Will rode his motorcycle around the Macon General parking lot until he spotted Sara’s BMW. It was a stupid thing to do, but he was feeling pretty stupid lately anyway. She’d bypassed the doctors’ lot and found a spot in the back under a stand of shade trees. He suppressed the desire to get off his bike and touch the hood of her car. Will told himself it was only to see how long she’d been there, but deep down he knew he wanted some kind of connection.
Which was embarrassing and pathetic enough to make him gun the engine and proceed to the employee lot at an unadvisable speed.
Fortunately, burning some rubber in the parking lot was exactly the kind of thing his alter ego would do. Will had gone undercover before. He liked to think that he was pretty good at getting into character. There were some happily retired chickens in North Georgia who could attest to his skills. While busting a cockfighting ring was not as dangerous as his current assignment, the GBI’s information officers had managed to give Will an even more impressive cover this time around.
As with the day laborers outside the Home Depot, Will imagined that Bill Black, his cover ID, provided a glimpse into what could have been. The man was a con, the sort of guy who knew his way around the system. He had a sealed juvie record and a dishonorable discharge from the Air Force. More important, there were three serious charges on his adult sheet—two for knocking around various women and another for pushing a mall cop down an escalator.
The latter charge had landed Bill Black in the Fulton County jail for ninety days. He’d been paroled for good behavior, but was kept on a tight leash by a parole officer who reported directly back to Amanda. The PO had already dropped by the hospital a few times for surprise check-ins. Bill Black was a scary guy. There were other crimes that the cops were looking at him for. A gas station stickup. Some messy business up in Kentucky. An assault that left a man blind in one eye. Black was what those in the know called a person of interest.
The GBI had managed to locate a couple of snitches who were willing to back up Black’s cover story in exchange for leniency. Another con told Will all the gossip floating around the jail during the time in which Bill Black was incarcerated. The guards had confirmed the lurid details, which sounded like a mash-up of Cool Hand Luke and The Sopranos. Then they had taken some unflattering photos of Will holding up a placard with Black’s name and inmate number. Aside from the lack of any pathetic jailhouse tattoos, Will would’ve been hard-pressed to find the holes in his backstory.
Of course, there were always holes to be found, but Will wasn’t about to share the biggest one with Amanda: the name Bill Black, which Amanda had proudly presented to Will as if on a silver platter, made his brain feel like it belonged in a Salvador Dalí painting.
“Bill rhymes with Will,” she’d told him, handing over the dossier he was required to memorize. “And of course Black is a color.”
Will gathered from her demeanor that he was supposed to be grateful. The truth was, she might as well have thrown on a leotard and acted out the name in interpretive dance.
Will was dyslexic, a fact that Amanda only trotted out when she couldn’t find a sharper knife in her drawer. He wasn’t about to have an open conversation about his problem—that was what the Internet was for—but if Amanda had bothered to look it up, she would’ve realized dyslexia wasn’t a reading disorder, but a language-processing disorder. Which was why Will had no ear for rhymes and couldn’t understand how Black could be a color when the capital letter meant that it was a name.
But Will had sat in Amanda’s office and thumbed through Bill Black’s file like it made perfect sense.
“Looks good,” he’d told her.
She hadn’t been convinced. “You want me to help you with the big words?”
Will had closed the file and left her office.
He could read—he wasn’t a complete imbecile—but it took some time and a lot of patience. Over the years, Will had learned a few tricks to help him pass as more fluent. Holding a ruler under a line of text to keep the letters from jumping around. Using the computer to dictate his reports or read his emails. He’d been told in school that he read on a second-grade level. Not that his teachers had formally diagnosed him with anything other than stupidity. Will was in college when he finally learned that what he had was called dyslexia, but it was too late by then for him to do anything but pray to God that no one found out.
For the most part, not many people did. Amanda seemed happy to keep it as a weapon in her arsenal. Faith had discovered it during their first case, and whenever anything involving reading came up, she took on a maternal tone that made Will want to stick his head in a wood chipper.
