Distant Shores

He stopped. The door screeched open. She thought she heard him sigh. "No, I dont. "

She knew the end of a conversation when she heard it. The finality in his voice was unmistakable. As usual, she gave in gracefully, knowing how much it hurt him to remember Mama. "Good night, Daddy. Tell Anita Ill see her in the morning. "

"Some wounds run deep, Birdie. " When he spoke, his voice was as soft as shed ever heard it. "Youd best remember that. "

Then the door banged shut, and she was alone.

FIVE

The girl who had come forward--Andrea Kinnear--lived with two roommates in a small 1930s brick Tudor near the university. A messy brown yard led up to a porch that was littered with empty planter boxes and mismatched chairs. The only holiday decoration was a colorful snowman stuck to the front window. A stack of empty Rainier beer cans formed a pyramid beside the door.

Jack paused at the gate. "Wait here," he said to Kirk, his cameraman, and Sally. "Let me introduce myself first. "

Then he faced the house. Hed never done anything like this before, an on-camera interview with the victim of a violent crime, and he was nervous.

Alleged victim.

That was the kind of distinction that mattered in the news biz. Pros like Dan Rather and Bob Costas probably didnt even have to remind themselves of it.

Jack was out of his league here, no doubt about it. But hed go down in flames before hed let this story out of his hands. As the old saying went, another reporter would have to pry the notes from Jacks cold, dead fingers.

He walked down the cracked, moss-furred concrete pavers and climbed onto the splintered porch. Sally and Kirk followed him at a respectful distance.

He knocked at the door.

A few moments passed, so many that he started to worry that Andrea had changed her mind. He glanced back at Sally, who shrugged.

Then the door opened. A small, pale young woman with carrot-red hair stood in the opening. She wore a cotton twill skirt, white blouse, and navy blazer.

"Hello, Mr. Shore. " She cleared her throat, then added, "Im Andrea. "

"Its nice to meet you, Andrea. Please, call me Jack. And this is my associate, Sally Maloney. "

Sally stepped forward. "Hello, Andrea. We spoke on the phone. "

"Its nice to meet you. "

Andrea stepped back into the house. "Come in. "

Jack motioned to the cameraman, who immediately started toward the house.

Andrea led them to a small living room that was crowded with garage-sale furniture. Papers and coffee mugs covered every table. She turned to Jack. "Where would you like me to sit?"

Kirk answered, "How about that chair by the window?"

Andrea sat down, though her body remained stiffly upright, her hands clasped tightly together.

Jack sat down opposite her, on a faded denim ottoman. While the camera was being set up, he looked through his notes for the thousandth time; then he put them aside. "Im just going to ask you some very straightforward questions, okay? I wont ambush you or anything like that. " He frowned. She looked . . . fragile suddenly. "Are you sure youre okay with this?"

Great reporter, Jack. Way to go for the kill.

"Its just . . . humiliating. "

Sally moved in close, touched Jacks shoulder, then drew back. It was the signal; they were rolling film now. Jack knew he could stop, introduce her for the camera and officially begin the interview, but he didnt want to interrupt what hed already started. Instead, he leaned toward her and said, "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Andrea. "

She tried to smile. It was heartbreaking to see. "How about stupidity? I didnt even get to know him. I saw him across the room and knew who he was--everyone knew him. I was a cheerleader in high school--Corvallis--and I used to watch him play. He always seemed so . . . perfect. I knew girls came up to him all the time, and I wasnt pretty enough or cool enough, but that night Id had a few drinks and I was brave. I thought: maybe, you know? So, I went up to him and started a conversation. At first, he was so nice. He really looked at me, like I was someone who mattered. When he went over to the keg for a beer, he brought me back one, and when other girls came up to him, he blew them off and stayed with me. The way he smiled at me . . . touched me when he talked . . . it made me feel so special. " Her voice cracked. She fingered the gold cross that hung from a delicate chain around her throat.

Jack thought: You are special, and you shouldnt need a boy to prove it. It was what he hoped someone would have said to his own daughters.