Karin Slaughter grew up in a small south Georgia town and has been writing since she was a child. She is the author of the international bestsellers Blindsighted, Kisscut, A Faint Cold Fear, Indelible, Faithless, Skin Privilege, Triptych, Fractured, Genesis, Broken and Fallen. She is also the author of the darkly comic novella Martin Misunderstood, and editor of and contributor to Like a Charm, a collaboration of British and American crime fiction writers. She lives in Atlanta.
A walk in the woods takes a sinister turn for police chief Jeffrey Tolliver and medical examiner Sara Linton when they stumble across the body of a young girl. Incarcerated in the ground, all the initial evidence indicates that she has, quite literally, been scared to death.
But as Sara embarks on the autopsy, something even more horrifying comes to light. Something which shocks even her. Detective Lena Adams, talented but increasingly troubled, is called in from vacation to help with the investigation – and the trail soon leads to the neighbouring county, an isolated community, and a terrible secret . . .
At this stage in my career, it’d take a 3,000-page book to thank everyone who has supported me along the way. At the top of any list has to be Victoria Sanders and Kate Elton, who I hope aren’t both sick of me by now. I am so grateful to all my friends at Random House here and around the world. Working with Kate Miciak, Nita Taublib and Irwyn Applebaum has been such joy. I feel like the luckiest writer on earth to have these folks on my team and I am so happy that Bantam is my new home. The highest praise I can think to give them is they are people who are passionate about reading.
In the UK, Ron Beard, Richard Cable, Susan Sandon, Mark McCallum, Rob Waddington, Faye Brewster, Georgina Hawtrey-Woore and Gail Rebuck (and everyone in between) continue to be much-loved champions. Rina Gill is the best bossy Sheila a girl could ask for. Wendy Grisham whipped out a Bible in the middle of the night, thus saving everyone in this novel from being named ‘thingy’.
I had the unbelievable experience of going Down Under this past year and I’d like to thank the folks at RH Australia and RH New Zealand for helping make this the trip of a lifetime. You guys made me feel so welcome even though I was a zillion miles from home. I am especially grateful to Jane Alexander for showing me the kangaroos and not warning me until after the fact that sometimes koalas poo when you hold them (photos can be seen at www.karinslaughter.com/australia). Margie Seale and Michael Moynahan deserve high praise indeed. I am humbled by their energetic support.
Further thanks for their support over the years go to Meaghan Dowling, Brian Grogan, Juliette Shapland and Virginia Stanley. Rebecca Keiper, Kim Gombar and Colleen Winters are the cat’s pajamas, and I’m so glad for our continued friendship.
Yet again, David Harper, MD, provided me medical information to make Sara sound like she knows what she’s doing. Any mistakes are either because I didn’t listen to him or because it’s just really boring when a doctor does something the right way. On a personal note, I’d like to thank BT, EC, EM, MG and CL for their daily company. FM and JH have been there in a pinch. ML and BB-W loaned me their names (sorry, guys!). Patty O’Ryan was the unfortunate winner of a ‘Get your name in a Grant County book!’ raffle. Ha! That’ll teach you to gamble! Benee Knauer has been as solid as a rock. Renny Gonzalez deserves special commendation for his sweet heart. Ann and Nancy Wilson have taken the sting out of getting older – y’all still rock me. My father made me soup when I went to the mountains to write. When I came home, DA was there – as always, you are my heart.
Blindsighted
Kisscut
A Faint Cold Fear
Indelible
Triptych
Skin Privilege
Fractured
Martin Misunderstood
Genesis
Broken
Fallen
Like a Charm (Ed.)
SARA LINTON STOOD at the front door of her parents’ house holding so many plastic grocery bags in her hands that she couldn’t feel her fingers. Using her elbow, she tried to open the door but ended up smacking her shoulder into the glass pane. She edged back and pressed her foot against the handle, but the door still would not budge. Finally, she gave up and knocked with her forehead.
Through the wavy glass, she watched her father making his way down the hallway. He opened the door with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.
‘Why didn’t you make two trips?’ Eddie demanded, taking some of the bags from her.
‘Why is the door locked?’
‘Your car’s less than fifteen feet away.’
‘Dad,’ Sara countered. ‘Why is the door locked?’
He was looking over her shoulder. ‘Your car is filthy.’ He put the bags down on the floor. ‘You think you can handle two trips to the kitchen with these?’
Sara opened her mouth to answer, but he was already walking down the front steps. She asked, ‘Where are you going?’
‘To wash your car.’
‘It’s fifty degrees out.’
He turned and gave her a meaningful look. ‘Dirt sticks no matter the climate.’ He sounded like a Shakespearean actor instead of a plumber from rural Georgia.
By the time she had formed a response, he was already inside the garage.
Sara stood on the porch as her father came back out with the requisite supplies to wash her car. He hitched up his sweatpants as he knelt to fill the bucket with water. Sara recognized the pants from high school – her high school, she had worn them for track practice.
‘You gonna just stand there letting the cold in?’ Cathy asked, pulling Sara inside and closing the door.
Sara bent down so that her mother could kiss her on the cheek. Much to Sara’s dismay, she had been a good foot taller than her mother since the fifth grade. While Tessa, Sara’s younger sister, had inherited their mother’s petite build, blond hair and effortless poise, Sara looked like a neighbor’s child who had come for lunch one afternoon and decided to stay.
