‘I don’t know.’

‘Think about it.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it all day, ever since I saw that man’s face on TV. I don’t remember. It was over twenty years ago.’

‘Do you remember where you parked the car that morning? How far you went in?’

‘No.’

‘What about the directions Boyle gave you? Did you save them?’

‘I threw them away.’ Sheila was sobbing, the words sounding as though they were being ripped out of her. ‘Don’t hate me. I can’t die knowing you hate me.’

Darby thought about Mel lying somewhere in the woods, buried beneath the ground, alone, where no one would ever find her.

‘Can you forgive me?’ Sheila said. ‘Can you at least do that?’

Darby didn’t answer. She was thinking about Mel – Mel standing by the locker, asking Darby to forgive Stacey so they could go back to being friends. Darby wished she had said yes. She wished she had forgiven Stacey. Maybe Mel and Stacey would have stayed home that night. Maybe they would be alive right now. Maybe all those women would.

‘Mom… oh Jesus… ’

Darby grabbed her mother’s hands – the same hands that had hugged her were the same hands that had killed Grady and pushed the dirt back over Melanie. Darby felt the strength in her mother’s grip; it was still there but not for much longer. Soon her mother would be gone, and Darby would bury her. And one day Darby would be gone too, buried alone, forgotten. Someday, if there was such a place as heaven, she hoped she could find Melanie and tell her how sorry she was. Maybe Mel would forgive her. Maybe Stacey would, too. Darby wished for that more than anything.

Acknowledgments

This book could not have been written without the support and insight of criminalist Susan Flaherty. Susan was not only kind enough to take me through her job at the Boston Crime Lab, she patiently answered all of my technical questions. All mistakes are mine.

Thanks to Gene Farrell, who was extremely helpful with police procedural questions, as was Gina Gallo. George Dazkevich helped me understand a lot of the technical information regarding computers without laughing too hard.

Special thanks to Dennis Lehane, for his many words of encouragement over the years, his advice and friendship.

Big thanks go to fellow writers and good friends John Connolly and Gregg Hurwitz, who patiently read through many drafts of this book and offered their advice and insights.

And last but not least, thanks to my publicist and friend, Maggie Griffin, for everything. You’re the best, Mags.

Writing – at least my own – is more painful than it is pleasant. The Missing was especially difficult, and the following people deserve a special round of thanks for their input and for putting up with me: Jen, Randy Scott, Mark Alves, Ron and Barbara Gondek, Richard Marek, Robert Pépin and Pam Bernstein. Mel Berger helped get me through the rough patches and patiently read through every incarnation of this book. My editor, Emily Bestler, once again gave me insights that made the book better. Thanks, Emily, for your astounding patience.

Thanks are also due to Stephen King’s excellent book On Writing and the songs of U2, most notably the album How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, which kept me going through the long months of rewriting.

What you have in your hands is a work of fiction. That means, like James Frey, I made everything up.