had formed on the fence line and on the grass.
Julia pulled up to the small wooden house where the farm’s owner lived. A pair of black bear cubs sat on the porch, chewing on huge sticks of wood.
“You need to put on your boots, your gloves, and your coat,” Julia said.
“No.”
“Stay in the car, then.” Julia bundled up and got out of the car. She joined Max, who stood by his own car. Snow peppered them, landed like bits of fire on her nose and cheeks.
“What are we waiting for?” he asked.
“You’ll see.”
The car door opened. Alice climbed out. She was dressed for the weather, except that her boots were on the wrong feet.
Just then Floyd came out of the house, wearing a huge arctic parka. Stepping past the playing bear cubs, he walked down the porch steps and across the snowy yard. “Hello, Dr. Cates. Dr. Cerrasin.” At Alice, he bent down. “And you must be Alice. I know a friend of yours.”
Alice hid behind Julia.
“It’s okay, honey. This is your surprise.”
Alice looked up. “Prize?”
“Follow me,” Floyd said.
They hadn’t taken more than three steps when the howling started.
Alice looked up at Julia, who nodded.
Alice ran toward the sound. It was sad and soulful, that cry; it floated on the icy air. Alice answered in her own howl.
They came together at the chain-link fence, the little girl in the black woolen coat and the oversized boots on the wrong feet and the wolf that was now almost half its full-grown size.
Floyd went to the gate. Alice was beside him in an instant, jumping up and down.
“Open. Play. Girl.”
He worked the lock. When it clicked, he turned to Julia. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“I’m sure.”
He eased the door open.
Alice slipped into the pen. She and the wolf rolled around together, playing like littermates in the snow. Every time he licked her cheek, Alice giggled.
Floyd shut the gate again. He stood there, watching them play. “This is the first time he’s stopped howling since I got him.”
“She missed him, too,” Julia said.
“What do you suppose—”
“I don’t know, Floyd.”
They fell silent again, watching the girl and wolf roll around in the snow.
“It’s amazing what you’ve done with her,” Max said to Julia.
She smiled. “Kids are resilient.”
“Not always.” His answer was so quiet she almost missed it.
She was about to ask him what he meant, but before she’d formed the question, she heard sirens. “Do you hear that?”
He nodded.
The sound was far off at first, then it drew closer.
Closer.
When the first flashing lights appeared, cutting through the hazy snowfall, Floyd jumped into action. He grabbed Alice’s coat and pulled her out of the pen, then slammed the gate shut.
Alice dropped to her knees and howled miserably.
The police cruiser drove into the yard and parked. The lights remained on, flashing in staccato bursts of color. Ellie walked toward them in the surreal light. “He’s come for her,” she said without preamble.
“Who?” Julia asked, but when Ellie glanced at Alice, Julia knew.
“Alice’s father.”
Max carried Alice into the house. She weighed almost nothing.
He tried not to think about how natural this felt, carrying a child, but some memories were imprinted too deeply to ever erase, and some movements felt as natural as breathing.
He tried to set her down on the sofa so he could build a fire.
But she wouldn’t free him, wouldn’t uncoil her arms from around his neck, and all the while, as he carried her around the house and built the fire, she was howling in a quiet way that broke his heart.
Finally, he sat down on the couch and drew her onto his lap. Her eyes were tightly shut; her cheeks were still pink with cold. The sound she made—more whimper now than howl—was the physical embodiment of loss. Too much feeling and too few words.
Look away,
he told himself.
Put on a movie or turn up the music.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. He knew instantly it was a mistake. In his mind he heard a child crying—great big crocodile tears.
My fish isn’t swimming anymore, Daddy. Make him all better.
Max tightened his hold on Alice. “It’s okay, little one. Let it out. That’s a good thing, actually.”
At the sound of his voice, she drew in a sharp breath and looked up at him. It made him realize that it was the first time he’d spoken since they left the game farm. “Julia had to go to the police station with Ellie. They’ll be back soon.”
She blinked up at him through eyes that were surprisingly dry. He found himself wondering if she knew how to cry. The very idea of it—that she couldn’t release her pain that way—wounded him.
“No Jewlee leave Girl?”
“No. She’ll be back.”
“Home Girl?”
“Yes.” He tucked a straggly, still damp lock of hair behind her tiny ear.
“Wolf?” Her mouth trembled. The question was so big and complex; yet she asked it all with that one word.
“The wolf is okay, too.”