Cathy bent down to pick up some of the grocery bags, then seemed to think better of it. ‘Get these, will you?’
Sara scooped all eight bags into her hands, risking her fingers again. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, thinking her mother looked a little under the weather.
‘Isabella,’ Cathy answered, and Sara suppressed a laugh. Her aunt Bella was the only person Sara knew who traveled with her own stock of liquor.
‘Rum?’
Cathy whispered, ‘Tequila,’ the same way she might say ‘Cancer.’
Sara cringed in sympathy. ‘Has she said how long she’s staying?’
‘Not yet,’ Cathy replied. Bella hated Grant County and had not visited since Tessa was born. Two days ago, she had shown up with three suitcases in the back of her convertible Mercedes and no explanations.
Normally, Bella would not have been able to get away with any sort of secrecy, but in keeping with the new ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ ethos of the Linton family, no one had pressed her for an explanation. So much had changed since Tessa was attacked last year. They were all still shell-shocked, though no one seemed to want to talk about it. In a split second, Tessa’s assailant had altered not just Tessa but the entire family. Sara often wondered if any of them would ever fully recover.
Sara asked, ‘Why was the door locked?’
‘Must’ve been Tessa,’ Cathy said, and for just a moment her eyes watered.
‘Mama –’
‘Go on in,’ Cathy interrupted, indicating the kitchen. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
Sara shifted the bags and walked down the hallway, glancing at the pictures that lined the walls. No one could go from the front door to the back without getting a pictorial view of the Linton girls’ formative years. Tessa, of course, looked beautiful and slim in most of them. Sara was never so lucky. There was a particularly hideous photo of Sara in summer camp back in the eighth grade that she would have ripped off the wall if her mother let her get away with it. Sara stood in a boat wearing a bathing suit that looked like a piece of black construction paper pinned to her bony shoulders. Freckles had broken out along her nose, giving her skin a less than pleasing orange cast. Her red hair had dried in the sun and looked like a clown Afro.
‘Darling!’ Bella enthused, throwing her arms wide as Sara entered the kitchen. ‘Look at you!’ she said, as if this was a compliment. Sara knew full well she wasn’t at her best. She had rolled out of bed an hour ago and not even bothered to comb her hair. Being her father’s daughter, the shirt she wore was the one she had slept in and her sweatpants from the track team in college were only slightly less vintage. Bella, by contrast, was wearing a silky blue dress that had probably cost a fortune. Diamond earrings sparkled in her ears, the many rings she wore on her fingers glinting in the sun streaming through the kitchen windows. As usual, her make-up and hair were perfect, and she looked gorgeous even at eleven o’clock on a Sunday morning.
Sara said, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been by earlier.’
‘Feh.’ Her aunt waved off the apology as she sat down. ‘Since when do you do your mama’s shopping?’
‘Since she’s been stuck at home entertaining you for the last two days.’ Sara put the bags on the counter, rubbing her fingers to encourage the circulation to return.
‘I’m not that hard to entertain,’ Bella said. ‘It’s your mother who needs to get out more.’
‘With tequila?’
Bella smiled mischievously. ‘She never could hold her liquor. I’m convinced that’s the only reason she married your father.’
Sara laughed as she put the milk in the refrigerator. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a plate piled high with chicken, ready for frying.
Bella provided, ‘We snapped some greens last night.’
‘Lovely,’ Sara mumbled, thinking this was the best news she had heard all week. Cathy’s green bean casserole was the perfect companion to her fried chicken. ‘How was church?’
‘A little too fire and brimstone for me,’ Bella confessed, taking an orange out of the bowl on the table. ‘Tell me about your life. Anything interesting happening?’
‘Same old same old,’ Sara told her, sorting through the cans.
Bella peeled the orange, sounding disappointed when she said, ‘Well, sometimes routine can be comforting.’
Sara made a ‘hm’ sound as she put a can of soup on the shelf above the stove.
‘Very comforting.’
‘Hm,’ Sara repeated, knowing exactly where this was going.
When Sara was in medical school at Emory University in Atlanta, she had briefly lived with her aunt Bella. The late night parties, the drinking and the constant flow of men had finally caused a split. Sara had to get up at five in the morning to attend classes, not to mention the fact that she needed her nights quiet so that she could study. To her credit, Bella had tried to limit her social life, but in the end they had agreed it was best for Sara to get a place of her own. Things had been cordial until Bella had suggested Sara look into one of the units at the retirement home down on Clairmont Road.
Cathy came back into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She moved the soup can Sara had shelved, pushing her out of the way in the process. ‘Did you get everything on the list?’
‘Except the cooking sherry,’ Sara told her, sitting down opposite Bella. ‘Did you know you can’t buy alcohol on Sunday?’
‘Yes,’ Cathy said, making the word sound like an accusation. ‘That’s why I told you to go to the store last night.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Sara apologized. She took a slice of orange from her aunt. ‘I was dealing with an insurance company out west until eight o’clock. It was the only time we could talk.’
‘You’re a doctor,’ Bella stated the obvious. ‘Why on earth do you have to talk to insurance companies?’
‘Because they don’t want to pay for the tests I order.’
‘Isn’t that their job?’
Sara shrugged. She had finally broken down and hired a woman full time to jump through the various hoops the insurance companies demanded, but still, two to three hours of every day Sara spent at the children’s clinic were wasted filling out tedious forms or talking to, sometimes yelling at, company supervisors on the phone. She had started going in an hour earlier to try to keep on top of it, but nothing seemed to make a dent.
