RICK
Okay.
SARAH
What time’re the movers coming?
She goes to an open moving BOX, digs around. Pops a NICACHEW out of its box.
RICK
In an hour. Oh, Regi called, said she wanted to take Jack for a spin on the boat before you leave.
SARAH
Maybe she can give me away at the wedding. What’ll your parents think about that?
RICK
Who cares. What about you, you ready to do this?
SARAH
Do what?
He laughs. Kisses her.
RICK
Sell the condo, quit your job, move your kid away from his cool friends… Marry me.
She kisses him. Deep, passionate–
SARAH
You know I’m not one for words.
RICK
It’s a good thing you only need two of ‘em.
They kiss again, heating up. Their need for one another bottomless. BEEP BEEP–
RICK (CONT’D)
That’s me, ahhh–
Rick disengages and moves toward his bags.
SARAH
Why can’t you fly down with us tonight? Candy Cane wants to play, argg–
Sarah grabbing at him.
RICK
Yeah. Okay.
He laughs at her playfulness. Grabs his bags. Makes his way to the front door.
RICK (CONT’D)
Tickets on top of the fridge, flight’s at nine thirty.
SARAH
I do.
RICK
What?
SARAH
Want to marry you.
This moment honest. No jokes. No masks. They smile.
RICK
Tickets on the fridge, flights at nine thirty.
Rick exits. A beat as Sarah sits in this empty place, her smile fades. She spots the TICKETS on the fridge. As she takes them down, a PHOTO – pinned underneath – flutters to the ground. Sarah picks it up, smiles, tenderly kisses the photo. Pins it back on the fridge.
We see the PHOTO: Sarah and her 13-year-old son, JACK, smiling into camera. Mom and son against the world.
Only thing left in the empty kitchen. She carefully straightens it. Making it perfect.
EXT. SEATTLE PD - DAY
Sarah seen in her office window, cleaning up. A UNI walks past.
SARAH
… We’ll have a few hours before the airport, Regi… Yeah, it’d be great…
INT. SEATTLE PD - SARAH’S OFFICE - DAY
Musty and cramped, mismatched steel filing cabinets, Sarah, in sweater and jeans, tosses manila FOLDERS into cardboard boxes, chewing gum, mid-convo on her cell phone–
SARAH
…To take Jack out on the water–
Her office door bangs opens, revealing Det. STEPHEN HOLDER –30, ex-narc, dark circles under his eyes. Startled as she–
HOLDER
(overlapping)
Ahh, this is a bad door. Sorry, what… what are you doing here–
SARAH
(overlapping)
A who… Can I help you–?
HOLDER
Yeah, this is my office–
SARAH
Who are you–?
HOLDER
I’m Holder, from County. You Linden?
REGI (O.S.)
(from phone)
Sar? You there…?
SARAH
(into phone)
Yeah, I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight, Regi.
Sarah hangs up, takes him in: cardboard BOX in his arms. Fish out of water in his Fubu and baggy jeans. Amused–
SARAH (CONT’D)
Yeah. I’m Linden.
HOLDER
I thought you’d be outta here by now. But if you need more time, I can wait outside.
SARAH
No, it’s okay. No, no, come on in. I’m almost done.
Not much room to navigate. He drops his box on the desk, knocking over her box, spilling files everywhere.
HOLDER
Damn it–
SARAH
It’s okay, I got it.
Holder tries to help, making more of a mess.
HOLDER
My bad, my bad.
Hold picks up the box, she takes it.
HOLDER (CONT’D)
Here.
He moves to the other side of the desk. Starts unpacking his own box.
HOLDER (CONT’D)
So, I hear you’re moving to LA.
SARAH
San Francisco area.
HOLDER
Oakland?
SARAH
Sonoma.
HOLDER
Sonoma. It’s nice.
SARAH
Yup.
Beat. She continues to clean up, not interested in engaging.
HOLDER
Nice weather. Ocean. The beaches… Hate that shit.
Holder shoots a ball into a hoop/trash can. Sarah smiles grudgingly.
SARAH
You must love this place then.
HOLDER
Ouch.
He’s glancing at one of Sarah’s files. CLOSE ON gruesome crime scene PHOTO of an ADDICT – white, trashy, fatty (think Courtney Love) – cut ear to ear. Beneath, a SKETCH: a lonely grove of trees on the sand. Beautiful.
HOLDER (CONT’D)
Crack head thought she was Picasso?
SARAH
Crack head’s six year old son drew it.
HOLDER
He get iced, too?
SARAH
No.
Sarah takes the sketch. Puts it away. Holder waits for more. None coming. Fort Knox this woman.
HOLDER
So what happened to the kid–?
LT. OAKES – 50s, soft touch for Sarah – enters.
OAKES
Don’t waste your time moving in, do ya?
HOLDER
No. County cut me loose early. So, I…
OAKES
Well, you got a tough act to follow. You wrapped up here, Sarah?
SARAH
Yup. All done.
Oakes hands her a PAPER.
OAKES
Good. Got a call down at Discovery Park. Check it out.
SARAH
On my last day? My flights tonight–
OAKES
You’re still on the city’s dime.
You can hand it off end of shift. Six o’clock. Go on do your job. Take him. Show him how to work a scene.
HOLDER
(quietly)
I know how to work a scene…
Reluctantly, Sarah grabs her coat and a box–
SARAH
Grab a box. We’ll take my car.