She shook her head, and suddenly she appeared too old for her face, too knowing. “No. Trap. Bad.”
“He needs to be free,” Max said, understanding her easily.
“Like birds.”
“You know about trapped, don’t you?” He stared down into her small, heart-shaped face. As much as he wanted to look away—needed to look away—he couldn’t. She made him remember too many moments that had passed. The surprising thing was, they were
good
memories, some of them. From a time when he’d been able to stand still … a time when holding a child had made him laugh instead of cry.
“Read Girl?” She pointed to a book on the coffee table. It was already open to a page.
He picked it up.
She immediately resettled herself so that she was positioned closely beside him.
He looped one arm around her and opened the book between them.
She pointed to the top of the page, very certain where she’d left off.
He began to read: “ ‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the skin horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’ ”
Read to me, Daddy.
He felt Alice’s hand on his cheek, comforting him. Only then did he realize that he was crying.
“Ouch,” she said.
He looked down at her, trying to remember the last time he’d let himself cry.
“All better?”
He tried to smile. “All better.”
Smiling at that, she snuggled up against him. He closed the book and started telling her another story, one he’d spent a long time trying to forget, but some words stayed with you. It felt good, saying it all to someone, even if, by the time he got to the sad part, the part that made him want to cry again, she was fast asleep.
TWENTY-TWO
“The DNA is conclusive?” Julia asked. In the quiet of the car her voice sounded louder than she would have liked. Because of the snow and the falling night, it felt as if they were cocooned in some strange spaceship.
“I’m no expert,” Ellie said, “but the lab report indicated certainty. And he knew about the birthmark. I have a call into the FBI. We’ll know more in the morning. But …”
“What’s her real name?”
“Brittany.”
“Brittany.” Julia tested out the name, trying to make a match in her mind. She thought that if she focused on little things like that—tasks—she wouldn’t think of the big things. Alice—Brittany—wasn’t her daughter; she never had been. All along, the A answer had been this moment—Alice’s reunification with her real family. It didn’t matter that she had made a fatal mistake and fallen in love with the child. What mattered was Alice. That was the ledge Julia clung to. “Why did it take him so long to get here?”
Ellie pulled into the parking slot marked
CHIEF OF POLICE
and parked.
Julia stared at the sign. The beam of the headlights seemed to set it aglow. At the same time, the falling snow obscured it. Everything about this night was conflicted, it seemed. “I understand you have a job to do, El. We both do. We let ourselves get too involved with her. I get it. But I’m a professional. Believe me when I tell you that I never lost sight of the risk I was taking, and I understand what’s best for Alice.”
“That’s a bunch of shit, but I know why you’re saying it.” Ellie turned to her. In the weird mixture of light and darkness, her face seemed older and full of shadows. “There’s a problem.”
“Tell me.”
“Do you know who George Azelle is?”
Julia frowned. It took her a moment to remember. “Oh, yeah. The guy who murdered his wife and baby daughter? Sure. He—”
“He’s her father.”
“No.” She shook her head. There must be some mistake. The Azelle case had been a big deal. The millionaire murderer, they’d called him, referring to the dot-com empire he’d built. A circus of media attention had followed every confusing aspect of the process. The only certainty in the whole proceeding had been his guilt. “But he was convicted. He went to prison. How—”
“I’m not the one with the answers. He is.”
Julia couldn’t seem to move.
Ellie touched her arm. “I can go in alone, tell him I couldn’t find you.”
“No.”
As Julia stepped out into the freezing night, she tried not to panic. Losing Alice to a loving family was something she would have made herself deal with. George Azelle was something else. “Not to a murderer,” she muttered more than once on the long walk across the yard and up the stairs. All the way there, she tried to remember what facts she could about the trial. Mostly, she recalled that the jury had found him guilty.
Cotton-ball snowflakes drifted lazily from the night sky, glowing in the pyramids of light from streetlamps and windows.
Inside the station it was quiet.
Julia blinked, letting her eyes adjust slowly to the light. The main room seemed larger than usual, but that was because she’d usually seen it during press conferences. Cal was at his desk, headphones on, and Peanut stood beside him. Both looked at Julia through worried eyes.
Ellie’s desk was empty. So was the chair in front of it.
“He’s in my office,” Ellie said.
“Oh.”
Ellie looked at Peanut, then at Cal. “You two stay out here.”
Peanut’s eyes filled with tears. “We don’t want to hear it.”
Cal nodded and reached for Peanut’s hand.