‘Ridiculous,’ Bella murmured around a slice of orange. She was well into her sixties, but as far as Sara knew, she had never been sick a day in her life. Perhaps there was something to be said for chain-smoking and drinking tequila until dawn after all.
Cathy rummaged through the bags, asking, ‘Did you get sage?’
‘I think so.’ Sara stood to help her find it but Cathy shooed her away. ‘Where’s Tess?’
‘Church,’ Cathy answered. Sara knew better than to question her mother’s disapproving tone. Obviously, Bella knew better, too, though she raised an eyebrow at Sara as she handed her another slice of orange. Tessa had passed on attending the Primitive Baptist, where Cathy had gone since she and Bella were children, choosing instead to visit a smaller church in a neighboring county for her spiritual needs. Under normal circumstances Cathy would have been glad to know at least one of her daughters wasn’t a godless heathen, but there was obviously something that bothered her about Tessa’s choice. As with so many things lately, no one pushed the issue.
Cathy opened the refrigerator, moving the milk to the other side of the shelf as she asked, ‘What time did you get home last night?’
‘Around nine,’ Sara said, peeling another orange.
‘Don’t spoil lunch,’ Cathy admonished. ‘Did Jeffrey get everything moved in?’
‘Almo –’ Sara caught herself at the last minute, her face blushing crimson. She swallowed a few times before she could speak. ‘When did you hear?’
‘Oh, honey,’ Bella chuckled. ‘You’re living in the wrong town if you want people to stay out of your business. That’s the main reason I went abroad as soon as I could afford the ticket.’
‘More like find a man to pay for it,’ Cathy wryly added.
Sara cleared her throat again, feeling like her tongue had swollen to twice its size. ‘Does Daddy know?’
Cathy raised an eyebrow much as her sister had done a few moments ago. ‘What do you think?’
Sara took a deep breath and hissed it out between her teeth. Suddenly, her father’s earlier pronouncement about dirt sticking made sense. ‘Is he mad?’
‘A little mad,’ Cathy allowed. ‘Mostly disappointed.’
Bella tsked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Small towns, small minds.’
‘It’s not the town,’ Cathy defended. ‘It’s Eddie.’
Bella sat back as if preparing to tell a story. ‘I lived in sin with a boy. I was barely out of college, just moved to London. He was a welder, but his hands . . . oh, he had the hands of an artist. Did I ever tell you –’
‘Yes, Bella,’ Cathy said in a bored singsong. Bella had always been ahead of her time, from being a beatnik to a hippie to a vegan. To her constant dismay, she had never been able to scandalize her family. Sara was convinced one of the reasons her aunt had left the country was so she could tell people she was a black sheep. No one bought it in Grant. Granny Earnshaw, who worked for women’s suffrage, had been proud of her daughter’s brazen attitude and Big Daddy had called Bella his ‘little firecracker’ to anyone who would listen. As a matter of fact, the only time Bella had ever managed to shock any of them was when she had announced she was getting married to a stockbroker named Colt and moving to the suburbs. Thankfully, that had lasted only a year.
Sara could feel the heat of her mother’s stare bore into her like a laser. She finally relented, asking, ‘What?’
‘I don’t know why you won’t just marry him.’
Sara twisted the ring around her finger. Jeffrey had been a football player at Auburn University and she had taken to wearing his class ring like a lovesick girl.
Bella pointed out the obvious, as if it was some sort of enticement. ‘Your father can’t stand him.’
Cathy crossed her arms over her chest. She repeated her question to Sara. ‘Why?’ She waited a beat. ‘Why not just marry him? He wants to, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why not say yes and get it over with?’
‘It’s complicated,’ Sara answered, hoping she could leave it at that. Both women knew her history with Jeffrey, from the moment she fell in love with him to their marriage to the night Sara had come home early from work to find him in bed with another woman. She had filed for divorce the next day, but for some reason, Sara was unable to let him go.
In her defense, Jeffrey had changed over the last few years. He had grown into the man she had seen the promise of almost fifteen years ago. The love she had for him was new, in its way more exciting than the first time. Sara didn’t feel that giddy, I’m-going-to-die-if-he-doesn’t-call-me sort of obsession she had experienced before. She felt comfortable with him. She knew at the end of the day that he would be there for her. She also knew after five years of living on her own that she was miserable without him.
‘You’re too proud,’ Cathy said. ‘If it’s your ego –’
‘It’s not my ego,’ Sara interrupted, not knowing how to explain herself and more than a little resentful that she felt compelled to. It was just her luck that her relationship with Jeffrey seemed to be the only thing her mother felt comfortable talking about.
Sara went to the sink to wash the orange off her hands. Trying to change the subject, she asked Bella, ‘How was France?’
‘French,’ Bella answered, but didn’t give in that easily. ‘Do you trust him?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘more than the first time, which is why I don’t need a piece of paper telling me how I feel.’
Bella was more than a little smug when she said, ‘I knew you two would get back together.’ She pointed a finger at Sara. ‘If you were serious about getting him out of your life the first time, you would’ve quit your coroner job.’
‘It’s just part-time,’ Sara said, though she knew Bella had a point. Jeffrey was chief of police for Grant County. Sara was the medical examiner. Every suspicious death in the tri-city area had brought him back into her life.
