The lieutenant colonel had ordered my husband’s death, and lost money in the process.
They hadn’t been able to recover the rest of the funds. No record in Shane’s accounts and no record in Brian’s. According to D.D., internal affairs believed that both men had gambled away their illicit gains at the casino, while Hamilton had saved his share of the scam. Ironically, their bad habit meant Shane and Brian would never be charged in the crime, while Hamilton and his girlfriend Bonita—who’d been positively ID’d as the female who’d closed out the shell company’s bank account—would posthumously shoulder the blame.
Good news for Shane’s widow, I thought, and good news for me.
I heard later that Shane was buried with full honors. The police determined that he must have agreed to meet with Purcell in the back alley. Purcell had overpowered him, then killed him, maybe to eliminate Shane, just as he’d eliminated Brian.
Purcell’s murder remains open, I’ve been told, the weapon having yet to be recovered.
As I explained to Detective D. D. Warren, I don’t know nothing about anything, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
Sophie and I live together now in a two-bedroom apartment just down the street from Mrs. Ennis. We’ve never returned to the old house; I sold it in about three hours, because even if it was once a crime scene, it still has one of the largest yards in Boston.
Sophie does not ask for Brian, nor speak of him. Nor does she talk about the kidnapping. I believe she feels she’s protecting me. What can I tell you—she’s a chip off the old block. She sees a specialist once a week. He advises me to be patient and so I am. I view my job now as building a safe place to land for when my daughter inevitably lets go.
She will fall, and I will catch her. Gladly.
I made Brian’s funeral arrangements alone. He’s buried with a simple granite marker bearing his name and relevant dates. And maybe it was weakness on my part, but given that he died for Sophie, that he knew, standing there in our kitchen, the decision I would have to make, I added one last word. The highest praise you can give a man. I had etched, under his name: Daddy.
Maybe someday Sophie will visit him. And maybe, seeing that word, she can remember his love and she can forgive his mistakes. Parents aren’t perfect, you know. We’re all just doing the best we can.
I had to resign from the state police. While D.D. and Bobby have yet to connect me to Shane Lyons’s or John Stephen Purcell’s deaths, there’s still the small matter of me breaking out of jail and assaulting a fellow officer. My lawyer is arguing that I was operating under extreme emotional duress, given my superior officer’s kidnapping of my child, and should not be held responsible for my actions. Cargill remains optimistic that the DA, wanting to avoid too much bad publicity for the state police, will agree to a plea where I serve a probationary sentence, or at worse, house arrest.
Either way, I understand my days as a police officer are over. Frankly, a woman who’s done the things I’ve done shouldn’t be an armed protector of the public. And I don’t know—maybe there is something wrong with me, an essential boundary missing, so that where other mothers would’ve cried for their child, I armed myself to the teeth and hunted down the people who took her instead.
Sometimes, I’m scared by the image that greets me in the mirror. My face is too hard, and even I realize it’s been a long time since I’ve smiled. Men don’t ask me out. Strangers don’t strike up conversations with me on the subway.
Bobby Dodge is right—killing someone is not something to be thankful for. It’s a necessary evil that costs you a piece of yourself and a connection to humanity you never get back.
But you don’t need to feel sorry for me.
I recently started with a global security firm, making more money while working better hours. My boss read my story in the paper and called me with the job offer. He believes I have one of the finest strategic minds he’s ever encountered, with an uncanny ability to foresee obstacles and anticipate next steps. There’s a demand for those kinds of skills, especially in this day and age; I’ve already been promoted twice.
Now I drop off Sophie at school each morning. I go to work. Mrs. Ennis picks Sophie up at three. I join them at six. We eat dinner together, then I take Sophie home.
She and I tend the apartment, do homework. Then, at nine, we go to bed. We share a room. Neither of us sleeps much, and even three months later, we’re still not ready for the dark.
Mostly, we snuggle together, Gertrude nestled between us.
Sophie likes to rest with her head on my shoulder, her fingers splayed in the palm of my hand.
“Love you, Mommy,” she tells me each and every night.
And I say, my cheek pressed against the top of her dark hair: “Love you more, baby. I love you more.”