Ellie led Julia through the main room, past the twin jail cells with their open doors and empty bunks, to an open door. On it was a brass plaque that read:
CHIEF.
Ellie went in first. Almost immediately there were voices; hers a little too fast, his gravelly and low.
Julia took a deep breath and followed her sister into the office.
There were things to notice, of course—bookcases and a desk, and family photos—but all Julia saw was George Azelle.
She might not have recognized him on the street or in a crowd, but she remembered him now. Tall, dark, and deadly. That was how the press had characterized him, and it was easy to see why. He stood well over six feet, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. His handsome face was all sharp angles and deep hollows and bruiselike shadows; the kind of face that darkened easily into anger. Black hair, threaded with gray, hung almost to his shoulders. His was the kind of face that launched a woman’s dreams, although he looked worn.
“You’re the doctor,” he said. There was an accent in that voice, an elongation of syllables that made her think of Louisiana and bayous, of hot, decadent places and conversations that went on long into the night. “I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for my little girl. How is she?”
Julia moved forward quickly, almost jerkily, and held out her hand. His handshake was firm, maybe even a little more than that.
“And you’re the murderer,” she said, drawing her hand back. She had a sudden urge to wash the feel of him away. “A murder-one conviction, if I remember correctly.”
His smile faded. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it on Ellie’s desk. “To make an extremely long story short, the Court of Appeals reversed the trial court’s denial of a Motion to Dismiss. It was a sufficiency of evidence thing. The Supreme Court agreed. I was released last week.”
“On a technicality.”
“If you consider innocence a technicality. I came home one day and my family was gone.” His voice cracked. “I never knew what happened to them. The cops decided I was a murderer and that was it. They ignored any other evidence.”
Julia had no answer to that. She tried desperately not to
feel
all this, but panic was stalking her. “She can’t survive without me.”
“Look, Doc, I’ve been locked up for years. I have a big house on Lake Washington and enough money to hire the best care for her, so let’s not beat around the bush. I need to show the world she’s alive, so I want her.
Now.
”
She stared at him, actually shocked by that. “If you think I’m going to just hand Alice over to a murderer, you’re crazy.”
“Who the hell is Alice?”
“That’s what we named her. We didn’t know who she was.”
“Well, you know now. She’s my daughter and I’ve come to take her home.”
“You’re kidding, right? For all I know, you were behind the whole thing. You wouldn’t be the first man to sacrifice a child to get rid of a wife.”
She saw a flash of something in his eyes. He closed the small distance between them. “I know who you are, too, Doc. I’m not the only one here with a shady past, am I? Do you really want a public fight?”
“Anywhere,” she said, holding her ground. “You don’t scare me.”
He towered over her, whispered, “Tell Brit I’m on my way.”
“I won’t let you have her.”
His breath was warm and soft against her temple. “We both know you can’t stop me. Washington courts are pro-reunification of the family. See you in court.”
As soon as he was gone, Julia sank onto a cold, hard chair. Her whole body was trembling. George Azelle was right; the Washington State courts valued reunification of the family over almost everything else.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ellie said.
“Talking won’t help.”
Thinking will.
She took a deep breath. “I need information on his case.”
“He gave me this.” Ellie pushed a stack of papers across the desk.
Julia took the papers and tried to read. Her hands were trembling so badly that the letters shimmied on the white pages.
“Jules—”
“Give me a minute,” Julia said, hearing the desperate edge in her voice. It was taking every scrap of self-control she had to not start screaming or crying, and looking into her sister’s sad eyes or hearing comforting words might push her into despair. “Please.”
She focused on the documents. They represented the bare bones of the procedural history. The original Motion to Dismiss the case, made by Azelle’s attorney at the close of the state’s case in chief; the denial of that motion; the Appellate Court’s reversal and the State Supreme Court’s agreement with the reversal and dismissal. Of all of them, the one that mattered most to Julia was the original certification for determination of probable cause, which outlined the facts of the state’s case.
On April 13, 2002, at approximately 9:30 in the morning, George Azelle placed a call to the King County Police Department to report that his wife, Zo Azelle, and his two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Brittany, were missing and had been missing for more than twenty-four hours. The Seattle Police Department responded immediately, sending officers to the Azelle residence at 16402 Lakeside Drive on Mercer Island. A countywide, then statewide search ensued. Community groups responded to the call and organized extensive search parties and midnight vigils.