Cathy returned to the last grocery bag, taking out a liter of Coke. ‘When were you going to tell us?’
‘Today,’ Sara lied. The look Cathy tossed over her shoulder proved it wasn’t a very good fib. ‘Eventually,’ Sara amended, drying her hands on her pants as she sat back at the table. ‘Are you making roast for tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ Cathy answered, but wouldn’t be sidetracked. ‘You live less than a mile down the street from us, Sara. Did you think your father wouldn’t see Jeffrey’s car parked in the driveway every morning?’
‘Far as I’ve heard,’ Bella said, ‘it’d be there whether he moved in or not.’
Sara watched her mother pour the Coke into a large Tupperware bowl. Cathy would add a few ingredients and soak a rump roast in the mixture overnight, then cook it in the Crock-Pot all day tomorrow. The end result would be the most tender meat that ever crossed a plate, and as easy as it looked, Sara had never been able to duplicate the recipe. The irony was not lost on Sara that she had mastered honors chemistry at one of the toughest medical schools in the country but could not for the life of her make her mother’s Coke roast.
Cathy absently added some seasonings to the bowl, repeating her question, ‘When were you going to tell us?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sara answered. ‘We just wanted to get used to the idea first.’
‘Don’t expect your father to any time soon,’ Cathy advised. ‘You know he has firm ideas about that sort of thing.’
Bella guffawed. ‘That man hasn’t set foot in a church in nearly forty years.’
‘It’s not a religious objection,’ Cathy corrected. She told Sara, ‘We both remember how devastating it was for you when you found out Jeffrey was catting around. It’s just hard for your father to see you broken like that and then have Jeffrey waltz back in.’
‘I’d hardly call it a waltz,’ Sara said. Nothing about their reconciliation had been easy.
‘I can’t tell you that your father will ever forgive him.’
Bella pointed out, ‘Eddie forgave you.’
Sara watched as all the color drained from her mother’s face. Cathy wiped her hands on her apron in tight, controlled movements. In a low voice, she said, ‘Lunch will be ready in a few hours,’ and left the kitchen.
Bella lifted her shoulders and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I tried, pumpkin.’
Sara bit her tongue. A few years ago, Cathy had told Sara about what she called an indiscretion in her marriage before Sara had been born. Though her mother said the affair had never been consummated, Eddie and Cathy had nearly divorced over the other man. Sara imagined her mother didn’t like being reminded of this dark period in her past, especially not in front of her oldest child. Sara didn’t much like the reminder herself.
‘Hello?’ Jeffrey called from the front hall.
Sara tried to hide her relief. ‘In here,’ she yelled.
He walked in with a smile on his face, and Sara assumed her father had been too busy washing her car to give Jeffrey any serious grief.
‘Well,’ he said, looking back and forth between the two women with an appreciative smile. ‘When I dream about this, we’re usually all naked.’
‘You old dog,’ Bella chastised, but Sara could see her eyes light up with pleasure. Despite years of living in Europe, she was still every inch the Southern belle.
Jeffrey took her hand and kissed it. ‘You get better looking every time I see you, Isabella.’
‘Fine wine, my friend.’ Bella winked. ‘Drinking it, I mean.’
Jeffrey laughed and Sara waited for a lull before asking, ‘Did you see Dad?’
Jeffrey shook his head just as the front door slammed closed. Eddie’s footsteps were heavy down the hallway.
Sara grabbed Jeffrey’s hand. ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said, practically dragging him out the back door. She asked Bella, ‘Tell Mama we’ll be back in time for lunch.’
Jeffrey stumbled down the deck steps as she pulled him to the side of the house and out of view from the kitchen windows.
‘What’s going on?’ He rubbed his arm as if it hurt.
‘Still tender?’ she asked. He had injured his shoulder a while back and despite physical therapy, the joint continued to ache.
He gave a half shrug. ‘I’m okay.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, putting her hand on his good shoulder. She found herself unable to stop there and put her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply, loving the smell of him. ‘God, you feel so good.’
He stroked her hair. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I miss you.’
‘I’m here.’
‘No,’ she leaned back so she could see him. ‘This week.’ His hair was getting long on the sides and she used her fingers to tuck it behind his ear. ‘You just come in, drop off some boxes and leave.’
‘The renters move in Tuesday. I told them I’d have the kitchen ready by then.’
She kissed his ear, whispering, ‘I’ve forgotten what you look like.’
‘Work’s been busy lately.’ He pulled away a few inches. ‘Paperwork and stuff. Between that and the house, I don’t have time for myself, let alone seeing you.’
‘It’s not that,’ she said, wondering at his defensive tone. They both worked too much; she was hardly in a position to throw stones.
He took a couple of steps back, saying, ‘I know I didn’t return a couple of your calls.’
‘Jeff,’ she stopped him. ‘I just assumed you were tied up. It’s no big deal.’
‘What is it, then?’
Sara crossed her arms, suddenly feeling cold. ‘Dad knows.’
He seemed to relax a bit, and she wondered from his relief whether he had been expecting something else.
He said, ‘You didn’t think we could keep it a secret, did you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sara admitted. She could tell something was on his mind but wasn’t sure how to draw him out. She suggested, ‘Let’s walk around the lake. Okay?’
He glanced back at the house, then at her. ‘Yeah.’