And of course Sara knew. She’d figured it out immediately. Will guessed being a doctor helped her recognize the signs. The weird part was that she treated him no different from before. She saw his dyslexia as just another part of Will, like the color of his hair or the size of his feet.
She saw him as normal.
And if he kept revving his motorcycle, she’d look out the window and see him riding through the parking lot.
The irony was not lost on Will that he’d spent the last ten days hiding the truth from Sara only to find himself stuck not just in the same city, but in the same building dealing with basically the same people. He would do anything to have her back in Atlanta, where the lies flowed a lot easier. In Macon, there was the constant possibility that Will would turn a corner or open a door and find Sara standing there wanting answers.
He coasted the Triumph into his usual spot by the employee entrance. The rain had accompanied him most of the trip down from Atlanta, spitting fine needles into his face. Will’s helmet wasn’t the wraparound kind, but a shorty, which gave his head the minimum coverage allowed by law. It was closer to a beanie. Every time a large truck crowded him on the interstate, Will wondered if he’d actually be able to see his brains on the asphalt before he died or if death would be instantaneous.
The thought was not a new one. Will had ridden a Kawasaki in his twenties because the bike was cheap and gas was expensive. And it had to be said that the sensation of sitting atop a large, vibrating machine was not an unpleasant feeling for a young man with limited dating experience. Add another decade, and the story took a considerably darker tone. His back ached. His hands hurt. His shoulders were screaming. Other areas were equally displeased. Will shook out his legs as he got off the bike. He unbuckled his helmet and peeled it off his head.
“Hey, Bud,” a nurse called.
Will looked up. The woman was leaning against the building and sucking on a cigarette. He’d told people to call him Buddy because he didn’t want to recall his conversation with Amanda every time he heard Bill Black’s name. That his hospital colleagues had all shortened it to Bud was an unforeseen development.
She asked, “Good ride?”
Will grunted, which was a typical Bill Black response.
“That’s nice.” She smiled at him. Her bleach-blonde hair didn’t move in the breeze. Her tight pink scrubs were covered in leaping dolphins. “You hear about what happened last night with them two cops?”
“Yep.” Will pulled the bandanna off his head and used it to wipe the road from his face.
“One of ’em’s in the ICU. Might not wake up.” She picked something off the tip of her tongue. “Po-po’s crawling all over the place.”
Will grunted again. He stuck the bandanna in his back pocket.
She exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Tony says they were at his house this morning. Fools stole his car and used it for the hit. You believe that?”
Will stared at her, trying to decipher whether or not she was being rhetorical. He decided his best bet was to ignore the question altogether. “I need to clock in.”
He tucked his helmet under his arm as he walked toward the door. The nurse took a last hit off the cigarette. She didn’t seem to mind his gruffness. This was typical of the women in Bill Black’s social circle. They expected their men to be quiet, to grunt and glare and scratch and spit. For Will, who’d been trained to put the toilet seat back down before he was even out of diapers, it was like living on the moon.
Or utopia, depending on how you looked at it.
“Take care now,” the nurse said. She winked at Will as he opened the door. He didn’t bother to hold it open for her. He knew the woman’s type, had seen her standing in the periphery his entire life. They were at the children’s home. They were out in the streets. Oftentimes, they were in the back of a squad car. They chose the wrong guys, made all the wrong decisions. The worse you treated them, the tighter they held on.
Will had always known this type of woman found him attractive. Maybe it was the scars on his face. Maybe it was some invisible mark left by his childhood that only fellow travelers could see. Either way, they were drawn to Will because they thought he was damaged or dangerous or both. He had spent his life avoiding them. The only way to hold the interest of a desperate woman was to be a certain type of man. Will had never wanted to be that man.
“Hey,” the nurse called. She stood in the open doorway, hand on her hip. “It’s Cayla, by the way.”
Will stared at her. He was standing outside the employee locker room. She was thirty feet away. The gray dolphins on her shirt looked like spoiled sperm.
She gave a flirty smile. “Cayla with a C.”