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“THE KILLING”
FADE IN:
EXT. GOLDEN GARDENS PARK - WOODS - DAY
Near dawn, sky threatening rain. CAMERA TRACKS behind a lone WOMAN running along a wooded trail and over a bridge over railroad tracks. Breathing hard, pushing herself to the limit, sweatshirt soaked through. At first you wonder if she’s a young girl with her ponytail, small frame, and then you see her eyes — wounded, haunted — and realize she isn’t. Meet Homicide Detective SARAH LINDEN — 37, lone wolf type, solo distance runner, pretty without trying, her smiles rare, her intense eyes strange, unblinking.
SFX: Train HORN. SMASH CUT TO —
EXT. DISCOVERY PARK - FIELD - NIGHT
A screaming young GIRL runs through the tall grass — away from someone — their flashlight cutting the darkness.
EXT. GOLDEN GARDENS PARK - WOODS - DAY
Sarah continues to jog down the trail.
EXT. DISCOVERY PARK - WOODS - NIGHT
Tree limbs, like long fingers, reach down towards the young girl — 17, sweet-faced, child-woman’s body — running hard, clothing torn, hair soaked with sweat. With blood. This is ROSIE LARSEN and she is running for her life.
Crashing through the brush behind her, an UNSEEN ASSAILANT closes in, FLASHLIGHT cutting through the woods.
EXT. GOLDEN GARDENS PARK - WOODS - DAY
Sarah continues jogging — intense, driven.
EXT. DISCOVERY PARK - WOODS - NIGHT
Rosie crouches down, pressing herself into the side of a tree, making herself as small as possible. Rosie’s terrified, bloodshot eyes, the bruises and cuts on her arms, legs, face.
EXT. GOLDEN GARDENS PARK - WOODS - DAY
Sarah continues jogging the wooded trial.
EXT. DISCOVERY PARK - WOODS - NIGHT
Rosie’s face is suddenly flooded with light. The Assailant has doubled back and is now only a dozen yards away. Moving in with terrifying speed. With a scream, Rosie runs—
EXT. GOLDEN GARDENS PARK - WOODS - INTERCUT
Dawn. Sarah bursts into a clearing, down a small embankment, is an abandoned beach strewn with driftwood, fog.
EXT. DISCOVERY PARK - WOODS - INTERCUT
Rosie tripping, scrambling on hands and knees down a small embankment. The flashlight behind her jaggedly cuts through the woods, nearing.
EXT. GOLDEN GARDENS PARK - WOODS - INTERCUT
Sarah looks up, goes still. A FIGURE lies on the beach. A blanket of loopy seaweed covering it. Gnats and flies buzzing over it.
Sarah, transfixed, nears the still figure on the sand.
She reaches down, pulls off the blanket of seaweed.
It is a dead SEA LIO
N — one blank eye staring up. Sarah takes it in. RAIN begins to fall.
Even here, on this beach, she is unable to escape these broken, sad bodies. The exhausting knowledge that life doesn’t care. It is indifferent.
Sarah’s CELL PHONE RINGS, startling her—
SARAH
(into phone)
Yeah, Linden here.
Off this—
CREDITS ROLL
END TEASER
ACT ONE
EXT. DOCKS - DAY (CHYRON: “DAY ONE”)
A CAR drives down the industrial docks of downtown Seattle. In the distance, through the now heavy rain, the Space Needle, the gray downtown skyline, the waters of Lake Union, all under a breathtaking, brooding sky. A city of contrasts, light and dark, sun and fog, where rain falls eight months of the year. A city surrounded on all sides by waterways, ocean, lakes. Stark beauty and dark underbelly.
The car pulls up to a crime scene. In her sweats and a raincoat, Sarah exits her car in the now intense DOWNPOUR, chomping NICACHEW. A UNIFORM guards the entrance of an abandoned factory, keeping a bunch of LOOKIE LOOS — sullen emo teens and a bug-eyed crackhead — at bay.
SARGEANT (O.S.)
Back behind the tape. Yeah, you heard me.
A Lookie Loo — male, pierced - catches Sarah’s eye. She holds his baleful stare.