She led him through the backyard, taking the stone path to the shore that her father had laid before Sara was born. They fell into a companionable silence, holding hands as they navigated the dirt track that cut into the shoreline. She slipped on a wet rock and he caught her elbow, smiling at her clumsiness. Overhead, Sara could hear squirrels chattering and a large buzzard swooped in an arc just above the trees, its wings stiff against the breeze coming off the water.
Lake Grant was a thirty-two-hundred-acre man-made lake that was three hundred feet deep in places. Tops of trees that had been in the valley before the area was flooded still grew out of the water and Sara often thought of the abandoned homes under there, wondering if the fish had set up house. Eddie had a photograph of the area before the lake was made and it looked just like the more rural parts of the county: nice shotgun-style houses with an occasional shack here and there. Underneath were stores and churches and a cotton mill that had survived the Civil War and Reconstruction only to be shut down during the Depression. All of this had been wiped out by the rushing waters of the Ochawahee River so that Grant could have a reliable source of electricity. During the summer, the waterline rose and fell depending on the demand from the dam, and as a child, Sara had made a habit of turning off all the lights in the house, thinking that would help keep the water high enough so that she could ski.
The National Forestry Service owned the best part of the lake, over a thousand acres that wrapped around the water like a cowl. One side touched the residential area where Sara and her parents had houses and the other held back the Grant Institute of Technology. Sixty percent of the lake’s eighty-mile shoreline was protected, and Sara’s favorite area was smack in the middle. Campers were allowed to stake tents in the forest, but the rocky terrain close to shore was too sharp and steep for anything pleasurable. Mostly, teenagers came here to make out or just to get away from their parents. Sara’s house was directly across from a spectacular set of rocks that had probably been used by the Indians before they were forced out, and sometimes at dusk she could see an occasional flash of a match as someone lit a cigarette or who knew what else.
A cold wind came off the water and she shivered. Jeffrey put his arm around her, asking, ‘Did you really think they wouldn’t find out?’
Sara stopped and turned to face him. ‘I guess I just hoped.’
He gave one of his lopsided smiles, and she knew from experience that an apology was coming. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been working so much.’
‘I haven’t gotten home before seven all week.’
‘Did you get the insurance company straightened out?’
She groaned. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Okay,’ he said, obviously trying to think of something to say. ‘How’s Tess?’
‘Not that, either.’
‘Okay . . .’ He smiled again, the sun catching the blue in his irises in a way that made Sara shiver again.
‘You wanna head back?’ he asked, misinterpreting her response.
‘No,’ she said, cupping her hands around his neck. ‘I want you to take me behind those trees and ravage me.’
He laughed, but stopped when he saw she was not joking. ‘Out here in the open?’
‘Nobody’s around.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
‘It’s been two weeks,’ she said, though she hadn’t given it much thought before now. It wasn’t like him to let things go this long.
‘It’s cold.’
She put her lips to his ear and whispered, ‘It’s warm in my mouth.’
Contrary to his body’s reaction, he said, ‘I’m kind of tired.’
She pressed her body closer. ‘You don’t seem tired to me.’
‘It’s gonna start raining any minute now.’
The sky was overcast, but Sara knew from the news that rain was a good three hours away. ‘Come on,’ she said, leaning in to kiss him. She stopped when he seemed to hesitate. ‘What’s wrong?’
He took a step back and looked out at the lake. ‘I told you I’m tired.’
‘You’re never tired,’ she said. ‘Not tired like that.’
He indicated the lake with a toss of his hand. ‘It’s freezing cold out here.’
‘It’s not that cold,’ she said, feeling suspicion trace a line of dread down her spine. After fifteen years, she knew all of Jeffrey’s signs. He picked at his thumbnail when he felt guilty and pulled at his right eyebrow when there was something about a case he was trying to puzzle out. When he’d had a particularly hard day, he tended to slump his shoulders and speak in a monotone until she found a way to help him talk it out. The set he had to his mouth now meant there was something he had to tell her but either did not want to or did not know how.
She crossed her arms, asking, ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ she repeated, staring at Jeffrey as if she could will the truth out of him. His lips were set in that same firm line and he had his hands clasped in front of him, his right thumb tracing the cuticle of the left. She was getting the distinct feeling that they had been down this road before, and the knowledge of what was happening hit her like a sledgehammer to the gut. ‘Oh, Christ,’ she breathed, suddenly understanding. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, putting her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the sickness that wanted to come.
‘What?’
She walked back down the path, feeling stupid and angry with herself at the same time. She was dizzy from it, her mind reeling.
‘Sara –’ He put his hand on her arm but she jerked away. He jogged ahead a few steps, blocking her way so she had to look at him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Who is it?’
‘Who’s what?’
‘Who is she?’ Sara clarified. ‘Who is it, Jeffrey? Is it the same one as last time?’ She was clenching her teeth so tight that her jaw ached. It all made sense: the distracted look on his face, the defensiveness, the distance between them. He had made excuses every night this week for not staying at her house: packing boxes, working late at the station, needing to finish that damn kitchen that had taken almost a decade to renovate. Every time she let him in, every time she let her guard down and felt comfortable, he found a way to push her away.
Sara came straight out with it. ‘Who are you screwing this time?’
He took a step back, confusion crossing his face. ‘You don’t think . . .’
She felt tears well into her eyes and covered her face with her hands to hide them. He would think she was hurt when the fact was she was angry enough to rip out his throat with her bare hands. ‘God,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so stupid.’
