"Thank you, Cicely. You'll never know how much I appreciate all of this."

Cicely nodded and grabbed Sondra's hand. "It's okay."

The two women walked over to a small cubicle with a computer and dozens of tiny blinking red, green and orange lights. A stack of tapes sat on the small metal chair directly in front of the editing bay being manned by a lanky, young Latino guy.

"Ricky, this is Sondra. Sondra, Ricky."

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries and Ricky offered her a seat next to him.

"So, what have we got, Cicely?" Ricky asked.

"Sondra's working on a documentary about what happened to Tracy."

Ricky snapped his fingers. "Of course, Sondra Ellis. I love your work."

Sondra managed a feeble smile, anxious to get down to it. "Thanks."

"I had everything pulled from our first story when she was reported missing, to the memorial service. It's probably about twenty stories in all, since we do packages on some newscasts and live shots, readers or voiceover/sound-on-tape for others." Cicely handed Ricky the first tape on the pile and he popped it into the playback machine.

"Ricky'll take care of you. When you're done, just follow the hallway, turn left, and you'll be in the main part of the newsroom. I should be there," Cicely said as she stood up to leave.

"Thanks," she murmured as Cicely smiled and went down the hallway and back into the newsroom.

Taking a deep breath, Sondra looked at Ricky. "Alright. Let's hit it."

"Here we go," Rick said as he hit the play button and waited for the tape to cue up.

The opening music for the Channel Four news shot out of the speakers and a montage featuring all of the anchors for that show, including Cicely, splashed across the screen. Sondra bit her lip, waiting. A somber Cicely appeared.

"Good evening. Topping our news tonight is a story that hits close to home for us here at Channel Four. Yesterday, Tracy Ellis, executive producer of this newscast, was reported missing. She was last seen Friday morning here at the station and her husband spoke with her by phone on early Saturday evening. Channel Four's Adam Lewis is live in Lakeview with the latest. Adam?"

A hunky blonde reporter appeared, shivering in the bitter wind as he stood in front of Tracy's house.

"Cicely, as you said, this is an extremely difficult story to report. Tracy has been at Channel Four for five years and during that time she has proved herself to not only be a superior producer, winning numerous awards for her work, but truly, one of the lights of the newsroom, always smiling, always laughing, always full of energy, which is astounding, considering how grim this job can sometimes be. She's always taken interns under her wing, mentored young writers and producers and, as we can all attest to, is one of the biggest pranksters in the building. Not only are we in shock here at Channel Four, her Lakeview neighbors are stunned as well."

The story cut to a pre-taped news package about Tracy's disappearance. There was a picture of Tracy from some station function, all glorious white teeth and happy times. Many of her neighbors expressed their fervent hope that she was found safely soon. They were shown taping bright pink flyers to metal poles and community bulletin boards at churches, grocery stores and even inside the doors of El trains. A shot of Phillip standing on a street corner flashed on the screen. He was holding a stack of flapping flyers, handing them out to shivering pedestrians as they rushed down the crowded city street.

"Tracy's husband, Phillip Pearson, has been passing out flyers around the neighborhood non-stop since yesterday, searching for any glimmer of recognition from anyone about his wife's whereabouts."

Sondra leaned in closer to the computer screen to examine Phillip. January's biting winds produced a small crust of white around his lips and he licked them repeatedly for moisture. His eyes were red behind his thick-rimmed glasses, though it was hard to know if that was from crying himself to sleep over his wife's disappearance or from the brutal wind whipping around him. He adjusted his glasses several times and stopped every person who passed him to press a flyer into their gloved hands and ask, "Have you seen this woman?" The story then cut to a shot of Phillip talking to Adam.

"I beg anyone who has any information, no matter how insignificant they think that it might be, to please, please call the police. We love her and we miss her and we just want her home safe with us. Anything that anyone can do to help us find her, we appreciate. We just want her home."