Sarah ducks under the crime scene TAPE, met by a SARGEANT — 40s, grizzled, ex-boxer’s battered face—
SARGEANT (CONT’D)
Sarah, sorry ‘bout this. Lieutenant said you were on call so—
SARAH
Where’s the body?
SARGEANT
Conveyor shed. Homeless guy found her coupla hours ago. Jane Doe … No ID, wallet. Coroner’s en route. You’re the first one here.
(beat)
You gotta go up the stairs, follow the ramp, you’ll find her. You want me to walk ya through?
SARAH
No. I’m good. Thanks.
They stop in front a steel door. Sargeant opens it revealing a dark hallway, stairs — He gives her BAGGIES and a FLASHLIGHT over—
SARGEANT
You’re outta here, what? Friday?
SARAH
Nope. Today.
With a smile, she enters …
INT. FACTORY - CONTINUOUS
… Heads up the stairs. Suddenly, the steel door slams shut, plunging her into darkness. It’d be easy to turn back but that’s not Sarah’s style. Instead, she turns on her flashlight — flickery, iffy.
Ahead of her, a ramp tilting up into blackness. Trash, graffiti everywhere. Rain pelts the tin roof, pigeons coo. She’s used to silent, secret places like this. Forges on.
Her light catches a dark SMEAR on one wall. Blood. Below it, a pile of trash. Baggie in hand, Sarah sifts through. Pulls out a sharp deboning KNIFE. Bags it.
Trains her flashlight on a faint trail of BLOOD. Leading to the top of the conveyor shaft, a room. Something in there …
INT. FACTORY - BACK ROOM - CONTINUOUS
A large OBJECT, like a side of beef encased in plastic, hangs from a hook. Sarah slowly reaches up, rips it off—LIGHTS snap on, revealing a group of middle-aged male DETECTIVES in PARTY HATS, clutching a CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE,
Laughing at what’s hanging on the hook: a BLOW UP DOLL. Red mouth around a fake SPLIFF, San Francisco baseball CAP on its head, written across its torso: “BON VOYAGE SARAH”.
OAKES
(singing)
Hey, hey … For she’s a jolly good
fellow! For she’s a jolly good …
SINGING DETECTIVE
For she’s a jolly good fellow …!
They warble off key, the others clapping, hooting, blowing noise makers. They tease Sarah.
OAKES
Get her a glass …
Sarah laughing now, much loved, overwhelmed by it all …
EXT. ESTABLISHING AERIAL SHOT - CHINNTENDEN LOCKS - DAY
The waterway connecting Lake Union with the vast Puget Sound. Through the RAIN—
INT. SARAH’S CONDO - DAY
Sarah enters, BLOW UP DOLL under arm, rain coat sopping. Takes in the sterile, empty condo. Packing boxes everywhere.
SARAH
Rick? Are you still here …?
Rick …?
As she moves through the barren rooms CAMERA FOLLOWS. Someone watching, closing in …
SARAH (CONT’D)
Rick …?
Suddenly, Sarah spins around—
SARAH (CONT’D)
Boo.
Getting the drop on RICK FELDER — salt-and-pepper sexy, established man’s confidence mixed with a former bad boy’s heat—
RICK
I so had you …
SARAH
Charlie Brown with the football—
RICK
I think Lucy needs a spanking.
He grabs at her. Laughing, screaming, she fends him off with the blow up doll. As they tussle—
RICK (CONT’D)
(re: doll)
I’m not even gonna ask.
He flings it to the side, grabs her, they kiss. Visceral, electric, heating up. Over—
SARAH
Where’s Jack?
RICK
Dropped him off at school…
SARAH
Was he mad?
RICK
He’s 13. It’s his job to hate us.
Sarah sighs, worried, rests her head on his shoulder.
RICK (CONT’D)
He’ll come around. Or I’ll make him.
(beat, then re: blow up doll)
What does Candy Cane feel about Sonoma?
SARAH
(smiles)
Pop that damn thing before Jack sees it.
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. SEATTL
E PD - DAY
Sarah seen in her office window, cleaning up. A UNI walks past.
SARAH