A week after I shot the strange man in the woods, Jerry Sawchuk suggested what he described as a "short leave of absence." Blood had been found on the Renner land, in the spot where I reported firing at the man with the sword, and enough of it to indicate that someone had been quite badly wounded. But the man himself hadn't been found and my boss, although he was trying not to show it, was having a hard time reconciling the fact that I'd let him get away. So was I.

"But he was wounded, Sophie," he said on the day we got the DNA test results back confirming that the blood belonged to a human male – although no matches could be found in any of our criminal databases. "I've been in those woods with you a thousand times – it's impossible for anyone to get away, let alone someone who just got shot. How did you lose sight of him – how did he –"

"I don't know," I mumbled, because that was the truth – I didn't know. And as difficult as Jerry was finding it to accept, it was even more difficult for me. I couldn't explain it. How had he gotten away? It was as if he'd simply disappeared into thin air.

"I've been thinking maybe you should take a little time off," Jerry continued, in that tone people use when they're afraid someone is going to blow up. Which I wasn't going to do, mostly because I felt too ashamed to do so. I knew Jerry wasn't totally comfortable with a female colleague. I knew that. I knew I was on trial in a way Dan wasn't. And I still let the man in the woods get away!

"You were out at the Renner property off the clock," Jerry said. "I was thinking maybe it would be a good thing for you to put a little space in between you and this case. I'd also like you to talk to someone about it."

"Talk to someone about it?" I asked, looking up sharply. Was Jerry hinting at what I thought he was hinting at?

He was. I'd discharged my weapon and been unable to come up with an explanation that didn't make me look incompetent. There were procedures to follow, apparently. Boxes to be ticked. I was placed on formal leave, with a mandatory series of meetings with a psychologist to be fulfilled before I would be allowed back on active duty.

That day, when Jerry told me what was going to happen, I left work at just past noon and drove, with my shaking fingers clutched tightly around the steering wheel, to Lamont Park. Lamont Park was where we used to come as teenagers, to drink awful, brightly colored drinks and make-out with our boyfriends and just generally do what teenagers in small towns do. I parked in the little gravel lot where I'd had my first kiss, fought with my best friend, cried over a crush gone wrong, and turned off the engine.

"What are you doing?" I whispered to myself, out loud. I was afraid, that afternoon. For as modest a background as I came from, as certain as it had always been that I wouldn't be leaving River Falls to go to college in California or New York City or Florida like some of the other girls had, and as predictable as it may have seemed to some that I would have a baby out of wedlock at 20 years old, I'd never really doubted myself. I'd never really bought into the idea that coming from a certain class meant you were somehow less capable of anything. Sometimes I actually thought it was the opposite – I felt more adult than some of my friends from high school, especially the ones who had gone away to college. At 27 some of them were still studying, still living in shared apartments with other students. I had a 7 year old child and a job and a mortgage. I didn't have wealthy parents to fall back on, or the support system of a wealthy college behind me. If I didn't pay my bills or put food in my daughter's mouth, no one would.

But I'd let that man in the woods on the Renner property get away. A stupid mistake, and one I couldn't explain to myself, even days later. Maybe I wasn't as competent and on top of things as I'd always thought?

I sat in the car for a long time, until the air inside became cold enough to see my own breath. When my teeth started to chatter, I called my best friend, Maria.

"Hello?" She answered right away, and I immediately heard the sounds of her parents' restaurant kitchen in the background. "Sophie? Hold on, let me go outside. OK, that's better – it's busy right now. Are you OK? You never call me at this time of day."

"Yeah," I replied. "Um, yeah. I –"

"You're not OK," Maria cut in, hearing the wobble in my voice. "Is Ashley OK? Did something happen?"

I took a deep breath. "No, no, it's fine. Ashley is fine. It's just – it's work. Jerry put me on leave today because of that, uh, that situation with the man I shot."

"What?!" Maria exclaimed. "He put you on leave? Why?"

So I explained the circumstances of my leave to Maria, and detailed what I was going to have to do to get back to full-time hours. She was offended and upset, angrily demanding to know why my partner Dan hadn't been put on leave when he'd crashed his cruiser into a parked car during an unnecessary pursuit last summer.

Maria Gomez and I had been best friends since we were ten years old and her family had moved in next to mine on one of River Falls' most inexpensive streets. We'd been through our teenage years together, and then our early and mid 20s, and I couldn't remember us ever having a real fight or disagreement – we were about as close as it was possible for two people to be. She used to joke that if we both made it to 30 without husbands we would have to move in together as life partners, with the occasional hot guy visiting to take care of our 'needs.'

The days of slurpees at the corner store were long gone, though, and now Maria and I both had jobs and responsibilities. Her mother had chronic health issues, which meant Maria had to take her place at the family's restaurant – Gina's – along with her two brothers. She worked harder than anyone I knew. She also wouldn't dream of letting anyone down. Before we hung up, she promised to come straight to my place after closing up Gina's for the night. Just knowing I was going to see her gave me the courage to get myself together and hold onto the hope that things were going to be OK, that the mess at work was just temporary.

