CHAPTER 42––––––––
Patrick Harrington, a late twentysomething guy with the wiry look of a vegan, invited Bohannon and Suter into his nicely remodeled bungalow just off Glisan Street in northeast Portland. Dark circles and haggard hair indicated he probably had not slept since his wife had reportedly vanished the previous evening.
Bohannon and Suter introduced themselves as the young man grabbed a floppy stuffed bunny off the couch and motioned for them to sit. He tossed the toy into an armchair and sat on an ottoman in front of it.
“Mr. Harrington, can you recount for us what happened to your wife last night?” Suter asked.
The man rubbed the side of his face for a few seconds.
“Kathy and I were getting ready for bed. Well, I was already in bed. She was sitting at the vanity across the
