Will Trent stood in his boss’s office on the top floor of City Hall East, looking out at the city. Atlanta was just waking up, the sun sparkling between the skyscrapers, commuters in BMWs and Audis honking their horns. Across the street, dozens of men were lined up outside the Home Depot shopping center. Will watched as, one after another, trucks pulled up and taillights glowed red. Hands shot out, fingers pointed, and two, three, sometimes four men at a time would jump into the back of the truck to begin the day’s work.
Will could’ve had that life. There hadn’t been much career advice at the Atlanta Children’s Home. When Will turned eighteen, they’d given him a hundred dollars and a map to the homeless shelter. He’d spent the next several months jumping in and out of trucks, working construction or whatever jobs he could find. Will had been very lucky that the right kind of people had intervened. Otherwise, he never would’ve become an agent with the GBI. He wouldn’t have his house or his car or his life.
He wouldn’t have Sara.
Will turned away from the windows. He took in Amanda Wagner’s office, which hadn’t been altered much in the almost fifteen years that he’d worked for her. The location had moved a few times and the electronics had gotten sleeker as she worked her way up to deputy director of the GBI, but Amanda always decorated the same. Same photos on the wall. Same Oriental rug under her behemoth desk. Even her chair was the same squeaky old wood and leather contraption that looked like it belonged to George Bailey’s nemesis in It’s a Wonderful Life.
The flat-panel TV was one of her few concessions to modernity. Will found the remote and checked all the Atlanta news channels to see if they had picked up on what had happened in Macon last night. Less than a two-hour drive from the state capital, Macon was a fairly significant city, with more than 150,000 residents and a thriving university system. Because it was geographically at the heart of the state, the city served as a compromise for people who found Atlanta too busy and smaller towns too slow. In many ways, Macon was a better representation of Georgia than Atlanta. Art museums sat alongside junk stores. A handful of respected tech colleges were blocks away from expensive private schools that taught creationism. The visitors’ bureau touted both the Tubman African American Museum as well as Hay House, an eighteen-thousand-square-foot antebellum home built by the keeper of the Confederate treasury.
Apparently, the Atlanta news stations didn’t find Macon as interesting. Will turned off the television and put the remote back on Amanda’s desk. He should be careful what he wished for. It was probably just a matter of time before all the channels were filled with the gory details about the attack on Jared Long. The Atlanta news producers probably hadn’t yet gotten wind of the story. Sometimes it took a painfully long time for phone calls to be made, people to be told that their lives had been irrevocably changed.
Will had been sitting in his car outside of Grady Hospital when Sara’s call came through. He’d never been anyone’s first phone call before, but when something bad happened, Sara evidently thought of him. She was crying. She had to stop a few times before she could tell him the story, though she had no way of knowing that Will already knew. Could fill her in on some of the missing details.
His life was hanging by a thread.
Lena was somehow involved.
Will had stared blankly out the windshield as he listened to Sara try to get the words out. His mind conjured up the image of Lena in that tiny bedroom. Half-naked. Covered in blood. Will had been panicked as he rushed down the hallway, careening off the walls. He felt as if he was watching a video moving in slow motion. Lena jammed her knee into the guy’s back, arced the hammer high above her head. The slow motion got even slower as the hammer dropped down the first time. The hallway got longer. Will could’ve been running up a mountain of sand. He was moving closer, yet somehow every step seemed to take him farther away.
But Sara didn’t know any of that. She just knew that Jared had been shot. That yet again, Lena Adams had been standing by while another good man had been targeted. It had happened to Sara’s husband five years ago and now it had happened to her husband’s son.
It wasn’t a stretch for Sara to think it might happen to Will, too.
The frustrating part was that Will had specifically gone to the hospital this morning to come clean. He was going to tell Sara that he’d lied to her about his undercover assignment because he didn’t want to worry her, and then he’d had to lie about where he was working so she wouldn’t figure it out, and then he’d had to lie again and again until he’d realized that it would’ve been easier just to tell her the truth in the first place.
But then Will had seen her standing at the nurses’ station and lost his nerve. Actually, he’d lost his breath. This was nothing new. Lately, every time he saw Sara Linton, Will literally felt like she had taken his breath away. That couldn’t be good for his brain. He’d been oxygen-deprived. Obviously, that was why instead of confessing, he’d ended up on his knees kissing her like they were never going to see each other again.
Which might end up being the case. Will was painfully aware of the tenuous hold he had on the situation.
On Sara.
“You’re late,” Amanda Wagner said, scrolling through her BlackBerry as she entered her office.
Will didn’t address the comment, which was automatic, something she generally said in lieu of hello. He told her, “I sent my report an hour ago.”
“I’ve read it.” Amanda’s thumbs started working as she stood in the middle of the room responding to an email. She was dressed in a red suit, the skirt hitting just below her knee, white blouse neatly tucked into the waist. Her salt-and-pepper hair was in its usual helmet. Her nails were trimmed, the clear polish gleaming.
She looked well rested, though Will knew Amanda hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The Macon chief of police. The director of the GBI. The GBI crime scene unit. The GBI medical examiner. The GBI crime lab. They each had to be read in or sent out or relayed orders. And yet Amanda had managed to call Will back three more times before the sun came up. He could tell she was worried by the calmness of her tone, the way she spoke to him as if he’d gotten a flat tire on the side of the highway instead of walked into a bloodbath. Usually, Amanda took a certain joy in making Will miserable, but last night was different.
It was also fleeting.
“So.” She finished the email and moved on to another. “Quite a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Wilbur.”
He wasn’t sure which mess she was talking about.
“I don’t have to tell you that we’re not out on the limb anymore; we’re on the thin part of the branch. The twig.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Whoever these men are, they don’t mind going after cops.” Amanda glanced up at him. “Try not to get yourself killed, won’t you? I don’t have the patience to break in someone new.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned her attention back to her email. “Where’s Faith?”
Faith Mitchell, Will’s partner. “You said meet at seven-thirty.” He checked his watch. “She’s got six minutes.”
“How wonderful. You’ve learned to tell time.” Amanda continued reading as she went to her desk, sat in her chair. The old cushion made a sound like a pig snort. “I looped the director in on your midnight escapades. He’s keeping a close eye on this.”
