From PATCH Hopewell-Pennington, NJ

POLICE SEEK WITNESSES TO ROLLOVER CRASH

A woman was found on Tuesday night with critical injuries, not far from an overturned 1999 Toyota 4Runner. Emergency crews responded at 11:20 PM to a report of a single- car accident on East Mountain Road in the Sourland Mountain Preserve.

The survivor, described as a young woman estimated to be in her late teens or early twenties, was transported to Capital Health Medical Center, where she remains in critical condition. Law enforcement is asking any witnesses who may have information about the cause of the accident or the identity of the vehicle’s occupant to contact Hopewell Police.

_______________________________________________________

September 17, 2006

I know the actual calendar year because the paperwork lady at the hospital told it to me when I first arrived, but honestly? No clue. Not BC or AD, but AM, for After Me–whoever “Me” turns out to be.

It has been two months AM since a girl named Lindsay Kelly found me outside an overturned mini SUV. The lady who told me the year did so only after asking me a slew of questions I couldn’t answer, like my name, address, occupation, or how I managed to flip a car over.

They’ve been calling me Jane Doe for exactly one month now. I guess that means it’s 31 days AM.

When I explained my running AM calendar to Dr. Knoller, he responded by pointing his pen at me and declaring, “See, that’s intriguing.”

He went on to explain. I’m a girl who doesn’t know her name, age, or where she came from, but I carry references to the Roman Calendar at the tip of my tongue. “See?” he said again, as if the point was self-evident. “Intriguing.”

Apparently, he’s not alone in this opinion, because Dr. Knoller is one of three different experts who’ve come to see me in 31 days. One came all the way from Duke. Another from Stanford. But no one has fixed me. I’m still Jane Doe.

They’re actually compiling a list of every intriguing thing about me, as if each observation were a piece of a puzzle that would eventually come together to reveal my true identity. I’m not even in a position to know whether the things I know are typical or unusual.

I heard a doctor say to the police, “I have no idea if she’s telling the truth about her memories, but she obviously got injured in that car accident. Hard to believe that young woman flipped her own car as some kind of stunt.”

How young is the “young woman” in question? Less than clear. The fact that I know the difference between tequila and vodka, and believed the latter should be mixed with Red Bull while the former goes with a lime and salt, suggests I might be of legal drinking age. Or not. No way to know, really. According to Lindsay, the townspeople have an over-under betting pool that places me around 21 years and 9 months.

“That would make you less than a year younger than me,” she had said. She looked disappointed when I reminded her that I could be sixteen for all we knew.

What else do I know about myself? I had dirt under my fingernails, which were still partially painted with a crappy dark purple polish to the extent I hadn’t peeled the color away. The average growth of a human fingernail is 3.47 millimeters per month, so they estimate I had a manicure of sorts — probably self-applied– two and a half months before I showed up.

I also had some bruises on my neck which the doctors say could possibly be from the seatbelt strap, except the car-crash-expert people think I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt. And I was dehydrated and malnourished, which would be a pretty weird result from a car accident. So. . .weird.

That’s pretty much what I know about myself as of today. For some reason–the calendar, I guess–today is being treated as a kind of landmark. The one-month mark. The day I’m supposed to start this journal. And the day Dr. Marcus–the other shrink, not Knoller, not Duke–suggested I should pick a name other than First-Name-Jane, Last-Name-Doe.

Believe it or not, that was the first time I truly cried since AM. Until then, this has all felt temporary, like a fever that would work its way from my body. But now, in addition to this stupid diary, I’m supposed to pick my own name? It’s not going away, is it? This is the new normal. This is Day one, AM.

My name is Hope Miller. And though I don’t know it yet, I will disappear fifteen years from now. If you want to know more about that, FIND ME.

Find Me
Genre: Psychological Thriller
Release: January 2022
Purchase Link

The disappearance of a young woman leaves her best friend reeling and an NYPD homicide detective digging into her own past in this twisty mystery about the power of female friendships. From the New York Times bestselling author of The Better Sister and The Wife.

Some pasts won’t stay forgotten . . .

She calls herself Hope Miller, but she has no idea who she actually is. Fifteen years ago, she was found in a small New Jersey town thrown from an overturned vehicle, with no clue to her identity. Doctors assumed her amnesia was a temporary side effect of her injuries, but she never regained her memory. Hope eventually started a new life with a new name in a new town that welcomed her, yet always wondered what she may have left behind—or been running from. Now, she’s leaving New Jersey to start over once again.

Manhattan defense lawyer Lindsay Kelly, Hope’s best friend and the one who found her after the accident, understands why Hope wants a new beginning. But she worries how her friend will fare in her new East Hampton home, far away from everything familiar. Lindsay’s worst fears are confirmed when she discovers Hope has vanished without a trace—the only lead a drop of blood found where she was last seen. Even more ominously, the blood matches a DNA sample with a connection to a notorious Kansas murderer.

With nowhere else to turn, Lindsay calls NYPD homicide detective Ellie Hatcher, the daughter of the cop who dedicated his life to hunting the Kansas killer. Ellie has always believed there was more to the story of her father’s death twenty years earlier—and she now fears that Hope’s recent disappearance could be related.

In pursuit of answers, the women search for the truth beneath long-buried secrets. And when their searches converge, what they find will upend everything they’ve ever known.

About the author
Alafair Burke is the New York Times, Edgar Award nominated author of twenty crime novels. Published in more than twenty languages, her books have been featured on “Best Book” lists from the Today Show, Entertainment Weekly, People, O (Oprah Magazine), The Boston Globe, Washington Post, Sun Sentinel, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and numerous other outlets.

A graduate of Stanford Law School and a former prosecutor, Alafair is a tenured professor at Hofstra Law School, where she teaches criminal law and procedure. She lives in New York City and East Hampton with her husband and two beloved dogs. (Photo credit: Nina Subin)

All comments are welcomed.