Sondra narrowed her eyes as she studied Phillip, searching for any sign of insincerity or falsity. She had Ricky rewind this part several times and was dismayed to realize that it was just as Cicely had said; he was frantic to find Tracy.

With a terse sigh, Sondra continued to watch the story. The reporter came back on with a picture of Tracy and a description: African-American, five-eight, one hundred twenty-five pounds, hazel eyes, brown hair, and anyone with any information was asked to call Area Three police. Sondra watched the rest of the tapes in silence. Most of the stories were the same until the discovery of Tracy's body. Phillip was shown on TV with a brave and stoic face as he talked to neighbors who gave their condolences.

Maybe she'd been wrong. No one was that good of an actor. Phillip was genuinely worried about Tracy and had moved heaven and earth to find her. But she kept coming back to that poor woman in those photos. Maybe in his grief he really did think it was Tracy. Once she was done, Ricky pushed 'stop' and Sondra slouched down in her chair, a mixture of sadness and frustration knotting her shoulders.

"You okay?" Ricky asked.

Sondra shook her head. "No. It's just really hard to watch this, you know?"

"I get it." Ricky looked down. "Looks like there's one more tape. You up for watching it?"

"Might as well chug to the finish line."

Ricky shoved the tape into the machine and waited. Another anchor, a man, came on the screen. "A Hyde Park woman is missing tonight. Thirty-two year old Carol Henderson went out Tuesday night to walk her dog near her home. Neighbors are mobilizing search teams hoping to find her soon, but fear the worst."

Sondra frowned and leaned closer. Cicely's intern must have included this tape by accident.

"Carol Henderson is African-American, five-eight, one hundred thirty pounds with hazel eyes and brown hair."

Sondra almost fell out of the chair when Carol Henderson's picture flickered in front of her.

It was the woman she'd seen in the autopsy photos.

FORTY-THREE.

Nothing had gone the way he thought. He was certain that once they got married, she would want to stay home. He made good money-great money. She didn't need to work. Isn't that what women wanted? Find a man to take care of them so they could stay home and look after the house? His mother had done that, and she had been perfectly happy to do so. His father's word was law and no one questioned it. The house was always spotless, his clothes neatly pressed, breakfast on the table the same time each morning, dinner on the table the same time each night. It had been a wonderful way to grow up.

But she didn't want that. So she continued to work, to spend time doing things that didn't include him. And he hated it. All he could think about was all those men hitting on her, all that temptation.

How long would it be before she looked at him and thought she could do better? Though it was his ring on her finger, that question haunted him daily. It made him crazy to have those thoughts jabbing into his brain like a boxer on the rampage.

Then she mentioned having a baby. That had sent him screeching over the edge. He could barely stand to share her with her friends or her family; if they had a baby, he'd lose her forever. The baby would take all her time; the baby would consume her and she would forget all about him. And that was when the fear really set in. He was sure she was plotting to leave him. He'd even read through her diary, thinking he would find a clue there, but nothing. The pages were filled with nothing but love and adoration for him.

He didn't buy it though. He couldn't. As much as he tried, he just couldn't. And even though he knew he shouldn't act so irrational, shouldn't pepper her with constant questions about what she was doing and where she was going and who she was with, he just Could. Not. Help. Himself.

Why couldn't she just devote herself to him the way he had to her?

FORTY-FOUR.

"Oh, my God," Sondra whispered.

"Wow. She looks just like Tracy. They could be twins," Ricky said.

"Pause the tape," Sondra said as she peered in for a closer look. She studied each detail of the smiling woman's face from a picture taken at what looked to be a family function, stunned at how much Carol Henderson looked like Tracy. Same coloring, hair in a similar style, almost identical.

"Hang on a sec. I'll be right back."

Sondra ran towards the newsroom to find Cicely. She found the tiny newswoman dwarfed behind a huge computer monitor, where she was pounding away on her keyboard.

"Cicely, I need you to come back and look at something."