Will didn’t know how he was expected to respond to this information, so he took his seat, waiting for the next shoe to drop. Just recently, Will had come to accept that Amanda Wagner was the closest thing he would ever have to a mother—that is, if your mother was the type to lock you in a refrigerator or strap you into the back seat of her car and roll you into a lake.
She put down her BlackBerry and took off her reading glasses. “Anything you need to tell me?”
“No, ma’am.”
Uncharacteristically, Amanda didn’t press. She turned on her computer, waited for it to boot. Will guessed Amanda was in her mid to late sixties, but there really was no way of knowing her exact age. She was still in good shape, still capable of running circles around men half her age—or Will’s age, to be exact. And yet watching her try to work a computer mouse was like watching a cat try to pick up a pebble.
She slapped the mouse against the desk, mumbling, “What is wrong with this thing?”
Will knew better than to offer his help. He brushed a speck of dirt off the knee of his trousers. It made him think about Sara. She was probably in her car by now, heading down to Macon. The drive was about an hour and a half. Will should’ve offered to take her. He could’ve confessed the whole sordid truth along the way.
And then Sara would’ve given him a choice: walk back to Atlanta or walk the rest of the way to Macon.
Amanda said, “You’re brooding.”
Will considered the description. “Don’t you need the moors for that?”
“Clever.” Amanda sat back in her chair, giving Will her full attention. “You investigated Lena Adams last year?”
“A year and a half ago,” Will corrected. “Faith helped me. Lena’s partner was stabbed. He practically bled out in the street. And then she arrested the suspect and he died in her custody.”
“Reckless endangerment, negligence?”
“Yes,” Will answered. “She was formally reprimanded, but she left Grant County a week later and joined the Macon force. They didn’t seem to mind the taint.”
Amanda picked at the stem of her glasses. Her voice got softer. “She was Jeffrey Tolliver’s partner when he was murdered—what?—five, six years ago?”
Will stared out the window. He could feel her eyes lasering the side of his face.
She said, “There’s an Eric Clapton song about telling the truth. Something about how the whole show is passing you by. Look into your heart. Et cetera.”
Will cleared his throat. “It makes me very uncomfortable to think about you listening to Eric Clapton.”
Amanda’s sigh held a tinge of sadness that he didn’t want to dwell on. “How exactly do you think this is going to end?”
He indicated the gray clouds that were suddenly crowding the sun. “I think it’s going to rain.”
“There’s definitely a storm coming.” Her tone quickly changed. “Ah, Major Branson. Thank you for making the drive.”
Will stood as a woman wearing a dark blue police uniform came into the office. Ribbons and commendations filled her chest. A heavy-looking leather briefcase was in her hand. She was short and stocky, with her curly black hair shaved close to her head. She seemed about as happy to be here as Will.
Amanda made the introductions. “Special Agent Trent, this is Major Branson with the Macon Police Department. Denise is our liaison on the Jared Long shooting.”
Will felt his bowels loosen. “I’m doing the investigation?”
A smile teased at Amanda’s lips before she said, “No, Faith will take the lead.”
“Already got it figured out?” Branson’s temper sounded poised to uncoil. “I’m gonna be honest with you, Deputy Director. I’m not real happy with the idea of your people stomping around my patch like you own the place.”
Amanda’s tone stayed light. “Yet your chief sent you two hours north expressly to turn over all of your files.”
“An hour and a half,” Branson corrected. “And I may work for the man, but I don’t always agree with him.”
“Fair enough.” Amanda indicated the chair in front of her desk. “Why don’t we get our little pissing contest out of the way while Agent Trent fetches us some coffee?”
Branson sat, her briefcase clutched in her lap. Without looking at Will, she said, “Black, two sugars.”
Amanda smiled her cat’s smile. “Just black for me.”
Will wasn’t happy to be the designated fetcher, but he knew better than to linger. Outside the office, Caroline, Amanda’s secretary, was sitting at her desk. She smiled at Will. “Cream. Two Sweet’N Lows.”
Will saluted at her request as he walked into the hallway. His shoes sank into the padded carpet on the floor. He felt the chill of air-conditioning. City Hall East was housed in an old Sears building that had been built in the 1920s. When the city took over back in the nineties, only the important parts had been renovated, namely the executive suites. Three stories down in Will’s shoebox of an office, the air was stale and likely toxic. The windows were rusted closed. The cracked asbestos tiles on the floor were scuffed red from the Georgia clay that had traveled in on nearly a hundred years of wingtips.
It wasn’t just the air that was better on the top floor. The kitchen was a showplace, with dark cherry cabinets and stainless steel appliances. The coffeemaker looked like something a Transformer would shake off its leg. Will guessed the machine was the fancy kind that required pods. He checked the cabinets and found two boxes. He assumed Amanda drank the pink and orange Dunkin’ Donuts high-test. The other box contained purple and yellow pods with flowers and vanilla beans emblazoned on the foil. Will took out three hazelnuts and shut the cabinet door.
After a few false starts, he figured out how to load a pod. Another minute passed before he managed to pry open the lid of the water tank and fill it to the line. He took three mugs off the hooks and waited for the water to boil.
Out of habit, Will opened the refrigerator door. There were a couple of paper bags in the fridge, but no old takeout containers or rotting food that smelled like it belonged in the morgue. Before Will started dating Sara, everything he ate was an on-the-go type of meal, whether it was a bowl of cereal he downed while standing over the sink or the hot dogs he bought at the gas station on his way home.
Now when Will went home, that usually meant Sara’s apartment and something for dinner that didn’t roll under a heat lamp all day.
Or it meant that for the time being.
Finally, the red light flashed on the coffee machine. Will pressed down the handle on the pod and watched the hot liquid squirt out. The smell reminded him of the cloying perfume some women wear in an attempt to hide the odor of cigarettes.
He refilled the water tank for another round. The hazelnut scent wafted into his nostrils as he stirred powdered creamer into the first mug. Will had never liked the taste of coffee, but he made Sara’s for her every morning. She liked it strong with no fancy flavoring. He’d started to associate the smell with her.
