Magic Hour

At almost noon on Sunday, April 12, 2002, neighbor Stanley Seaman witnessed Azelle loading a large trunk and a smaller “sacklike” canvas duffel bag onto his seaplane.

Azelle asserts that he took off from Lake Washington in his seaplane, with no passengers, on or about one o’clock on April 12. According to family witness testimony, he arrived at his sister’s home on Shaw Island nearly two hours later. Experts confirmed to police that the ordinary flight time for that distance would be slightly less than an hour. Azelle returned to his Lake Washington residence at 7:00 that same evening.

A local flower delivery man, Mark Ulio, arrived at the Azelle home at 4:45 on Sunday to deliver flowers which had been ordered by Azelle, via phone, at one o’clock that day. At the time of their delivery, no one answered at the Azelle house. Ulio reported seeing a Caucasian male in his mid-thirties wearing a yellow rain slicker and a Batman baseball cap getting into a white van that was parked across the street from the Azelle residence.

On Monday morning, Azelle called several friends and family members to ask if they knew where his wife and daughter were. He told several witnesses that Zoë Azelle had “run off again.” At 10:30 A.M., when Brittany did not show up at day care and Zoë missed a meeting with her therapist, Azelle called police and reported them missing.

Upon identifying Azelle as a suspect, police arrived at his home with a search warrant. On a rug in the living room, they found traces of blood. Additionally, hair samples found in the couple’s bedroom—determined to be Mrs. Azelle’s—had the roots attached, indicating a struggle. A lamp on the dresser had a cracked base.

Throughout the search period, officers repeatedly noted that George Azelle was either inexplicably missing during the searches or seemingly unconcerned about his family’s disappearance. Such behavior led police to consider Azelle a suspect.

Based on the information obtained, Sergeant Gerald Reeves placed Azelle under arrest for the murder of his wife and daughter and advised him of his Miranda rights. State requests that no bail be granted in this case. This was a brutal and carefully planned and executed crime. Azelle’s considerable personal wealth, in addition to his pilot’s license, makes him a serious flight risk.

Under penalty of perjury, under the laws of the State of Washington, I certify that the foregoing is true and correct.

It was signed by the detective and dated.

When she finished, she sighed and set the papers back on the desk.

Footsteps thundered in the hallway.

Peanut and Cal fought to get through the door. Peanut was first. “Well?”

“He’s a scum,” Julia said. “An adulterer and almost certainly a wife beater. But according to the courts, he’s not a murderer. He can’t be retried for it, either. Double jeopardy.” She looked at the worried faces around her. “He’s also her father. The DNA is conclusive on that: she’s Brittany Azelle. Washington State courts—”

“I don’t give a shit about state law,” Peanut said, looking down at Julia. “What do we do to protect her?”

“We need a plan,” Cal said.

“I’d stand in front of a bus for her,” Julia said, and at that, she felt herself go calm.

The trembling in her hands stopped.

I’d stand in front of a bus for her.

It was true.

“Time to step into traffic,” she said, and though she couldn’t force a smile, couldn’t in fact imagine ever smiling again, she was okay. She wouldn’t think about what if; that would destroy her. She’d think only about Alice and how to protect her.

“Hire a detective,” she said to Ellie. “Go through Azelle’s records back to second grade. Somewhere, sometime, this son of a bitch hit someone or sold drugs or drove drunk. Find it. We don’t have to prove he’s a murderer, just an unfit parent.”

IT WAS JUST PAST FIVE O’CLOCK WHEN THEY GOT HOME, BUT IT FELT LIKE the middle of the night. Clouds darkened the sky. An inch of snow frosted everything—the lawn, the roof, the porch railing. The house seemed to glow amidst all that whiteness.

Ellie parked close to the house. Neither of them made a move to get out of the car.

“I’m not going to tell her,” Julia finally said, staring straight ahead.

Ellie sighed. “How will you ever tell her? She hates it when you leave to make breakfast.”

Julia couldn’t go there. Not to the imagining it place.

No leave Girl, Jewlee.

She opened the car door and stepped out into the falling snow, barely feeling the cold.

She walked up the steps, going from snow to wet wood, and opened the front door. The light and warmth hit her first. Then she saw Alice, curled up in Max’s lap. At Julia’s entrance, she looked up and grinned.

“Jewlee!” she squealed, sliding out of Max’s arms and running for Julia.