Will didn’t think another grunt would travel. He tried to be clever. “You want me to write that down or something?”
“Sure do.” She laughed in a way that made him feel small. “Whatchu doin’ after work?”
He shrugged.
“Why don’t you come by my house for supper? I bet you ain’t had nothin’ home-cooked since you got out.”
Bill Black’s history had gotten around fast. Will had worked at the hospital less than two weeks and she already knew he’d been in jail.
She pressed, “How about it? Around seven? I can get a good scald on a chicken.”
Will hesitated. He knew Cayla Martin’s name from her rap sheet, which showed an arrest for drunken driving four years ago. DUIs came with expensive fines. Cayla still had another thousand dollars to pay before she was allowed to do more than drive herself to and from work. She was also a pharmacy nurse, which meant she had access to all the pills that kept getting stolen.
Cayla stamped her foot. “Come on, Bud. Let me cook you somethin’ good.”
Will was contemplating his options when Tony Dell came out of the locker room. The man panicked. His sneakers squeaked against the floor as he tripped over his feet trying to flee.
Con or cop—it didn’t matter. When someone was trying to get away from you, you stopped them. Will dropped his helmet on the floor. He grabbed Tony by the back of the neck and slammed him face-first into the door.
“Hey!” Tony cried. He was a little guy. Will was almost a foot and a half taller and carried at least fifty pounds more muscle. Lifting Tony off his feet was as easy as lifting Sara.
Will made his voice a growl. “What the fuck did you get me into?”
“I didn’t—” Tony tried. Obviously, it was difficult for him to talk with his face smashed against a door. “Come on, Bud! I was tryin’ to hook you up!”
“I’ll hook you to a fucking noose.”
“Bud! I’m serious, dude. I didn’t know!” His toes kicked at the door as he tried to find purchase. “Come on!”
Will let him go. Tony’s feet slid back to the floor. He took a few seconds to collect himself. He was breathing hard. Sweat poured from his brow, but whether that was because he was high or terrified, Will wasn’t sure. Regardless, now that Tony wasn’t afraid of having his neck snapped, he took umbrage with the rough treatment. “Jesus, dude. What’s wrong with you?”
Will demanded, “Who set up the job?”
Tony looked up and down the hallway to make sure they were alone. Cayla had vanished. Women like that knew when to get out of the way.
“Damn.” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “That hurt, man.”
“Who set it up?” Will jammed his finger into Tony’s shoulder. “Tell me, you little shit.”
Tony slapped his hand to his shoulder. “I don’t know. Two guys at the bar came up and asked did I wanna make some money.”
“Last night?”
“Yeah, after work.”
“You knew them?”
“I seen ’em around.” He started rubbing his shoulder. “You seen ’em, too. Them guys who hang back in the special corner.”
The VIP section of Tipsie’s. Will had seen it all right. It was about as welcoming as the shower room at the state pen. “How much money did they offer?”
Tony turned shifty.
Will put his hand on Tony’s chest and pushed him back against the door. There was no force behind the hold, but the threat was enough to get the little man talking.
“Fifteen hundred bucks.”
Will pulled back his fist. “You mother—”
“They told me we’d be safe!” Tony yelled, his hands going up. “They said we just needed to stand out in the street like we did. Nothin’ to it.”
Will kept his fist at the ready. “So you get a thou and I get five bills?”
“I was closest to the house.” He gave a halfhearted shrug. “My spot was more dangerous.”
Will let his fist drop. “You knew it was more than a robbery.”
Tony opened his mouth, then closed it. He checked again to make sure they were alone. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, Bud. I knew there was some people in the house might get hurt. I swear on a stack of Bibles I had no idea they was cops. No way I woulda taken that job, let alone bring you into it. We’s friends, right?”
“My friends don’t throw me in the shit when I’m already on parole.” Will’s shirt had pulled out from his jeans. He tucked it back in as he looked up and down the hall. “This better not blow back on me.”
Tony wasn’t as stupid as he looked. “Why’d you wanna go in the house so bad anyway? What was up with that?”