Will put down the spoon and stared at the machine.
There was no use fighting it anymore. He gave in completely to thinking about Sara, letting his mind consider all the things he was going to lose. Feeling her long auburn hair tickle his face. Tracing his lips along the freckles at the small of her back. Watching her chest blush bright red when he touched her. Then there was the way she would sometimes kiss him, showing him with her mouth what she wanted him to do.
“Will?”
He looked up, surprised to find Faith Mitchell standing in the doorway.
She asked, “What’s wrong? You look sick.”
The red light was flashing. Will loaded another pod. “You want one?”
“If I have any more caffeine today, my head will explode.”
“Emma keep you up?”
Emma was Faith’s ten-month-old daughter. Will knew the baby was with her father this week, but he listened to Faith like it was the first time he was hearing the news.
“Anyway.” Faith rounded out the litany of complaints about her baby’s daddy by asking, “What do you think about coincidences?”
Will recognized a trick question when he heard one.
She said, “Like, you’re working an undercover case one minute and the next minute you’re sucked into another Lena Adams shit-storm.” She held out her hands in an open shrug. “Coincidence?”
“We always knew it was possible I’d run into her.”
“We did?” She raised her voice high on the last word, like she was questioning a toddler.
Will turned his attention back to the coffee machine. He slowed down his movements, feigning uncertainty so that Faith would take over.
Instead of taking the bait, she told him, “Sara called me about fifteen minutes ago.”
Will concentrated on filling the water tank precisely to the mark.
“She knows the state investigates officer-involved fatalities.”
He loaded up the next pod.
“She wanted to know what was going on with Jared.” Faith paused a moment, then added, “She didn’t want to bother you with it, but we both know she’s terrified of you getting mixed up with Lena, so …” Faith shrugged. “I told her I’d look into it.”
Will cleared his throat. “That should be easy. Amanda’s putting you in charge of the investigation.”
“Well, great, but I didn’t know that when I told Sara. I was lying to her. Just like I was lying when I agreed that it’s a good thing you’re working undercover God-knows-where and you’re not going to get sucked into this, because I’m not sure if you know this, but Sara is terrified of you being around Lena.”
Will checked the kitchen drawers for sweeteners. He found two pink packets and tore off the tops.
Faith said, “You know Sara thinks Lena’s responsible for her husband’s murder. I pretty much agree with her, by the way.”
Will tapped the sweetener into the mug.
“She’s also going to think it’s Lena’s fault that Jared was shot, which, considering her history, is a real possibility.” Faith paused again. “Actually, it’s a pattern now. I saw it back when you were investigating Lena Adams a year and a half ago. People who get close to her end up dead. Sara’s right to be scared. Jared’s just the latest casualty.”
Will tossed the trash into the garbage can. Stainless steel, just like the appliances. He wondered if Amanda had used her own money.
Faith needled, “Jared, Sara’s stepson by her dead husband who she thinks Lena got murdered.”
The red light started flashing on the coffee machine. Will pressed down the handle on the pod. He tried the weather thing. “I think it’s going to rain today.”
Faith groaned. “You’re a dumbass, you know that?”
He grimaced, mostly because he couldn’t contradict her.
“It’s not the case that’s going to piss Sara off, it’s the cover-up.” Faith paused, but only for breath. “Actually, it won’t piss her off. It’ll hurt her. Devastate her. Which is a hell of a lot worse than her being mad. People get over being mad.”
Will scooped up the three mugs in his hands. “Amanda’s waiting.”
Faith trailed him out of the kitchen. Will hunched his shoulders against the disappointment radiating off her, but she was blissfully silent as she followed him to Amanda’s office. He knew better than to think this was over. Faith was probably itemizing in her head all the different ways she was right about this.
Sadly, there was nothing Will could say, because Faith was right. Sara wouldn’t be angry. She would be hurt. She would be devastated. And then she would probably inventory the steaming load of crap Will had brought into her otherwise normal life and decide it wasn’t worth it. His Dickensian childhood. What had happened to his family. His ardent desire not to discuss either topic no matter how gently Sara pressed. There just wasn’t much to recommend him. Will had almost been kicked out of high school. He’d been homeless. He’d barely graduated from college. And this didn’t even touch on Will’s hateful wife, who had evaporated off the face of the earth the minute he’d filed divorce papers, yet still somehow managed to leave the occasional nasty message tucked under the windshield wiper of Sara’s car.
Caroline was still at her desk. She helped Will move the mugs around, taking the one with cream. He realized he’d screwed up the orders at the same moment he realized he didn’t care.
Unbelievably, the tension in Amanda’s office was thicker than when Will had left. Amanda’s jaw was set. Denise Branson’s body was rigid, her hands clenched into fists. The pissing contest was far from over.
Amanda’s tone could’ve cut through steel. “Major Branson, this is Special Agent Mitchell.”
Oddly, Denise Branson smiled warmly at Faith. “I worked with your mother when I was a rookie. I hope she’s enjoying her retirement?”
“Yes.” Faith shook the woman’s hand. “I’ll tell Mama you asked after her.”
Branson continued, “Evelyn was always the consummate professional.” She still didn’t look at Amanda, but they all took her meaning. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to look her up while I’m in town.”
Faith’s perfunctory smile and lack of response made it clear she wasn’t going to be so easily charmed away from Amanda’s side.
To break the awkward moment, Will passed out the coffees. Amanda held the mug to her lips, then recoiled when the smell hit her. Branson noted the gesture and placed her mug on the desk.
Amanda said, “Let’s try to keep this brief. We all have work to do.”
Will waited for the women to sit, then leaned against the windowsill, feeling—literally—like the odd man out. He was used to being surrounded by women, but there was something about this particular group that made him feel the need to cross his legs.
Amanda began, “All right, let’s start with this officer-involved …” She searched for the appropriate word. “… hammering.” She smiled on this last bit, though Will had seen firsthand why the observation wasn’t funny. “Denise, any leads on why Adams and Long were targeted?”
“We have some theories.”
They all waited, but Branson didn’t share them.