* * *

"Why are you sad, Mommy?"

I lifted my head up and looked at Ashley, tucking stoically into her vegetables before allowing herself a bite of pasta – the kid was her mother's daughter, through and through.

"What?" I asked, knowing it wasn't going to do any good to pretend. Ashley had such a good read on my moods she usually knew what I was feeling before I did. "Oh, I just didn't have a very good day at work, that's all."

"What happened?"

I tried hard not to let my disappointment in myself creep into my expression. "Well, my boss says I need to take a little break. He thinks I need to go and talk to someone about the case we're working on."

Ashley tilted her head to the side, thinking. "You need to talk to someone? A counselor? Sam Hartman had to talk to a counselor at school, because he bit Macey Green."

I laughed. "Well I haven't bitten anyone yet, Ash, and thank God for that. But yes, Jerry thinks I need to talk to a counselor."

"Do you think you need to talk to a counselor?"

I caught my daughter's eye, aware in the way I often was with her that she was really listening, in a way that adults often aren't. "I'm not sure," I told her. "But Jerry Sawchuk is my boss. Sometimes we have to do what our bosses want us to do, even if we think it might not be necessary."

Later that night, after Ashley was asleep, Maria arrived with a brown paper bag full of tamales. "Here," she said, passing the bag to me. "I made a few of the cheese ones that Ash likes – and chicken for you!"

"You didn't have to do that," I said quietly, afraid I was going to get emotional after my difficult day.

"I know," my best friend replied, kissing me on the cheek. "But I wanted to. Have you eaten?"

"Yeah. Have you?"

"Yeah. Save them for tomorrow."

We made small talk for a few minutes, talking about Ashley and Maria's mom, but she soon brought the conversation round to our earlier topic and asked me why Jerry Sawchuk had seen fit to put me on leave.

I rubbed my forehead and sighed. "He says he's worried I'm 'too involved' in this case. But I know it's about the shooting – he thinks I screwed up letting the guy get away. And the worst part of it is I can't even disagree – I did screw up. I'm still the new girl on the block at the station, it's really the last thing I needed. And I still can't understand how it even happened!"

Maria nodded. "And they didn't even put Dan on leave when he hit that car last year."

I smiled grimly. "Nope."

"Typical."

"I know. It's just – you know me, don't you? You know I take a certain pride in –"

"In having your shit together?"

"Yeah," I chuckled. "Yeah. And as ticked off as I am at Jerry, I – I did let that guy get away. He was right there. Right in front of me! I literally looked away for a second and then he was – gone. Even I don't understand how it happened. And that's kind of scaring the shit out of me, to be honest."

Maria clasped my hand in hers and squeezed it. "I know. Do you think something happened? On the Renner property, I mean – with the man you shot? Do you think you passed out or something? My mom passes out sometimes if she stands up too fast and she says that half the time she doesn't realize it's even happened. Last week she said it happened in the kitchen and she only noticed it when she felt something sharp on her belly and realized she'd kind of fallen against the cactus on that little shelf we have, by the fridge. She didn't even know how long she was out of it. Do you think that could have happened to you?"

I admit, passing out was not a possibility I had yet considered. I thought back to that day, to the moments I'd already been over so many times both in my own mind and in conversation with Jerry. I remembered the man scrambling backwards, away from me. I remembered him clutching at his leg before I looked away very briefly to dial 9-1-1 on my phone. And then I remembered looking up and seeing – nothing.

"I don't know," I said. "I remember it really clearly. I shot him, he started trying to get away – but he couldn't even stand up to run! – and I took my phone out to call 9-1-1. When I looked for him a few seconds later he was just – he disappeared. Maybe I did pass out? What other explanation could there be?"

"Have you ever passed out before? My mom's doctor said that some people have a history of passing out, something to do with their heart rates?"

I shrugged. "Not that I know of. As far as I know I never have. But – that man, in the woods? If I didn't pass out – then where the hell did he go? I'm not exaggerating or covering anything up – not with you. I really did only look away for a few seconds. Even if he was an Olympic sprinter, and he somehow managed to run through the woods in absolute silence, and with a gunshot wound! – I would have seen him. I would have seen him running when I looked up."

Maria believed me, that went without my having to question it. And I was grateful for her belief, because I knew Jerry didn't believe me and I had my doubts about my mom who, although she trusted me, would probably never stop thinking of me as a little girl.

"I know you're not supposed to talk about it," Maria said a few moments later, "but honestly, I'm not surprised. The whole thing is just so weird. First that Renner girl goes missing, then she comes back, then she goes missing again? And then her friend? And the news shows are saying the friend's family are back in England, like they don't even care anymore. Or like they know what happened."

I'd never actually spoken to anyone in the Renner or Wallis families. The FBI got involved pretty soon after Paige Renner went missing and they were territorial, only bringing state and local police into their investigations when they needed to. And even then it was almost always Jerry they dealt with. I decided I wasn't too full to eat a tamale and grabbed one out of the bag.