The million-dollar question. Will had figured out his answer on the ride down. “I need the money. Dead men don’t pay.”
“I hear ya,” Tony said, but he was obviously not buying it. “You sure did run in there like a bat outta hell, though. Near about took my head off. I was only trying to help you.”
Again, Will checked the hallway. “I got an ex, all right? Girl up in Tennessee. She’s got a kid by me. I didn’t believe her, but the test came back.” Will tried to put some anger in his voice. “Bitch said she’d file on me if I don’t throw down five K before the baby comes.” He said the phrase he’d heard from many a con. “I can’t go back to jail again, man. I can’t do it.”
Tony nodded his understanding. Will had gathered from various conversations at Tipsie’s that the DNA tests they feared most were the ones that proved paternity. What was harder to believe was that the slang Will had picked up from watching an outlaw biker show on cable was actually working.
“I hear ya, man.” Tony scratched his arm, a nervous habit that had left permanent red streaks on his skin. “You want, I could run up there with you, give her a talkin’-to.”
“You wanna keep your voice down?” Will asked. “Every pig in the county’s upstairs. That cop might not make it. You wanna guess what happens then?”
Tony kept scratching his arm. “So, what’d you see?” Again, he checked the hall. “Inside the house. What’d you see?”
“One dead guy, one on his way out.” Will tried to fight back the bloody image of Lena straddling Fred Zachary, preparing to break his spine in two. “Some crazy chick with a hammer.”
“She see you?”
“You think she’d be alive if she did?”
Tony lowered his voice. “I heard she used the claw.”
“You know her?” Will clarified, “The cop. She ever bang you up?”
“Shit no. Ain’t no bitch takin’ me down, bro.”
Will guessed an eight-pound Chihuahua could take down Tony Dell. “Why’d they wanna kill two cops? They on the take?”
“Dudes didn’t say and I didn’t ask.” Tony backed himself against the door rather than let Will put him there. “Honest, Bud. I got no idea.”
Will considered what a guy like Bill Black would be worried about in this situation. He asked, “What’d you do with the van?”
Tony was obviously not expecting the question. “It’s cool. I know some guys.”
“Whatever they paid you, half of it’s mine.”
Tony tried, “I didn’t get much.”
“Bullshit.” Will grabbed Tony’s arm to make sure the man was paying attention. “I’m only gonna ask you this one more time: Who do they work for?”
“I got no idea, dude. Honest.”
“Well, you better think hard about it, because you and me are looking a hell of a lot like a couple of loose ends right now.”
“You think they’ll come after us?”
“You think whoever set this in motion is just gonna trust you not to talk?”
“Holy Christ.” The color drained from Tony’s face. “It’s gotta be Big Whitey. He’s the only dude I can think of who has them kind of balls.”
Will tightened his grip around Tony’s arm. It was a hell of a lot easier to interrogate someone when you could scare the crap out of them. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s killed cops before. Everybody knows that. Hell, man, I heard he took out a federal agent down in Florida.”
Yet another murder to look into. Will asked, “You sure you didn’t tell them my name?”
“Hell no, brother. Hell no.”
“If I find out you did …”
“I promise!” Tony’s voice went up a few octaves. “Lookit, man. I ain’t no snitch. I’m tellin’ you straight up.” He used his free hand to dig into his back pocket. “Look, all right?” He pulled out a wad of cash. “This is all I got for the van. You take it, all right? We’ll call it even. Okay?”
Will took the cash. It was moist, which he tried not to think about as he counted out the bills. “Six hundred bucks. That’s all you got?”
“That’s more than you thought you’d get last night.”
Will grunted. Bill Black would be satisfied with the amount. “Lookit.” Tony scratched his arm again. “Big Whitey’s a businessman. We can go talk to him. Try to reason with him.”
“There’s no way I’m—”
“Just listen to me, hoss.” Tony kept scratching, even though he’d drawn blood on his arm. “I told you I got a pill thing going here. You and me could double it up and—”
“No,” Will said. “My PO got me this job. Who do you think they’re gonna look at when a ton of pills start going missing?” He loomed over Tony again. “What’d you say to the police when they rang your doorbell this morning?”