“All right,” Amanda said. “We’ll need to review all recent case files, talk to their partners and team members and see if they can come up with any—”
“We’ve already done that,” Branson interrupted. “No one stood out. They’re police officers. They don’t get thank-you notes for arresting people.”
Amanda did not demure. “And yet they were targeted for a reason.”
“We’ve reviewed all of Adams’s cases going back twelve months. Same for Long. They’ve been doing mostly routine stuff. No dangerous work. Nothing that would draw this kind of attention.”
Amanda smirked. “Fascinating you were able to reach that conclusion in less than six hours.”
“We’re a crack team down in Macon.”
Amanda analyzed the woman. So did Will. Branson obviously relished the game, but her lips quivered at the corner when she was hiding something. It was almost as if she was fighting a smile.
Amanda asked, “You’ve met Charlie Reed?”
“That’s your forensics guy?” Branson shook her head. “Didn’t have a chance. Per your request to my chief, the house was sealed immediately after Jared Long was taken to the hospital. It didn’t seem like a good use of my time to drive over there and wait for your boys to mosey on down.”
“Thank you for your cooperation, Major. I’m sure it will help our investigation run more smoothly. Too many cooks and all that.” Amanda stopped to offer a canned smile. “The lab knows to rush any trace Charlie finds. He’ll report directly to me, and I’ll share anything relevant with your department. Faith is taking point on the investigation.” She told Faith, “Let’s be sure to keep Macon in the loop.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Faith took out her notebook and turned to a fresh page. “Major, what can you tell me?”
Branson had obviously come prepared. She told Amanda, “Go ahead and pull up those photos on the zip drive.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow at the order, but she still complied, moving the mouse around, looking at the TV set as if she expected something to happen. The screen stayed static. “Why isn’t this working?”
Will kept silent, but Faith asked, “Is it on?”
“Of course it’s on.” Amanda picked up the remote and pressed the red button. The screen flickered on, then a photograph came up. Will guessed he was looking at Jared Long’s employment photo. He’d met the young man once before. Long was a handsome kid with the kind of charming self-confidence that made him a natural leader. From all reports, he was a lot like his father.
Branson provided, “Jared Long, Lena Adams’s husband. He’s a motorman, been on the Macon force seven years. Good at his job. Likes being on the bike. No red flags. Stellar officer.”
Faith mumbled, “Unlike his wife.”
If Branson heard the comment, she chose to ignore it. “Long is out of surgery as of half an hour ago. It’s touch-and-go, but that doesn’t change anything on our end. An officer was shot. Another was almost murdered. Someone put the hit out. Next picture, please.”
Amanda clicked the mouse. She stared at the screen, waiting for the image to change. “Oh, for the love of—”
Faith said, “Hit the space bar.”
“That won’t work.” Amanda tapped the space bar. The picture changed. The new photo showed an older man with a pockmarked face and squinty eyes. He was dressed in an orange prison jumper. There was a placard under his chin with his name and inmate number.
Branson supplied, “Samuel Marcus Lawrence, the first assailant who entered the house, DOA shortly thereafter. He’s our first shooter. Mid-level thug with a couple of assaults that put him inside for two and three years, respectively. Early parole for good behavior, times two. He told anyone who’d listen that he was an ex–Hells Angel but there’s no evidence he ever patched in.”
Faith kept writing in her notebook as she asked, “Drugs?”
“Meth. He had more sores on his face than a backseat whore.”
Amanda said, “Either way, he’s dead now.” She tapped the space bar again. Another mugshot came on screen. The man was about the same age as the first, with gray hair and the faded tattoo of a cobra’s head folding into the turkey gizzard of his neck.
“Fred Leroy Zachary,” Branson provided. “He did eight years for assault with a deadly, then pulled a full dime off a kidnap and rape. Known around town as a muscle for hire. He’s alive, but just barely. His jaw was broken. Spine fractured. Ribs broken. Whole body’s in a cast. Mouth’s wired shut. He can’t talk, and even if he could, his lawyer won’t let him.”
Amanda said, “Well, you can’t accuse Adams of not being thorough. What did she have to say for herself?”
Branson turned cagey again. “Not much. Doctors said she was in shock. They had to treat her at the scene. She sketched out the highlights—one armed male breached the house. Long was shot in the back. Sawed-off shotgun, so the pellets spread. Adams took the hammer out of Long’s tool belt and defended herself. A second armed male came at her. There was a struggle, but she managed to neutralize both intruders.”
Branson seemed to be finished. Amanda asked, “That’s it?”
“Like I said, Adams was under medical care for severe shock. She saw her husband get shot. Fought for her life. His life, too, come to that. We’ll go back at her later, but from where I’m sitting, she’s earned some breathing room.”
Amanda silently steepled her fingers together underneath her chin. Faith kept writing in her notebook, but Will could practically see her ears perk up. There was a big piece missing from the end of the story. Either Lena had lied about Will being at the house or Branson was lying about what Lena had told her.
Amanda said, “Faith will go back at Adams. She’s had enough breathing room, I think. We need to know exactly what happened last night. You may not like it, but it’s our case and that’s how it’s going to be.”
Branson’s jaw tightened, but she gave a single nod of agreement.
Faith broke the tension this time. “Major, maybe you can fill in some basic details for me?” She turned to a fresh page in her notebook. “We’re talking a residential area?” Branson nodded. “A shotgun goes off in the middle of the night. Anybody see anything? Hear anything?”
Branson apparently shared Amanda’s habit of answering questions she didn’t like in her own sweet time. She paused a moment longer than necessary, then said, “The neighbors weren’t sure at first. It’s a fairly rural area. Just past midnight, you hear a shot, maybe it’s poachers, a car backfiring. The area’s heavily wooded. Houses are on five-acre lots. We’re not like y’all here in the city, stacked up on top of each other like rats.”
Faith nodded, ignoring the dig, or maybe agreeing with it. “Who called the police?”
“A neighbor who lives four doors down. You’ve got her name and statement on the zip drive if your boss can figure out how to open it.” She glanced Amanda’s way, then turned back to Faith. “There’s two other cops on that street. One’s married to a paramedic, the other lives with a firefighter. That’s the only reason Long didn’t die at the scene. His heart had stopped by the time they got there. They took turns working on him until the ambulance arrived. Took almost twenty minutes.”