‘How could you think that?’ he demanded, as if he had been wronged.
She dropped her hands, not caring what he saw. ‘Do me a favor, okay? Don’t lie to me this time. Don’t you dare lie to me.’
‘I’m not lying to you about anything,’ he insisted, sounding just as livid as she felt. She would find his outraged tone more persuasive if he hadn’t used it on her the first time.
‘Sara –’
‘Just get away from me,’ she said, walking back toward the lake. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’t believe how stupid I am.’
‘I’m not cheating on you,’ he said, following her. ‘Listen to me, okay?’ He got in front of her, blocking the way. ‘I’m not cheating on you.’
She stopped, staring at him, wishing she could believe him.
He said, ‘Don’t look at me that way.’
‘I don’t know how else to look at you.’
He let out a heavy sigh, as if he had a huge weight on his chest. For someone who insisted he was innocent, he was acting incredibly guilty.
‘I’m going back to the house,’ she told him, but he looked up, and she saw something in his expression that stopped her.
He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear him. ‘I might be sick.’
‘Sick?’ she repeated, suddenly panicked. ‘Sick how?’
He walked back and sat down on a rock, his shoulders sagging. It was Sara’s turn to follow him.
‘Jeff?’ she asked, kneeling beside him. ‘What’s wrong?’ Tears came into her eyes again, but this time her heart was thumping from fear instead of anger.
Of all the things he could have said, what next came from his mouth shocked her most of all. ‘Jo called.’
Sara sat back on her heels. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, her vision tunneling. In high school, Jolene Carter had been everything Sara wasn’t: graceful, curvaceous yet thin, the most popular girl in school, with her pick of all the popular boys. She was the prom queen, the head cheerleader, the president of the senior class. She had real blond hair and blue eyes and a little mole, a beauty mark, on her right cheek that gave her otherwise perfect features a worldly, exotic look. Even close to her forties, Jolene Carter still had a perfect body – something Sara knew because five years ago, she had come home to find Jo completely naked with her perfect ass up in the air, straddling Jeffrey in their bed.
Jeffrey said, ‘She has hepatitis.’
Sara would have laughed if she had the energy. As it was, all she could manage was, ‘Which kind?’
‘The bad kind.’
‘There are a couple of bad kinds,’ Sara told him, wondering how she had gotten to this place.
‘I haven’t slept with her since that one time. You know that, Sara.’
For a few seconds, she found herself staring at him, torn between wanting to get up and run away and staying to find out the facts. ‘When did she call you?’
‘Last week.’
‘Last week,’ she repeated, then took a deep breath before asking, ‘What day?’
‘I don’t know. The first part.’
‘Monday? Tuesday?’
‘What does it matter?’
‘What does it matter?’ she echoed, incredulous. ‘I’m a pediatrician, Jeffrey. I give kids – little kids – injections all day. I take blood from them. I put my fingers in their scrapes and cuts. There are precautions. There are all sorts of . . .’ She let her voice trail off, wondering how many children she had exposed to this, trying to remember every shot, every puncture. Had she been safe? She was always sticking herself with needles. She couldn’t even let herself worry about her own health. It was too much.
‘I went to Hare yesterday,’ he said, as if the fact that he had visited a doctor after knowing for a week somehow redeemed him.
She pressed her lips together, trying to form the right questions. She had been worried about her kids, but now the full implications hit her head-on. She could be sick, too. She could have some chronic, maybe deadly, disease that Jeffrey had given her.
Sara swallowed, trying to speak past the tightness in her throat. ‘Did he put a rush on the test?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know,’ she confirmed, not a question. Of course he didn’t know. Jeffrey suffered from typical male denial about anything relating to his health. He knew more about his car’s maintenance history than his own well-being and she could imagine him sitting in Hare’s office, a blank look on his face, trying to think of a good excuse to leave as quickly as possible.
Sara stood up. She needed to pace. ‘Did he examine you?’
‘He said I wasn’t showing any symptoms.’
‘I want you to go to another doctor.’
‘What’s wrong with Hare?’
‘He . . .’ She couldn’t find the words. Her brain wouldn’t work.
‘Just because he’s your goofy cousin doesn’t mean he’s not a good doctor.’
‘He didn’t tell me,’ she said, feeling betrayed by both of them.
Jeffrey gave her a careful look. ‘I asked him not to.’
‘Of course you did,’ she said, feeling not so much angry as blindsided. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you take me with you so that I could ask the right questions?’
‘This,’ he said, indicating her pacing. ‘You’ve got enough on your mind. I didn’t want you to be upset.’
‘That’s crap and you know it.’ Jeffrey hated giving bad news. As confrontational as he had to be in his job, he was incapable of making waves at home. ‘Is this why you haven’t wanted to have sex?’
‘I was being careful.’
‘Careful,’ she repeated.
‘Hare said I could be a carrier.’
‘You were too scared to tell me.’
‘I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘You didn’t want me to be upset with you,’ she corrected. ‘This has nothing to do with sparing my feelings. You didn’t want me to be mad at you.’
‘Please don’t do this.’ He reached out to take her hand but she jerked away. ‘It’s not my fault, okay?’ He tried again, ‘It was years ago, Sara. She had to tell me because her doctor said so.’ As if this made things better, he said, ‘She’s seeing Hare, too. Call him. He’s the one who said I had to be informed. It’s just a precaution. You’re a doctor. You know that.’