Investigations conducted throughout this period revealed that Mrs. Azelle was having an affair at the time of her disappearance and had requested a divorce. Azelle was also engaged in an affair with his personal assistant, Corinn Johns.
Pursuant to their investigation, police learned the following facts:
On or about November 2001, police responded to a domestic disturbance call at the Azelle home. Officers observed bruising on Mrs. Azelle and arrested Mr. Azelle. This complaint was dismissed when Mrs. Azelle refused to testify against her husband.
On the evening of April 11, 2002, neighbor Stanley Seaman reported another disturbance at the Azelle home, although he made no call to police. He stated to his wife that the Azelles were “at it again.” Seaman noted the time of the fight as 11:15
P.M.
At almost noon on Sunday, April 12, 2002, neighbor Stanley Seaman witnessed Azelle loading a large trunk and a smaller “sacklike” canvas duffel bag onto his seaplane.
Azelle asserts that he took off from Lake Washington in his seaplane, with no passengers, on or about one o’clock on April 12. According to family witness testimony, he arrived at his sister’s home on Shaw Island nearly two hours later. Experts confirmed to police that the ordinary flight time for that distance would be slightly less than an hour. Azelle returned to his Lake Washington residence at 7:00 that same evening.
A local flower delivery man, Mark Ulio, arrived at the Azelle home at 4:45 on Sunday to deliver flowers which had been ordered by Azelle, via phone, at one o’clock that day. At the time of their delivery, no one answered at the Azelle house. Ulio reported seeing a Caucasian male in his mid-thirties wearing a yellow rain slicker and a Batman baseball cap getting into a white van that was parked across the street from the Azelle residence.
On Monday morning, Azelle called several friends and family members to ask if they knew where his wife and daughter were. He told several witnesses that Zo Azelle had “run off again.” At 10:30
A.M.,
when Brittany did not show up at day care and Zo missed a meeting with her therapist, Azelle called police and reported them missing.
Upon identifying Azelle as a suspect, police arrived at his home with a search warrant. On a rug in the living room, they found traces of blood. Additionally, hair samples found in the couple’s bedroom—determined to be Mrs. Azelle’s—had the roots attached, indicating a struggle. A lamp on the dresser had a cracked base.
Throughout the search period, officers repeatedly noted that George Azelle was either inexplicably missing during the searches or seemingly unconcerned about his family’s disappearance. Such behavior led police to consider Azelle a suspect.
Based on the information obtained, Sergeant Gerald Reeves placed Azelle under arrest for the murder of his wife and daughter and advised him of his Miranda rights. State requests that no bail be granted in this case. This was a brutal and carefully planned and executed crime. Azelle’s considerable personal wealth, in addition to his pilot’s license, makes him a serious flight risk.
Under penalty of perjury, under the laws of the State of Washington, I certify that the foregoing is true and correct.
It was signed by the detective and dated.
When she finished, she sighed and set the papers back on the desk.
Footsteps thundered in the hallway.
Peanut and Cal fought to get through the door. Peanut was first. “Well?”
“He’s a scum,” Julia said. “An adulterer and almost certainly a wife beater. But according to the courts, he’s not a murderer. He can’t be retried for it, either. Double jeopardy.” She looked at the worried faces around her. “He’s also her father. The DNA is conclusive on that: she’s Brittany Azelle. Washington State courts—”
“I don’t give a shit about state law,” Peanut said, looking down at Julia. “What do we do to protect her?”
“We need a plan,” Cal said.
“I’d stand in front of a bus for her,” Julia said, and at that, she felt herself go calm.
The trembling in her hands stopped.
I’d stand in front of a bus for her.
It was true.
“Time to step into traffic,” she said, and though she couldn’t force a smile, couldn’t in fact imagine ever smiling again, she was okay. She wouldn’t think about
what if;
that would destroy her. She’d think only about Alice and how to protect her.
“Hire a detective,” she said to Ellie. “Go through Azelle’s records back to second grade. Somewhere, sometime, this son of a bitch hit someone or sold drugs or drove drunk. Find it. We don’t have to prove he’s a murderer, just an unfit parent.”
It was just past five o’clock when they got home, but it felt like the middle of the night. Clouds darkened the sky. An inch of snow frosted everything—the lawn, the roof, the porch railing. The house seemed to glow amidst all that whiteness.
Ellie parked close to the house. Neither of them made a move to get out of the car.
“I’m not going to tell her,” Julia finally said, staring straight ahead.
Ellie sighed. “How will you
ever
tell her? She hates it when you leave to make breakfast.”