Amanda said, “If Long comes around, Faith will interview him to see if his statement matches his wife’s.”
Branson waited another long moment. The corner of her lips quivered, then curved into a smile. “Aren’t you curious how I know for a fact that your boy over there was in that house last night right when the murders went down?”
Will supposed he was the boy in question. He thought about the hammer, the way the blood was still warm when he grabbed the metal with his bare hand. The sworls of his fingerprints in the dried blood would’ve been like a neon light to a cop as seasoned as Denise Branson.
Amanda breathed out a heavy sigh. “I think we can call Will a man, since he’s the only thing that stopped your detective from hammering a suspect to death. A second suspect, that is.”
Branson snapped, “You think so?”
Amanda made a calculated guess. “I gather that despite my orders to keep your people out of my crime scene, you ran fingerprints?”
Branson straightened her shoulders, as if bracing herself for a fight. She’d probably sent a team to Lena’s house the minute Amanda gave the order to lock it down. Will could only imagine the major’s rage when his GBI file popped up on her computer. He couldn’t blame the woman. Nobody liked realizing they’d been fooled.
“All right.” Amanda turned to Will. “Our turn to share. Run down your evening for the major, please.”
Will hadn’t been expecting to contribute, but he said, “Last night, I was approached by a contact I’ve been working as part of an undercover operation. He told me he needed a lookout on a house robbery. No violence involved, the occupants weren’t home. Obviously a lie on both counts. It looked like a good way to get inside the group, so I said yes.”
“You just happened to be in Macon?” Branson smirked when no one answered. “This contact got a name?”
Amanda supplied, “Anthony Dell.”
Branson didn’t acknowledge the answer. She prompted Will, “So, Dell said he had a job. What next?”
“We went to the job. Dell dropped me at the end of the street and told me to call on his cell if anyone approached. He drove down and parked in front of a house with a steep driveway. A light gray van was already parked on the street. Two males got out—I assume Zachary and Lawrence. They entered the house. Dell stayed outside by the van. I didn’t see that they were armed, but I was about fifty yards away.”
“That’s half a football field,” Branson noted. “Did you get the plates on the van?”
“It was midnight.”
“Full moon.”
“No streetlights. All I could see from where I was standing were shadows.”
Branson kept studying him, like she was trying to suss out a lie. Finally, she said, “The Kia that Dell was driving was still on scene when our units rolled up.”
Will felt his stomach drop. He had forgotten all about Tony’s car.
Branson continued, “We woke Dell up at his house this morning. He seemed real shocked that his car was missing from his driveway. Wanted to file a stolen vehicle report ASAP. We checked him for gunshot residue, ran his sheet, which was packed with low-level bullshit—but I’m sure you know that.”
“You let him go?” Amanda asked.
“What am I gonna hold him on? You gotta witness puts him at the scene?”
Will saw Amanda’s nostrils flare.
Branson continued, “I noticed Dell’s car’s got a sticker on the windshield—Macon General employee parking. Now, that rang a bell for me, because we did an investigation last month on some pills missing from the hospital pharmacy. Never did get any solid leads, but I know the GBI gets a copy of all reports pertaining to the theft of controlled substances. I made a trip to the hospital this morning to check out Dell’s co-workers.” She asked Will, “How do you like your job at the hospital?”
Amanda managed to sound both irritated and bored. “Yes, Major, excellent work. Bully for you. Where is Dell’s Kia now?”
“It’s in our garage. You told us to seal the house, not the street.” She seemed to take great pleasure in telling Amanda, “I’ll make certain to share any relevant information with your department.”
“How kind. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Branson turned her attention back to Will. “Two males went inside the house, you and Dell stayed in the street. What next?”
Will had to think a second before he could pick back up where he left off. “I heard the shotgun go off. I ran toward the house.”
“Half a football field away,” she noted. “And then?”
“Dell tried to stop me from going in. We struggled for a while. I don’t know how long, but he’s stronger than he looks, and he was obviously freaked out. Several more shots went off while we were fighting.”
Branson gave him the once-over. “You don’t look like you’ve been in a fight.”
“He was trying to stop me from going inside, not knock me out.”
“Nice guy.”
Will shrugged, but in the criminal world, Dell had been doing him a solid. He’d been trying to get Will to leave instead of running into a firestorm.
Will continued, “By the time I made it into the house, both men were neutralized. Lena Adams recognized me, or at least it seemed like she did. I got her to drop the hammer, then I went back outside. Dell was gone. The police were close by. I could hear the sirens. I went behind the house, jumped the fence into the woods, and walked away.”
Will tucked his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the window. Technically, he hadn’t walked, but they didn’t need to know that Will had bolted through those woods like the hounds of hell were at his back.
Branson asked, “Have you had any contact with Lena Adams since you and your partner investigated her a year and a half ago?”
Will told the truth. “Neither one of us has laid eyes on Lena since the investigation ended.”
“Have you talked to her since last night?”
Will shook his head, his mind flashing on the image of Lena’s face when he’d put his finger to his lips, told her to be quiet. She’d apparently taken it to heart.
Branson said, “I find it interesting that without any coordination, Detective Adams chose to maintain your cover.”
Faith pointed out, “It makes her look good, doesn’t it? Instead of Will stopping her from braining guy number two, she stops herself.”
Branson wasn’t about to publicly pile onto one of her officers. “I’ll put a BOLO on the gray van and get it out to the news stations.”
“Late model,” Will supplied. “Probably a Ford. No windows on the back or sides. Light gray, not dark.”
Branson took her BlackBerry out of her briefcase. “And nothing on the license plate, even though you were right up on it before you went into the house.” She started thumbing the information into an email.
Amanda asked, “You didn’t search for vehicles registered to Lawrence and Zachary?”
Branson kept typing. “Of course I did. They’ve both been living in the same trailer park off I-16. Zachary rides a Harley. Lawrence drives a truck. Both were parked outside their respective shitholes. Neither one of them have a gray van registered to their names.”
