I hit Redial on Annalise’s cell and told the tweedy-sounding guy who answered what was going on. He seemed pissed that I’d called, but to hell with him. After I disconnected the call, I had an itch to call all the hospitals in the area to ask about my mother. It made no sense at all, but the urge was there.
I drove home. It took four hours, but another society investigator was already waiting for me there. I told him and his recorder everything that happened and showed him the stuff I’d taken from Zahn. He seemed impressed for about three seconds, then called up his poker face again.
When I asked about Annalise, he told me not to worry, they had someone who would be able to find her. I was about to tell him to look in the back of the van, because the search was over, but maybe he meant something I didn’t understand.
After that, he left. I half expected him to offer me a ride to a safe house or something, but he didn’t. I didn’t ask.
I didn’t deserve to be safe.
I reported my credit cards stolen and called Harvey. I told him I could work my usual shift after the holiday, and he didn’t even ask about my mom. Maybe he heard something in my voice and thought better of it.
The fires and violence in Washaway made the national news, of course, but it took a while for the authorities to settle on a story they liked. While they were hashing it out, the remaining pets died. As I’d expected, killing the predator hadn’t saved them. Whatever the sapphire dog did to their brains had cut their lives short. None of them survived to the end of the week.
Maybe that should have made me feel better about what I’d done in the food bank, but it didn’t.
The state cops, the FBI, Homeland Security, and news crews from every part of the world descended on Washaway. The feds quashed talk of a terrorist attack, but it took a while before they decided to blame it all on international drug violence and the brave local citizens who were killed in the crossfire. Hanging those accusations on Yin and Zahn was a stretch for some folks, but no one had a better explanation. As for Kripke and Solorov, they were inconveniently alive and spent a fortune on lawyers trying to stay out of prison.
Two full shifts of 911 dispatchers lost their jobs for small-talking when they should have been raising alarm bells. Steve Cardinal was singled out for special scorn—they even played a couple of his friendly calls to the state police on the TV. It was unfair to him, but he was past caring.
But I didn’t follow any of this from the comfort of my apartment. By Christmas morning, the cops had found my name and brought me in.
I disappeared from the world.