HOLDER
Alright.
SARAH
(indicating a nearby box)
Over there.
As Sarah and Holder exit, boxes in tow, Holder shuts the door with his foot.
EXT. DOWNTOWN SEATTLE - AERIAL SHOT - DAY
Transition.
INT/EXT. SARAH’S CAR - DAY
Sarah drives, Holder yaks. Wipers flipping across the rain-soaked windshield. Squat factories – abandoned, graffii-marred – slide past their windows.
HOLDER
… They tapped me out of the Academy like first year, boom straight to
(MORE)
HOLDER (CONT’D)
undercover. So I was working vice, narco. I don’t know, I guess narco kinda stuck to me, so…
SARAH
(no shit)
You? A UC? I never woulda guessed.
Holder shoots her an amused look.
HOLDER
Whatever. It’s mostly like street level buys and busts, you know, Joaquim shooting Rakim, blah blah blah.
SARAH
You think Homicide’s gonna be any different?
HOLDER
Least you got a bad guy.
SARAH
Yeah? Who’s that?
Holder looks at her, waiting for more. No luck. They stop at a light.
On the sidewalk, a TEEN RUNAWAY – 16, male, filthy dreads, kindly face – slouches numbly against a monstrous duffel bag. Rain drizzling down.
Holder presses two fingers against the glass: “Peace”. The Teen Runaway lazily sticks up his middle finger: “Fuck you”.
Holder grins, gives him the finger back. As they pull away–
HOLDER
Is that why you running away, Linden? Cuz you don’t know no more?
She doesn’t even look at him. Off which–
EXT. SEATTLE - AERIAL SHOT FROM A DISTANCE - DAY
Transition.
EXT. DISCOVERY PARK - FIELD - DAY
Sarah drives down the fire road, pulling up to the scene. A scattering of UNIFORMS in a desolate field, woods in the near distance, lonely fire road. Rain abated for now.
Exiting their car, Sarah and Holder make there way to the scene and are approached by a young, UNIFORM in charge–
UNIFORM
Detective Linden…
SARAH
Where’s the body?
UNIFORM
Still lookin’. School kids on a field trip this mornin’ found this.
He hands a clear Evidence BAG to Sarah – inside a shimmery pink SWEATER. Torn, blood-smeared.
HOLDER
This park’s like Tweaker Central at nights. Ho-bags bringin’ their tricks down. Could be some basehead–
SARAH
(hands the evidence bag back to the Uni)
The owner’s not an addict. At least not the kind who hangs around here.
(off Holder’s look)
It’s a wool sweater. Looks recently cleaned.
HOLDER
Brought it to the coin wash, so what.
SARAH
You dry clean wool? Do you know any tweakers who drop their wardrobe off at the cleaners?
(to uniform) Anything else?
UNIFORM
This. ATM card.
He holds out a baggie: inside, a bank CARD. Imprinted on the front: “STANLEY LARSEN”. Holder takes it–
‘Stanley Larsen’. Guy loses his wallet while he’s gettin’ his knob polished?
ON Sarah as she steps away from Holder and the Uni, surveys the field – taking it in.
HOLDER (O.S.) (CONT’D)
(to Uni)
Anyway, keep lookin’. Search the field…
SARAH
(to Uni)
You find anything else, mark it, don’t move it. And call in Sex Crimes. This is theirs for now.
She heads to the car. Holder, surprised, follows–
HOLDER
Yo. We got here first.
SARAH
Yeah and we don’t got a body.
HOLDER
Not yet.
Sarah, impatient, checks her watch.
SARAH
You wanna follow it up, go for it.
HOLDER
You’re my ride, Linden.
SARAH
So, I’ll drop you off at the station, I need to finish packing up–
HOLDER
I thought you were done.
(off her look)
Flight’s not til nine, right? I won’t let you miss it. Promise.
Holder grins, walks ahead.
HOLDER (CONT’D)
Let’s have a talk with this Stanley Larsen.
Sarah clocks something on the back of his neck, peeking above his collar: a TATTOO. The top of an ornate CRUCIFIX. Sarah, curious, follows.
About the author
LISA GARDNER is the New York Times bestselling author of Alone, The Killing Hour, The Survivors Club, The Next Accident, The Third Victim, The Other Daughter, and The Perfect Husband. Living in New England with her husband, Anthony, Lisa is already at work on her latest suspense novel, and invites readers to participate by entering in the third annual KILL A FRIEND, MAIM A BUDDY sweepstakes at www.LisaGardner.com.
By Lisa Gardner
THE PERFECT HUSBAND
THE OTHER DAUGHTER
THE THIRD VICTIM
THE NEXT ACCIDENT
THE SURVIVORS CLUB
THE KILLING HOUR
ALONE
GONE
GONE
A Bantam Book / February 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Lisa Gardner, Inc.
Excerpt From Love You More
Copyright © 2010 by Lisa Gardner, Inc.
Bantam Books is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gardner, Lisa.
Gone / Lisa Gardner.
p. cm.
1. Missing persons—Fiction. 2. Kidnapping victims—Fiction. 3. Government investigators—Fiction. 4. Separated people—Fiction. 5. Oregon—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3557.A7132G66 2006
813'.54—dc22 2005053168
Published simultaneously in Canada
www.bantamdell.com
eISBN: 978-0-553-90228-0
v3.0_r1