“They’re from Macon?”
“Born and raised.”
“Family been notified?”
“Lawrence has an ex who seemed real happy he was gone. Zachary has a brother waiting for the needle over in Holman. Killed a gas station attendant during a robbery. Murder runs in the family.”
“It usually does.” Amanda was obviously ready to end the meeting. “Looks like we’ve got work to do.” She turned to Faith, saying, “Priority number one when you get to Macon is talking to Lena Adams, making sure she knows to keep her mouth shut about Will. You’ll need to review her recent cases. I’m sure the major won’t mind another set of eyes on the good work her people have already done. Talk to Adams’s team, get some idea of what she’s been up to. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she’s been working off-book. See if anyone will talk.”
Branson dropped her BlackBerry into her briefcase. “You’ll have to interview her at the hospital. She won’t leave Long’s side. Said we’d have to take her away in handcuffs.”
“That can be arranged,” Faith offered. She’d worked behind the scenes on the previous Lena investigation and couldn’t quite get past their inability to make the case stick. “Adams did attempt to murder a man.”
Branson glared at her. “Are you not familiar with the Castle Doctrine, Agent Mitchell? The state guarantees a citizen’s right to protect his or her home from an intruder. To my thinking, this episode is the very reason the law was passed in the first place.”
Faith couldn’t argue with the legalities, but she’d never been one to let go of a grudge. “Be that as it may, Major Branson, the way Lena Adams lives her life, she’s gonna end up looking out from the wrong side of a cell eventually.”
“I think the only thing Lena’s looking at right now is how to get her husband to wake up. We all feel that way. Jared Long is a good cop. So is Lena for that matter, and it worries me, Agent Mitchell, that you’re going into this thing thinking otherwise.”
Faith bristled. “I’ll go where the evidence leads me.”
“Regardless,” Amanda said. “We need to pin Lena down on protecting Will’s cover. There’s still a play to be made at that hospital, and given last night’s events, this just got a hell of a lot more dangerous. Major, I expect you’ll honor our request for confidentiality. We’ve spent too much time on this thing to have it blow up in our faces.”
“This thing,” Branson echoed, giving careful weight to the words.
Amanda was silent. She wasn’t buying time; she was making Branson wait. For her part, Denise Branson looked ready to roll out a sleeping bag if that’s what it took.
Finally, after what felt like a full minute, Amanda said, “Will?”
He looked her in the eye, wondering how much she expected him to reveal. She made an open gesture with her hand, as if to say he should hold nothing back. Of course, what she indicated for Branson and what she actually meant were two different things.
Will carefully bent the truth. “Several days ago, we got a tip that a high roller was making a move into Macon. Street name is Big Whitey. We ran him through the system and got a ping out of Florida, but not much else.”
Branson asked, “Which part of Florida?”
“Sarasota.”
“You got a picture?”
Will hesitated a moment too long. Amanda made a great show of opening one of her desk drawers, pulling out a surveillance photo. She slid it across her desk, saying, “This was taken four years ago.”
Branson leaned over, making a point of studying the grainy image.
Will could describe the picture in his sleep. Big Whitey wore a Marlins baseball cap with the brim pulled low. His jacket was bulky, hardly what you’d expect in the Florida heat. Mirrored sunglasses wrapped around the top part of his face. His beard was dark and dense, showing very little skin. His hands were in his pockets. Big Whitey knew how to pose for a closed-circuit security camera. There was no way to tell how tall or short, white or not white, the man was.
Will explained, “Florida never laid eyes on him personally. This photo was taken off CCTV at a chicken joint on Tamiami Trail.”
Branson asked, “Florida’s sure this is Big Whitey?”
“One of the fry cooks gave him up. Said he recognized him from his local pill shop.”
“Gave him up for what?”
Will pointed to the photo. “About half a minute after that image was captured, Whitey stepped back from the camera, shot a cop in the head, and escaped through the back exit, where a car was waiting.”
Branson sounded dubious. “And Sarasota didn’t go balls to the wall looking for a cop killer?”
“The fry cook didn’t know much more than his street name. They were gonna go back at him the next day, but he was shot dead outside his house later that night.”
“Sarasota let their only material witness go home?”
“They didn’t know Whitey had made him, and they couldn’t legally hold the guy without cause.”
Amanda chimed in, “And Sarasota didn’t put the pieces together on Big Whitey until the FDLE came in and did it for them.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm as she needlessly explained, “The Florida Department of Law Enforcement works much like the GBI. They coordinate cases across county lines. They’re very good at providing the whole picture, the kind of details the local force is too myopic to register.”
Again, Branson took a moment before asking, “Do you have any more details on this Big Whitey?”
Will said, “Nothing recent. FDLE thinks he was originally ganged up with the Palmetto Street Rollers. They were a Miami-based group, mostly Cuban, some Caucasian. The FBI put membership around twenty thousand running up and down the East Coast.” Branson nodded, so Will continued, “The gang broke up into sets after some turf wars. Florida believes but isn’t certain that Big Whitey took over from Sarasota down to the Keys. We’re guessing two years ago, he moved up the coast into Savannah and Hilton Head.”
“Guessing based on what?”
“Both Savannah and Hilton Head kept hearing his name come up. Snitches, mostly, but nothing concrete. At first, the locals thought he was an urban legend, a kind of go-to bogeyman. ‘Play it straight or Big Whitey will get you.’ ‘Wasn’t me, Officer, Big Whitey did it.’ ” Will added, “Savannah’s convinced he’s real, but Carolina disbanded the Hilton Head task force six months ago. Put the money on coastal trafficking instead, figured it was a wider net.”
“What persuaded Savannah that this Big Whitey’s not some kind of urban legend?” Branson obviously couldn’t resist adding, “Other than the excellent counter-myopic services of the great GBI?”
Will ignored the sarcasm. “They started to see a pattern. The junkies and cons were suddenly more sophisticated. Crime went up but prosecutions went down. The bad guys had more money for lawyers—usually the same lawyers from the same firms. Better cars, better clothes, bigger guns. Somebody took a bunch of low-level thugs and turned them into businessmen.”