The furtive look was back. “How’d you hear about that?”
“That nurse. She’s probably told the whole damn hospital by now.”
“Cayla,” Tony provided. The soft way he said her name rang a bell. Cayla Martin was the girl Tony wouldn’t shut up about on the drive to Lena’s last night. It made sense that a pill freak would want to hook up with a pharmacy nurse.
Tony asked, “She say anything else about me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Will was getting tired of this. “She offered to cook me supper.”
Tony took the news harder than Will anticipated. He tucked his chin down to his chest. “Are you gonna go?”
“Tell me what you said to the cops this morning.”
Tony didn’t answer. “I thought you were my friend, Bud. I can’t believe you’re going out with her.”
Will couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “What’d you tell the cops, Tony? Don’t make me beat it out of you.”
He still sulked, but answered, “That the car musta been stolen. They asked me to come down to the station and file a report.”
“You stay out of that station,” Will warned. “They get you in there, you won’t ever come out.”
“I ain’t tellin’ ’em nothin’.”
“You think that matters? Two cops were almost killed. They’re gonna pin this on the first idiot they can find.”
“They got the idiots,” Tony said. “Them two guys from last night—one’s dead. The other one can’t even move, and they’s no way in hell he’ll open his mouth. I keep tellin’ you—Big Whitey, he’s got reach. He’ll take ’em out in the hospital. In the jail. In the prison. Ain’t nowhere Big Whitey can’t get to you. Trust me, man. He’s a bad dude.”
Will gritted his teeth. Every conversation he’d ever had with Tony Dell tended to turn down Big Whitey Way at some point. Something about that didn’t feel right, and Will’s instinct was to shut it down. “Whatever, man. Just keep me out of it.”
Tony sensed he was losing his audience. “We could talk to him. Let him know we ain’t gonna rat. Maybe get on the payroll.”
“No.” Will picked up his helmet off the floor. He wiped the scuffs with the back of his sleeve. He tried more biker talk. “I gotta kid to pay for, my PO’s up my ass. I don’t need to be looking for more trouble.”
“It don’t gotta be like that.”
“Whatever, bro. Just keep my name out of it.”
Will yanked open the door to the locker room. The space was empty. Blue lockers ran down the walls and divided the room into three sections. He waited a few seconds, wondering if Tony Dell would follow. When the door stayed closed, Will headed toward the lockers on the back wall.
Bill Black’s name was written on a piece of masking tape stuck to his locker. Will had used a Sharpie to cross it out and write BUD. Three letters. It wasn’t pretty—Will’s handwriting had never been stellar—but it beat the locker next to his, where someone had drawn an ejaculating penis that had only one ball.
Will assumed it was an inside joke.
To secure his locker, Will had bought a luggage lock instead of a combination dial. Left and right had never been easy, but Will was good with numbers. He spun the four digits to the date he’d first kissed Sara. Or, technically, the date Sara had kissed him. The lock didn’t need to know the details.
Will hung his helmet inside the locker and took out his folded work shirt and pants. Maintenance duty wasn’t a bad job as these things went. Will was good at fixing things. The forms they made him fill out were designed for someone with little grasp of the English language. There were only five boxes to check or not check, and only one long line with an X beside it, which made it easy when it came time to sign his name. Not that Will signed his name. He wrote two capital letter Bs and left it at that.
Will took off his street clothes and dressed for work. He wore Bill Black’s photo ID on a lanyard around his neck. A security card and set of keys were attached to a retractable wire on his belt. A flashlight hooked through a metal loop on the side. Will transferred the still-moist cash from Tony Dell into the front pocket of his work pants, hoping the bills would be dry when he logged them into evidence later. In a blue Velcro wallet were a few of Black’s credit cards, a copy of a speeding ticket that served as his license, and some receipts that indicated Mr. Black preferred to do all his shopping at the RaceTrac near the mouth of the Ocmulgee Trail.
