They cleared the first floor except for the bathroom. He went in there and

peered out the window, which overlooked the backyard.

 

Knox looked over his shoulder. “Is this the window she was looking out when you

saw her last?” He nodded. “But the thing is, Knox, that was in the afternoon and

she didn’t leave until after we had our dinner.” “So you saw her again then?” He

closed the bathroom door. “Only I don’t seem to recall it.

 

Bobby told me.” “Okay, you had dinner, you said. Let’s go into the dining room

again and see if something hits you.” They walked into the small dining area off

the kitchen. Puller leaned against a wall and studied the space.

 

He closed his eyes and thought back thirty years ago. The only thing was that

people’s memories were notoriously bad. That was why eyewitness testimony was so

unreliable. Most couldn’t remember what they were doing the week before at any

precise time, much less three decades back. The brain wasn’t really a computer,

regurgitating pure facts. It was flavored with all sorts of human things, like

embellishment, hope, sorrow, selective recall.

 

Humans were the kings of revisionist remembering.

 

We all want to look and sound better than we actually do.

 

But Puller was an Army investigator. Thus he held himself to a higher standard

than that.