“Ergo, Big Whitey is real,” Branson summed up. “All the bad guys in town played along?”
“Unless they wanted to end up face-down in the sand.” Will didn’t tell her that in their own way, many of the cops had played along, too. The detectives who didn’t request transfers asked for early retirement. “Most of the criminals complied. They didn’t become drug dealers to lose money.”
“And now you think Big Whitey’s trying to set up the same type of organization in Macon because you got a tip,” Branson concluded. “I’m assuming Whitey specializes in pills, which Tony Dell was swiping from the hospital pharmacy?”
Will said, “That’s a chunk of his business, but heroin is his end game. Whitey moves into the suburbs, branches out into the rich white neighborhoods. They start with pills, he moves them into heroin.”
Branson asked, “How’d you target Dell in the first place?”
Amanda quipped, “Confidential source.”
Branson didn’t look at Amanda. “Same source who turned you on to Big Whitey?”
Amanda said, “That’s how it usually works.”
Branson kept ignoring her, asking Will, “And that’s why you agreed to play lookout on the so-called robbery last night, to build your bad-boy cred with Dell?”
Will nodded.
“Well, that all makes sense. Thank you for your time.” Branson picked up her briefcase from the floor and held it in her lap again. “You know how to get in touch with me, Deputy Director.”
Amanda was seldom thrown, but Denise Branson had managed to surprise her. “That’s it?”
“You’re obviously not going to tell me anything else and I’m sure as shit not going to share anything with you.” Branson stood. “If I’d wanted to get fucked around with this morning, I would’ve stayed in bed with my vibrator.”
The woman knew how to make an exit. She kept her head held high as she left the office, her briefcase gripped close to her side.
Will looked at Amanda, who silently stared at the empty doorway.
“Wow.” Faith broke the silence. “That was quite a show.”
Amanda played with the stem of her reading glasses again. “She knew Lawrence fired the shotgun that took down Long. I expect we’ll find she ordered some tests.”
Will had picked up on that, too. “She was in the house at some point before it got locked down. She knew Lawrence had meth sores on his face, but he doesn’t have them in the booking photo. She called Dell Tony, not Anthony.”
Amanda said, “She had about two hours before Charlie and his team got to Macon. She’s obviously running a parallel investigation.” Amanda shot Will a pointed look. “And hell will freeze over before she tells us what—if anything—she finds in Dell’s car.”
Will nodded at the rebuke, which was deserved.
“I doubt the car will be useful.” Faith flipped back through her notes. “Branson obviously fingerprinted the bodies to get their IDs. Zachary and Lawrence weren’t stupid enough to go in with their wallets. They probably left them in the van.”
Will said, “Dell’s probably sold their credit cards by now. He’ll keep the licenses for his own use. The van’s probably been stripped for parts.” Leaving the Kia at the scene had been a risky move, but Tony Dell wasn’t the type to pass on an easy score.
Amanda asked Will, “Dell’s criminal record is petty—am I correct?”
“Yes,” Will answered. Tony Dell had been very lucky up until now. “He’s done jail time off some misdemeanors, but he’s never made it to the big house.”
“What’s your story when you see him?”
“I’m angry. Why did he lie about the job? What did he tell the cops? Should I leave town? Do I still get paid?”
“Good. Don’t oversell it.”
Will nodded again.
Faith sat back in her chair. “Why didn’t Lena tell Branson you were there?”
“I have no idea,” Will admitted. “I buy that she was in shock. Her pupils were blown. She was dripping sweat. She’d just killed one guy with her bare hands and was about to take out another.”
“Yes, how about that?” Amanda asked. “Let’s keep in mind she was fully prepared to commit cold-blooded murder.”
Will said, “Branson’s right about the Castle Doctrine. Two people came into Lena’s home and tried to kill her. She thought her husband was dead. She feared for her life. You could take it to trial, but there’s not a jury on earth who would convict her.” This was the problem with Lena Adams—or at least Will’s problem. He didn’t condone her actions, but at a gut level, he understood them.
Amanda’s tone was brisk. “I said let’s keep it in mind. I didn’t tell you to lock her up for it.” She told Faith, “See if you can get Will and Lena in the same room together. She might talk more openly with him.”
“That should be easy with Sara right down the hallway.” Faith stared her displeasure into Will. “And don’t forget who we’re dealing with. In case it’s not obvious, it still rankles me that Lena got away the last time. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find out this time around that she knows exactly why this happened and who ordered it. Maybe she skimmed cash from the wrong bust. Took kickbacks from the wrong bad guys. That could be why Major Branson’s doing her own investigation. Lena’s one of her team. Branson doesn’t want to look like the idiot who didn’t realize she had a dirty cop on her hands.”
“Lena’s not working the other side,” Will countered. He’d spent a lifetime dealing with damaged women like Lena Adams. Their motivations were easy to read once you knew what to look for. “She’d never take a bribe. She does bad things, but she always thinks she’s doing them for the right reason.”
“Whatever.” Faith had never been a fan of nuance. “Major Branson thinks the hospital pharmacy theft is the reason you ended up in Macon. She’s not going to stop until she finds out who your informant is.”
Amanda stated the obvious. “She’ll only know if someone tells her.”
Will said, “Don’t you think it’s strange she asked if we had a photo of Big Whitey?”
“Yes,” Amanda answered. “A picture isn’t the first thing I would ask about.”
Faith said, “She didn’t do that weird thing with her mouth when she saw it, but who the hell knows?” She closed her notebook. “What else do you think she’s not telling us?”
Amanda said, “More than we’re not telling her, which I find highly annoying.” She raised her voice. “Caroline, get me Gil Gonzalo at the FDLE.”
“He’s on central time,” Caroline shouted back. “Give it another half hour unless you want to talk to a junior officer.”
“I guess they work when they please down there,” Amanda grumbled. “Will, your report said Dell approached you around eleven-thirty last night. He took you straight to the job?”
“I was just coming off my hospital shift. He stopped me in the parking lot.” Will hadn’t considered the timing until now. “Maybe he needed me to fill in for someone else.”
Faith asked, “How did Dell pitch the job?”