He checked the battery on his iPhone. Will didn’t use a smartphone in his real life, but Bill Black was a little more sophisticated. Not that the device was the sort of thing you had to be a rocket scientist to operate. Will had figured out most of the programs on his own as he whiled away the hours at the fleabag efficiency motel where Bill Black rented a room by the week.
Black’s primary email account was on the hospital server. The secondary account was through Gmail. The inbox contained some increasingly nasty messages that appeared to have been written by an angry pregnant woman in Tennessee. There were a few mildly racist forwards from some dummy accounts, but Bill Black didn’t have many friends. The bulk of his mail consisted of junk sent from mailing lists that advertised hunting gear and naked women, and coupons for things like beef jerky and Old Spice.
Black’s musical tastes ran toward country, with some Otis Redding thrown in as a hat tip to the singer’s hometown of Macon. There were some pictures of scenic views taken from the highway. Black was a hunter, so it made sense that he would appreciate woods and trees. Black also liked the ladies. There were several risqué photos downloaded from the Internet. Blondes and Asians mostly. Will had briefly considered putting a few redheads on there, but that felt weird because of Sara. And also because of Sara, he knew they weren’t really redheads.
The tech specialist at the GBI had done the rest of the heavy lifting, adding some stealth features to the phone. The apps ran in the background and were invisible to anyone who didn’t know exactly what to look for. One of them automatically erased all phone numbers and texts going in and out. Another turned the speakers into a recording device when you tapped the power button three times. Yet another provided a rolling phone number in case Will had to make a call and didn’t want his location to come up. The most important app patched the device into the military’s tracking system—not the GPS available to the entire world, but the real-time global positioning used for things like targeting drones and delivering bombs.
This last app was the reason Will kept checking the battery. Amanda was right about many things, but none more than the belief that there was a link between Will’s investigation into Big Whitey and the attack on Lena Adams and Jared Long. Even Tony Dell had made the connection.
Will didn’t want to go off the grid because he forgot to plug in his phone.
The door banged open. Will turned around. He was half expecting to find Tony Dell, but the new guy was beefy looking with a full head of hair and a jaw that was sharp enough to cut glass.
Will knew a cop when he saw one. He did exactly what Bill Black would do—slammed his locker closed and headed toward the exit.
The cop held up his badge. “Detective Paul Vickery, Macon PD.”
Lena’s partner. That made sense. Will still didn’t acknowledge him. He kept his beeline toward the door.
Vickery grabbed Will’s shoulder and spun him around. He was a few inches shorter than Will, but he had a badge and a gun and obviously felt that gave him the right to be an asshole. “Where you going?” He glanced at the name stitched on Will’s shirt. “Buddy.”
Will tried to calm things down. “I don’t want any trouble, all right?”
Vickery bounced on the balls of his feet, obviously spoiling for a fight. “Well, you’re about to get it, motherfucker. Where’s Tony Dell?”
Will shrugged, thinking Lena’s partner didn’t need to be face-to-face with the guy whose car was left outside the house where Jared Long was almost murdered. And Lena, too, for that matter. “I dunno, man. Ask at the front office.”
“I’m asking you, fuckball. You’re Bill Black, right?” Vickery wasn’t looking for an answer. His eyes scanned the hospital ID hanging around Will’s neck. “Your boss says you and Dell are real tight. Thick as thieves.”
Will imagined Ray Salemi would’ve said anything to get Paul Vickery out of his office. “It’s not exclusive,” Will said. “We’ve both agreed to see other people.”
“Funny, asshole.” Vickery moved closer. “Where were you last night? You with Dell when him and his crew tried to take on my partner?”
Will had already arranged his alibi. “Ask my parole officer. He dropped in on me around midnight.”
“I’m gonna do that.” Vickery’s beady eyes narrowed even more. “Something ain’t right with you, asshole. I can feel it in my gut.”
Will avoided the obvious joke.