‘Stop,’ she ordered, holding up her hands. Words were on the tip of her tongue, but she struggled not to say them. ‘I can’t talk about this right now.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, walking toward the shore. ‘Home,’ she told him. ‘You can stay at your house tonight.’
‘See,’ he said, as if making a point. ‘This is why I didn’t tell you.’
‘Don’t blame me for this,’ she shot back, her throat clenching around the words. She wanted to be yelling, but she found herself so filled with rage that she was incapable of raising her voice. ‘I’m not mad at you because you screwed around, Jeffrey. I’m mad at you because you kept this from me. I have a right to know. Even if this didn’t affect me and my health and my patients, it affects you.’
He jogged to keep up with her. ‘I’m fine.’
She stopped, turning to look at him. ‘Do you even know what hepatitis is?’
His shoulders rose in a shrug. ‘I figured I’d deal with that when I had to. If I had to.’
‘Jesus,’ Sara whispered, unable to do anything but walk away. She headed toward the road, thinking she should take the long way back to her parents in order to calm down. Her mother would have a field day with this, and rightfully so.
Jeffrey started to follow. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ll call you in a few days.’ She did not wait for his answer. ‘I need some time to think.’
He closed the gap between them, his fingers brushing the back of her arm. ‘We need to talk.’
She laughed. ‘Now you want to talk about it.’
‘Sara –’
‘There’s nothing more to say,’ she told him, quickening her pace. Jeffrey kept up, his footsteps heavy behind her. She was starting off into a jog when he slammed into her from behind. Sara fell to the ground with a hollow-sounding thud, knocking the wind out of her. The thud as she hit the ground reverberated in her ears like a distant echo.
She pushed him off, demanding, ‘What are you –’
‘Jesus, I’m sorry. Are you okay?’ He knelt in front of her, picking a twig out of her hair. ‘I didn’t mean –’
‘You jackass,’ she snapped. He had scared her more than anything else, and her response was even more anger. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘I tripped,’ he said, trying to help her up.
‘Don’t touch me.’ She slapped him away and stood on her own.
He brushed the dirt off her pants, repeating, ‘Are you okay?’
She backed away from him. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m not a piece of china.’ She scowled at her dirt-stained sweatshirt. The sleeve had been torn at the shoulder. ‘What is wrong with you?’
‘I told you I tripped. Do you think I did it on purpose?’
‘No,’ she told him, though the admission did nothing to ease her anger. ‘God, Jeffrey.’ She tested her knee, feeling the tendon catch. ‘That really hurt.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, pulling another twig out of her hair.
She looked at her torn sleeve, more annoyed now than angry. ‘What happened?’
He turned, scanning the area. ‘There must have been . . .’ He stopped talking.
She followed his gaze and saw a length of metal pipe sticking out of the ground. A rubber band held a piece of wire screen over the top.
All he said was, ‘Sara,’ but the dread in his tone sent a jolt through her.
She replayed the scene in her head, the sound as she was slammed into the ground. There should have been a solid thump, not a hollow reverberation. Something was underneath them. Something was buried in the earth.
‘Christ,’ Jeffrey whispered, snatching off the screen. He looked down into the pipe, but Sara knew the half-inch circumference would make it impossible to see.
Still, she asked, ‘Anything?’
‘No.’ He tried to move the pipe back and forth, but it would not budge. Something underground held it tightly in place.
She dropped to her knees and brushed the leaves and pine needles away from the area, working her way back as she followed the pattern of loose soil. She was about four feet away from Jeffrey when they both seemed to realize what might be below them.
Sara felt her own alarm escalate with Jeffrey’s as he started clawing his fingers into the ground. The soil came away easily as if someone had recently dug there. Soon, Sara was on her knees beside him, pulling up clumps of rock and earth, trying not to think about what they might find.
‘Fuck!’ Jeffrey jerked up his hand, and Sara saw a deep gash along the side of his palm where a sharp stick had gouged out the skin. The cut was bleeding profusely, but he went back to the task in front of him, digging at the ground, throwing dirt to the side.
Sara’s fingernails scraped something hard, and she pulled her hand back to find wood underneath. She said, ‘Jeffrey,’ but he kept digging. ‘Jeffrey.’
‘I know,’ he told her. He had exposed a section of wood around the pipe. A metal collar surrounded the conduit, holding it tightly in place. Jeffrey took out his pocketknife, and Sara could only stare as he tried to work out the screws. Blood from his cut palm made his hands slide down the handle, and he finally gave up, tossing the knife aside and grabbing the pipe. He put his shoulder into it, wincing from the pain. Still, he kept pushing until there was an ominous groan from the wood, then a splintering as the collar came away.
Sara covered her nose as a stagnant odor drifted out.
The hole was roughly three inches square, sharp splinters cutting into the opening like teeth.
Jeffrey put his eye to the break. He shook his head. ‘I can’t see anything.’
Sara kept digging, moving back along the length of the wood, each new section she uncovered making her feel like her heart would explode from her mouth. There were several one-by-twos nailed together, forming the top of what could only be a long, rectangular box. Her breath caught, and despite the breeze she broke out into a cold sweat. Her sweatshirt suddenly felt like a straitjacket, and she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside so she could move more freely. Her mind was reeling with the possibilities of what they might find. Sara seldom prayed, but thinking about what they might discover buried below moved her to ask anyone who was listening to please help.