"What's wrong?"

"Just, please, come look at this," Sondra said as she began to walk back to the editing bay. The two women sat down and Ricky cued up the tape. Much like Sondra and Ricky, Cicely almost fainted when she saw Carol Henderson.

"My God, they could have been twins," Cicely murmured.

"That's what I said," Ricky chimed in.

"This is the woman I saw in the autopsy photos. No question in my mind."

Cicely leaned back in her chair. "Jesus. This is just... unreal. I can't believe no one made the connection at the time,"

"Ricky, can I get a dub of this?"

"No problem," Ricky replied, his fingers springing into action as he worked to do the transfer.

"Can you tell me if you have any more stories about her?" Sondra asked.

Cicely turned to the computer next to the editing bay. "Yeah, I can check the archives. Hang on." Cicely tapped out a few words into the computer and waited. She shook her head, a resigned look on her face.

"Just that one. Now that I think about it, that was about the time of those bombings in L.A. and then the sniper attacks in New York. Pretty much pushed everything else off the page." She leaned back in her chair and looked at Sondra. "Looks like Carol Henderson's disappearance fell through the cracks."

Sondra rolled her eyes. "Doesn't surprise me. Being black and all."

Ricky snorted in agreement as he handed Sondra the DVD.

"What now?" Cicely asked.

Sondra simultaneously dropped the dubbed DVD in the bottom of her bag and pulled out her cigarettes.

"I'm going to see what I can find out about Carol Henderson."

"Shouldn't you let the police know about this?"

"I will. Soon." Sondra shook her head as she extracted a cigarette from the pack. "Of course, they're the ones who fucked this up to begin with. I just want to search out a few more things first."

Cicely folded her arms across her chest and looked at Sondra. "Do you think she's still alive?"

Sondra let out a deep sigh and shook her head. "I don't know. Sondra looked at her watch. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll call you. Thanks Ricky." Sondra stood and rushed out of the station.

FORTY-FIVE.

"I need to see Detective Wallace. Now."

"Have a seat."

"Tell her it's Sondra Ellis and that it's a matter of life or death."

"Aren't they all? Have a seat," the desk sergeant repeated.

Frustrated, Sondra plopped down into what was probably the same rock hard wooden chair she'd sat in before. To her surprise, Detective Marion Wallace appeared within moments.

"Ms. Ellis?"

Sondra jumped up. "I have something you need to see. I found the woman in those pictures."

"Ms. Ellis, I know you want it to be a different woman in those pictures-"

Sondra held up the DVD from Channel Four in front of Marion. "Just look at it. You'll see right away that I'm not nuts."

Marion narrowed her eyes at Sondra for a moment before she flashed a look at her watch. "This better be good," she muttered.

"I promise you, this is going to change everything."

Sondra followed Marion toward an interrogation room where there was a DVD player. Sondra handed the DVD over to Marion and watched her load it up. Sondra held her breath as she waited for Carol Henderson to appear.

Marion was perched on the edge of the table in the room, arms crossed. One look at Carol Henderson and her hands dropped to her sides as she stared at the screen.

"Holy mother of God," she whispered. She paused the DVD several times and rewound it. Finally, she looked at Sondra.

"Where'd you get this?"

"Cicely Anderson at Channel Four. Actually, I had her pull all the stories about Tracy and this one wound up in the pile by mistake." Sondra began to tick off the facts on her fingers. "Carol Henderson was from Hyde Park, disappeared about the time Tracy did, hasn't been seen since. Maybe Carol and my sister were connected somehow, I don't know, but-this means Tracy is out there somewhere."

Silently, Marion began to walk back to her desk and Sondra found herself experiencing deja vu as she swore she saw the same junkies, thugs and prostitutes today that she'd seen before. She sat down in the same chair.

"What are you doing to find my sister?"

"Well, we'll reopen the case, but I have to tell you, the chances of finding her-"