“Knowledge of what?”

“That four years ago, Tim Scott was put on trial for the murder of his wife, Abigail.”

You stare at him, stunned. A long moment passes. You can’t believe it—surely Tim would never have kept something as important as this from you. But then—clunk!—you feel it, a cascade of images tumbling into your mind. Newspaper reports, video feeds, tweets and blogs and snatched paparazzi images. Tim, gaunt and unshaven, being led toward some courtroom doors—

“Should I have a lawyer?” you say faintly.

The deputy chief looks at Tanner, who shrugs. “Legally speaking, we believe she’s computer equipment. She certainly has no rights.”

“Well, I’m not saying anything else,” you tell them defiantly. “Not until my husband gets here.”

Tanner leans forward. “You call him your husband. But he isn’t, is he? You’re not married to him. You can’t be—you’re a machine. Before you feel sorry for him, feel sorry for her. For Abbie. And if you know anything that can help us solve her disappearance, even at this late stage, tell us. For her sake.”

Disappearance. The word, with all its ramifications, echoes around your head.

The silence is broken by a knock on the interview room door. Tanner sighs in frustration. “Enter.”

A policewoman comes in and whispers something in his ear. “Tim Scott’s here,” he says reluctantly. “With a lawyer. We’re going to have to let her go.”

Relieved, you get to your feet. “I’ll walk you out,” he adds.

At the door he stands back to let you go before him. As you pass, he suddenly leans forward, blocking your way with his arm, forcing you to stop. Speaking in a low voice, so only you can hear, he says, “I spent twelve months putting together a case against Tim Scott. You tell him from me, I’m not going to give up just because he’s built himself a Barbie doll.”

18

   “I understand now why you didn’t want me going out. But you might have told me the reason.”

Finally, you’re back at Dolores Street together, and alone. Tim grimaces. “I know. I’m sorry, Abbie. It wasn’t that I expected you to stay cooped up here forever. I just didn’t know how to tell you. These past two weeks have been such a special time for me. A second honeymoon, almost. And I suppose I was worried you might react the way everyone else did, back then. I thought if I could just reestablish the connection between us first…and then somehow it was easier to keep putting it off.”

“I understand,” you say, although understanding isn’t the same as forgiving him, not quite. “But Tim, what happened? You have to tell me now. The police used the word murder but they also talked about my disappearance.” You hesitate. “And what made them think you could have had something to do with it?”

He nods decisively. “You’re right. Let’s talk.”

* * *

—

   It was a surfing accident, he says. He stresses the word accident.

“There’d been a storm—high winds and rain. You were at the beach house on your own, working on a new project. I stayed here in the city, with Danny. The whole point was to give you some time alone, to let you rediscover your spark.”

Even now, five years later, you can tell how difficult this is for him. He stares into space, his eyes unseeing. Fixed on memories that are still almost too much to bear.

“You often went night-surfing. Even in poor conditions—you found high waves exhilarating, and you were easily skilled enough to cope with them. You said it cleared your head when you’d been working. There were plenty of people who could confirm that. It was only later that the coverage got so…I kept some of the reports, actually.”

He gets up and comes back with a USB stick that he plugs into his laptop. When he turns the screen toward you, you see he’s put together a kind of digital scrapbook, a slideshow of cuttings and screengrabs from news feeds and social media. He sits back and watches intently as you click through them, scouring your face for signs of your response.

The first articles tell just the bare facts of your disappearance.

Air Search Fails to Find Storm Victim

    The search continues today for Bay Area artist Abbie Cullen-Scott, whose vehicle was found parked overnight near San Gregorio State Beach in strong winds. The mother of one, who with tech entrepreneur husband Tim Scott owns a $10M beach house nearby, is known to be a passionate surfer.

 Residents expressed surprise anyone would risk going out in the heavy breaks seen Friday. The area is known for unusual offshore rock formations that, under certain conditions, funnel freak waves as high as fifty feet.

You reach back into the past, searching for memories that would confirm any of this, but nothing comes. You have no recollection of that time at all. And that, somehow, insulates you from the horror of it. It’s as if you’re reading about someone else. Not your own final moments.

You continue clicking through. It was the Chronicle that first made the connection with Danny, and by implication raised a different possibility:

Search Halted for Tragic Abbie

    The search was called off today for missing artist Abbie Cullen-Scott. The 30-year-old mother was “struggling” with her autistic son Danny, according to friends. Danny is currently being cared for at the couple’s home in the Mission by tech founder Tim Scott, 40, who has requested privacy through his legal representative.

The next day Tim issued a statement. Clearly, at least part of his reason was to combat the Chronicle’s insinuations.

    Abbie is a wonderful person, a beautiful wife and exemplary mother, an incredibly optimistic, forward-looking individual who cares deeply about art and the positive effect it can have on people’s lives. Now that the search for her has been scaled down, I have to confront the devastating possibility I will never see her again. If so, I have lost not only my wife, but my soulmate. I ask that the media respect my privacy, and that of our son, at this difficult time.

The statement caused a ripple of interest on Circle of Moms and other parenting sites.

          A woman in Australia drowned herself and her daughter. There’s a ton of stuff about it online if you do a search!

       There’s no support. My cousin and her husband have a child with autism and they can’t even go out.

       My friend’s boy screams if they make a left in the car.