“He asked if I wanted to make five hundred bucks cash for keeping my mouth shut and my eyes open.”
Faith said, “Five hundred bucks is a lot of money for being a lookout. You could get a guy killed for less than that.”
“You’re right.” Will was beginning to think he’d missed a lot of things last night. Adrenaline and sheer panic had never enhanced anyone’s short-term memory.
He said, “I noticed when they were outside Lena’s house that they all shook hands. Not the shoulder-bump bro thing, just a formal handshake, like they didn’t know each other well.”
Faith twisted her lips to the side as she considered the situation. “So, the plan was thrown together at the last minute. They didn’t have a crew in place.”
Will said, “Dell hangs out at a place called Tipsie’s just about every night. It’s a strip joint off the highway, caters mostly to bikers and ex-cons. I went with him a few times to build a rapport.”
“A rapport?” Faith echoed.
Will ignored her sarcasm. “If you’re looking for a guy to help you kill a couple of cops in Macon, Tipsie’s is the place to go.”
“I’ll check it out,” Faith said. “Hopefully, Macon PD will be more helpful than Major Branson. There’s something a little too go-getter about her for me. Who wears all their ribbons for a downtown meeting? And what was that snickery smile on her lips?”
Amanda told them, “This sounds like a character-building exercise. Attempted murder on two cops, one man dead, another critically wounded, and the chief sends her to brief us? That’s not a plum assignment.”
“Especially if she’s been up since one-shitty in the morning,” Faith pointed out. “For what it’s worth, Branson sounds to me like she’s on-side with Lena. Could be an ‘us against the world’ thing, like they’re both the same kind of bad.”
“Maybe,” Amanda allowed. “Misery loves company.”
Will tuned out their voices. He thought about last night, the drive to Lena’s house. Dell had been fidgety, but that was pretty much his default. He’d played with the radio, tapped his fingers on the dash, the steering wheel, his leg, as he drove one-handed toward what they both thought was an easy score. Dell had talked the entire time: about the weather, his ailing mother who lived in Texas, a woman at the hospital he was dying to sleep with. All Will had to do was nod occasionally to keep him going. Dell didn’t need any more encouragement. He actually talked too much for his own good. Major Branson had been fed the story backward. Tony Dell was the original target of Will’s investigation. His first day undercover, Dell would not shut up about a big-time dealer named Big Whitey.
Will realized that Amanda and Faith had gone silent.
Faith asked, “What is it?”
Will shook his head, but he still told them, “Big Whitey.”
“It can’t be coincidence,” Amanda said. “You’re down there for Dell. Dell turns you on to Big Whitey. Big Whitey kills cops. A little over a week later, two police officers are attacked.”
Will said, “It’s the timing that’s bothering me. If I’m going to kill some cops, I don’t do it on the fly. I plan it out. I follow them around. I figure out what their habits are. It would take several days, maybe a week, to get a team together. There must’ve been a clock ticking on the hit, otherwise they would’ve never used Dell and they sure as hell wouldn’t’ve hired me sight unseen.”
Faith asked, “You think some of their original crew chickened out?” She answered her own question. “It would make sense that they wouldn’t tell you and Dell what they were really up to after their first choice walked away.”
Will said, “That would explain the five hundred dollars. You overpay to keep the questions down and buy an easy yes.” He went back to the timing. “Bad guys don’t play the long game. This was something recent. The hit was put out in the last two weeks, maximum. So, we figure out what happened in the last two weeks.”
“Macon is in Bibb County now.” Amanda tapped some keys on her computer. “That’s region …?”
“Twelve,” Will supplied.
Amanda raised her voice again. “Caroline, get me Nick Shelton on the phone.”
Will said, “I’ve been reading the Macon paper every day.” He ignored the surprised looks they gave him. “About a week ago, two cops were hurt raiding a shooting gallery that was selling mostly meth and pills. The details were sketchy. One’s still in the hospital. The other’s taking disability.”
“Anything else?” Amanda asked.
“They netted some cash under the drug seizure rule. Paper didn’t give an exact number, but Macon PD was talking about using it to buy new cruisers, some AKs for SWAT.” Will shrugged again. “The rest was just the usual blotter stuff—missing teenage girls, pot bust at the school, a guy died on the toilet.”
Amanda clasped her hands together on the desk. She was obviously done with talking. “All right. We have a plan?”
“My hospital shift starts at eleven.” Will told Faith, “You’ll have to figure out a way to get me and Lena in the same room without blowing my cover.”
“I’m sure she’ll cooperate.” Faith sounded skeptical. She asked Amanda, “Do you think it’s worth me going to the trailer park where Zachary and Lawrence lived?”
Amanda shook her head. “Branson’s probably flipped the place upside down by now. Give it a day or two. Go in soft so there’s a nice contrast.”
“All right,” Faith agreed. “Speaking of Branson, I’ll double-check the information she gave us, run down the records on Zachary and Lawrence, make sure there’s nothing she’s leaving out. Might as well run Adams and Long while I’m at it. I’ll send everything to data analysis so they can track down bank accounts, mortgages, known associates, family members, whatever else pops up.”
Amanda said, “That’s going to be a lot of information to sort through. Pull some help from the field office. Make them do the bulk of the work on Jared Long so we have a long paper trail if this goes to trial. We don’t want to be accused of prejudicial thinking.”
“You mean again?” Faith pushed herself up from her chair. “I’ll call the cell phone company and get a list off the towers near Adams’s house. Midnight in a rural area, there can’t be that many active calls.”
“Let me know if they give you any push-back,” Amanda said. Cellular providers were getting stingy about data mining lately. “If we need a warrant, it’ll take a few days.”
“Amanda?” Caroline yelled. “Nick Shelton’s on line two.”
Amanda picked up the receiver, but she put it to her shoulder instead of her ear. “Will, be careful. Keep your phone on you at all times so we know exactly where you are.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He followed Faith toward the door.
“Also—” Amanda waited for them to turn back around. “Will’s right about the timing. Whatever set this off had to be recent. Faith, put together a timeline. Start with last night, then go backward day by day, minute by minute if you have to. Find out whatever the hell it is Lena Adams did to put all of this into motion.”