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would be a lot for me to meet with Sylvia, and I wondered if I was crazy to do this without Jim. But the FBI had spoken to Sylviabefore and had not been able to break through to her. Now Jack had made it very clear in his letter that she was his confidante. That she knew all the details of his past. I hoped coming face to face with his victim would make her realize whom she had really married, and that I could persuade her to reveal something she might not tell anyone else.
    I was staying in Portland, even though Keeler, where she lived, was about forty miles outside the city. It was a little inconvenient, but her town had only motels, and a door directly onto the outside world was a nonstarter. I had never been comfortable driving, even when I’d been in practice. But I was relieved to find that once I got behind the wheel, the habit came back to me, though every second put me on edge.
    I checked into the hotel without incident but also without grace. Unused to eye contact, I mostly stared down at my credit card, my hands, my suitcase. I hated the sound of the words “Caroline Morrow” as I choked them out. Ten years of it, and it still didn’t ring true to my ears. And it had never seemed fair that he had been able to rob me of my identity in such a profound way.
    Once in my room, I locked both locks, which I couldn’t help noticing were made by a cheap manufacturer. I berated myself out loud for being such a freak. Nevertheless, my first move was to find the hotel guide and memorize the locations of all emergency exits. I studied the map on the back of the door and picked up the phone handset to check for a dial tone. I took out my cell phone to charge it, even though it was nearly at full power. You could never be too careful.
    I had thought a lot about what I would say to Sylvia, and I ran over it all in my head again as I unpacked my clothes and laid them out on the bed to make sure, once more, that I hadn’t forgotten anything. Of course I hadn’t, so I showered quickly and set out on my journey. I wanted to make an initial run at it today and get back to the hotel before dark.
    I found Sylvia’s house without any trouble. A small, nondescript, brick ranch house in a quiet residential area. At first glance, it looked deserted. There were heavy curtains on the windows, all closed.
    I pulled into the empty driveway and quickly surveyed the premises. The garage doors in front of me looked as if they were sealed shut. I peered into their windows and saw that the space was neat as a pin. No car there, either. Along one wall, a wide assortment of household tools hung from a row of evenly spaced nails, their outlines traced carefully in marker. A bike in the corner had an obvious flat.
    All this way, and she wasn’t home.
    I walked around to the front door and rang the bell, just in case. I tried three times before I was convinced no one was there. I went back to the mailbox and, out of the corner of my eye, checked for signs of interfering neighbors before I opened it up. It was jammed full. I hesitated for only a second before pulling out a few pieces of mail. Already here I was, day one of this journey, breaking federal law. But at least I could tell I had the right place.
    The mailbox contained mostly bills and advertising flyers. I reached underneath the pile and checked the postmark of the phone bill on the very bottom. It was dated three weeks ago. Strange that she hadn’t had the post office hold her mail if she had expected to be gone so long. But then, maybe I was the only one who planned ahead like that.
    After flipping through the stack to make sure there was nothing from the penitentiary, I shoved it all back in and returned to my car, unsure of my next steps. I sat there for a few minutes, thinking. Since I’d made this trip to Keeler, I might as well explore every avenue, so I decided to stop off at the coffee shop I had passed on my way here. This was a small town—maybe they knew her.
    It was a