‘Watch out,’ Jeffrey warned, using the pipe to pry at the wooden slats. Sara sat back on her knees, shielding her eyes as dirt sprayed into the air. The wood splintered, most of it still buried, but Jeffrey kept at it, using his hands to break the thin slats. A low, creaking moan like a dying gasp came as nails yielded against the strain. The odor of fresh decay wafted over Sara like a sour breeze, but she did not look away when Jeffrey lay flat to the ground so that he could reach his arm into the narrow opening.
He looked up at her as he felt around, his jaw clenched tight. ‘I feel something,’ he said. ‘Somebody.’
‘Breathing?’ Sara asked, but he shook his head before she got the word out of her mouth.
Jeffrey worked more slowly, more deliberately, as he pried away another piece of wood. He looked at the underside, then passed it to Sara. She could see scratch marks in the pulp, as if an animal had been trapped. A fingernail about the size of one of her own was embedded in the next piece Jeffrey handed her, and Sara put it face-up on the ground. The next slat was scratched harder, and she put this beside the first, keeping a semblance of the pattern, knowing it was evidence. It could be an animal. A kid’s prank. Some old Indian burial ground. Explanations flashed in and out of her mind, but she could only watch as Jeffrey pried the boards away, each slat feeling like a splinter in Sara’s heart. There were almost twenty pieces in all, but by the twelfth, they could see what was inside.
Jeffrey stared into the coffin, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallowed. Like Sara, he seemed at a loss for words.
The victim was a young woman, probably in her late teens. Her dark hair was long to her waist, blanketing her body. She wore a simple blue dress that fell to mid-calf and white socks but no shoes. Her mouth and eyes were wide open in a panic that Sara could almost taste. One hand reached up, fingers contracted as if the girl was still trying to claw her way out. Tiny dots of petechiae were scattered in the sclera of her eyes, long-dried tears evidenced by the thin red lines breaking through the white. Several empty water bottles were in the box along with a jar that had obviously been used for waste. A flashlight was on her right, a half-eaten piece of bread on her left. Mold grew on the corners, much as mold grew like a fine mustache over the girl’s upper lip. The young woman had not been a remarkable beauty, but she had probably been pretty in her own, unassuming way.
Jeffrey exhaled slowly, sitting back on the ground. Like Sara, he was covered in dirt. Like Sara, he did not seem to care.
They both stared at the girl, watched the breeze from the lake ruffle her thick hair and pick at the long sleeves of her dress. Sara noticed a matching blue ribbon tied in the girl’s hair and wondered who had put it there. Had her mother or sister tied it for her? Had she sat in her room and looked at the mirror, securing the ribbon herself? And then what had happened? What had brought her here?
Jeffrey wiped his hands on his jeans, bloody fingerprints leaving their mark. ‘They didn’t mean to kill her,’ he guessed.
‘No,’ Sara agreed, enveloped by an overwhelming sadness. ‘They just wanted to scare her to death.’
AT THE CLINIC, they had asked Lena about the bruises.
‘You all right, darlin’?’ the older black woman had said, her brows knitted in concern.
Lena had automatically answered yes, waiting for the nurse to leave before she finished getting dressed.
There were bruises that came from being a cop: the rub from where the gun on your hip wore so hard against you that some days it felt like the bone was getting a permanent dent. The thin line of blue like a crayon mark on your forearm from accommodating the lump of steel as you kept your hand as straight to your side as you could, trying not to alert the population at large that you were carrying concealed.
When Lena was a rookie, there were even more problems: back aching, gunbelt chafing, welts from her nightstick slapping her leg as she ran all out to catch up with a perp. Sometimes, by the time she caught them, it felt good to use the stick, let them know what it felt like to chase their sorry ass half a mile in ninety-degree heat with eighty pounds of equipment flogging your body. Then there was the bulletproof vest. Lena had known cops – big, burly men – who had passed out from heat exhaustion. In August, it was so hot that they weighed the odds: get shot in the chest or die from a heatstroke.
Yet, when she finally got her gold detective’s shield, gave up her uniform and hat, signed in her portable radio for the last time, she had missed the weight of it all. She missed the heavy reminder that she was a cop. Being a detective meant you worked without props. On the street, you couldn’t let your uniform do the talking, your cruiser making traffic slow even if the cars were already going the speed limit. You had to find other ways to intimidate the bad guys. You only had your brain to let you know you were still a cop.
After the nurse had left her sitting in that room in Atlanta, what the clinic called the recovery room, Lena had looked at the familiar bruises, judging them against the new ones. Finger marks wrapped around her arm like a band. Her wrist was swollen from where it had been twisted. She could not see the fist-shaped welt above her left kidney, but she felt it whenever she moved the wrong way.
Her first year wearing the uniform, she had seen it all. Domestic disputes where women threw rocks at your cruiser, thinking that would help talk you out of carting off their abusive husbands to jail. Neighbors knifing each other over a mulberry tree hanging too low or a missing lawn mower that ended up being in the garage somewhere, usually near a little baggie of pot or sometimes something harder. Little kids clinging to their fathers, begging not to be taken away from their homes, then you’d get them to the hospital and the doctors would find signs of vaginal or anal tearing. Sometimes, their throats would be torn down deep, little scratch marks inside where they had choked.