"I don't know about that," I replied. "Their daughter is missing. It's more likely they went back to the UK because they were advised to – the investigation is stalled, and having them around just attracts more media attention."

"Would you go back?"

"Huh?" I asked, biting into a tamale. "God, Maria – did you make these? These are just as good as your mom's."

Maria laughed. "Don't tell her that! But yeah – would you? Go back, I mean? If you were that girl's parents?"

I thought about it for a moment and shook my head. "No."

"And what about the sniffer dogs?" Maria continued. "They didn't find anything, did they? They traced the scents of both those girls into those woods where you shot that weirdo – and then they lost them. Did they use them again this time? To track down the guy you shot?"

I nodded, knowing already what the next question was going to be.

"And did they find anything? A trail?"

"Nope."

"See?" Maria said, scratching at the back of one of her hands. "This whole thing is just weird. You met this guy in the same woods where those girls went missing? Is someone dragging them into some underground cave system nobody knows about or what? Hey Soph – do you have any hand lotion? My hands are dry from washing dishes all damned night."

"Beside the sink," I nodded towards the kitchen. "And sniffer dogs lose trails all the time. If they didn't, they'd find every missing person."

"But I thought that was because people got put into cars?" Maria asked, pumping a blob of lotion into her palm and massaging it into her hands. "The news says the dogs just totally lost any trails at all – it said they didn't even leave the woods. If those girls didn't leave the woods – and that guy you shot in the leg didn't, either – then where are they?"

"Those FBI agents have big mouths," I commented, knowing it must have been law enforcement leaking information about the investigation to the media. "Information gets twisted. It just turns into a big game of telephone if –"

"My grandma said a woman went missing from that same property back in the 80s."

"What?" I asked, certain Maria was mistaken – every law enforcement agency working the case had checked and re-checked the history of similar missing persons cases in the area. There had been a missing period in the records, a couple of years between 1982 and 1984 when a flood in the late 90s had destroyed the physical case files, but no one we'd spoken to had said anything about a girl going missing during that time period. "The 80s? Did she say when, exactly? Like, what year? The FBI already said they looked into any similar cases and couldn't find anything. They –"

"1983."

A frisson ran up my spine, even as I tried to stop it. "1983?" I repeated. "But – no, that can't be possible. That's not the 50s, Maria – someone would have remembered if a young woman went missing from those same woods in the 80s! Everyone in River Falls knows about this case, someone would have said something. I don't know what your grandma's remembering but it's not a kidnapping in River Falls in 1983. That didn't happen."

"No, it wasn't a kidnapping," Maria replied, chewing her bottom lip as she tried to remember. "At least, I don't think it was – it's like you said, someone would remember that. I'll ask my grandma again if you want – she made it sound like it was one of those things where the police says it's a runaway but the family thinks it's something else."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Yeah – definitely ask your – actually, I wouldn't mind asking her myself if – ugh, never mind. I'm supposed to be off the case for now. Do you think she would mind talking to Dan?"

"Why don't you do it?" Maria prompted. "It doesn't have to be some official police thing, does it? My grandma knows you, it could just be a conversation with your best friend's family member, couldn't it?"

I tried hard not to let myself get over-excited about the possibility that another young woman had gone missing, in some capacity – even if it wasn't kidnapping or foul play – from the Renner property in the past. I'd seen the statistics – most of those cases of runaways that families insisted were kidnapping victims ended up being exactly what they seemed at first glance to be – runaways. Still, though. Still. The Renner property itself? If that was true, if Maria's grandma's memory was accurate, that was at least a mighty big coincidence. And we still didn't have any real proof that Paige Renner, her family, or Emma Wallis had been the victims of foul play themselves. From some angles, it looked like quite the opposite.

I nodded again. "Yeah. OK. Sure, I could just talk to your grandma as me – not as a cop. Hell, I'm going to have more free time than usual for a little while, aren't I?"

Maria smiled. "I'll talk to her tomorrow and message you, OK? Who knows, Soph, maybe you can crack this case on your own? Like one of those lady detectives on TV?"

'Don't say that," I rolled my eyes. "I really don't want to get my hopes up about any new information. It honestly would be very odd if the FBI didn't already know about this – and if they do, and if it means anything, I feel like they would already have figured it out."

"Well it can't hurt to try."

"You're right," I agreed. "It can't hurt."

Maria stayed for another hour or so. We didn't talk much more about the case, because I think she could sense I needed a distraction from it – not another reason to burrow my nose in even deeper. She told me about one of the new servers at Gina's, a handsome 24 year old with a nice ass and no girlfriend. We talked about him for a little while, giggling over the fact that we were now old enough to consider dating guys younger than us. I told her about Ashley's latest obsession – gemstones – and we ate too many tamales. By the time she left I was ready to crawl into my bed, not feeling even half as bad as I had earlier in the day.