“You’re chest-high in this shit. I can smell it on you.” Vickery sniffed, as if to illustrate the point. “Dell’s a professional snitch. Just a matter of time before he rats you out. Why don’t you beat him to it? Tell me what happened last night and I’ll keep you outta jail.”
“Sorry I can’t help, Officer.” Again, Will tried to leave, but Vickery’s hand went to his chest, stopping him.
Vickery warned, “You got one more chance to tell me where your boyfriend is or I start taking it out on you.”
“I said I don’t—”
Vickery punched him in the face. Will saw it coming, but there wasn’t enough time to get out of the way. Will’s head swiveled. His jaw popped. He tasted blood in his mouth. Automatically, Will’s fists went up.
He had to force them back down. Vickery was Lena’s partner. Will didn’t have to think long to consider the number of stupid things he’d do if someone threatened Faith and her family.
“Come on, Buddy.” Vickery slapped Will’s face with his open palm. “You wanna hit me, Buddy?” He whistled like he was calling a dog. “Come on, boy. Come on.”
Will peeled his fingers from his palms to get them to unclench. Instead of beating the ever-loving shit out of Paul Vickery, he said, “You know there’s a security camera in here, right?”
Vickery’s eyes flicked upward to the corner. The camera was pointed straight down, its red light flashing. He seemed to be considering whether or not beating Will to death was worth losing his badge over.
Apparently not.
Vickery told Will, “This isn’t over.” He kicked the door open and stormed out with his hands fisted at his sides.
Will glanced up at the camera, which ran on a nine-volt battery and wasn’t connected to anything because the Supreme Court had ruled that employees had an expectation of privacy when they were in a locker room.
You’d think a detective would know that.
Will checked his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Vickery hadn’t done any visible damage. Will used his tongue to find the source of blood in his mouth. The inside of his cheek had cut against his teeth. He turned on the faucet and sipped some water. The wound started to sting. Will swished the water around until his spit was only slightly pink.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He used the earbud to listen to the email from Ray Salemi, his helpful boss. Will read the words along with the tinny computer voice. He gathered Faith had found a way to get him and Lena in the same room together.
There was a leaking pipe in the ICU. Will had been assigned to fix it.
Will took the north stairwell up to the fifth floor. The going wasn’t easy. His toolbox got heavier with each step. His body kept reminding him that he’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before. Will normally tried to run a few miles every day, but Bill Black’s life didn’t allow for such luxuries. By the third-floor landing, Will’s arm was shaking. Level four brought shooting pains into his lower back. He set the toolbox down and used his bandanna to wipe the sweat off his face.
“Hey.”
He looked up. Faith was leaning over the railing.
She looked down the open stairwell, making sure they were alone before asking, “Did you come up from the basement?”
He grabbed his toolbox and started climbing again. “The elevator opens up across from the waiting room, which is by the other set of stairs.”
“Why didn’t you take the elevator to the fourth floor and go up from there?”
Will watched a drop of sweat roll down his nose and splash onto the concrete steps.
He rounded the landing. Faith had that smile on her face that said she realized he was stupid but was being kind enough not to verbalize the observation. “I’ve been checking all the doors for the last fifteen minutes.”
He asked, “Did you break a pipe or just pretend it’s broken?”
“Water pistol. You’ll see.” She nodded toward the next flight of stairs. “Think you can make it?”
Faith took the steps two at a time. She had changed into her regs—black sneakers, tan cargo pants, and a long-sleeved blue polo shirt with the letters GBI written in bright yellow across the back. Her blonde hair was tucked into a matching blue ballcap with the same logo. Her Glock was strapped to her thigh.
Will dropped his toolbox by the door to the ICU. He looked through the skinny window into the ward. One nurse was behind the desk. The cop who was guarding Jared Long’s room was so young he looked as if he was wrapped in plastic. Will had investigated cop shootings before. If Macon was like any other force on the planet, all the seasoned cops were out banging down doors and threatening sources.
Will headed up the stairs after Faith. The climb was remarkably easy without the added weight.
He pushed open the metal door. His eyes watered from the sudden sunlight. The rain clouds had receded, opening up a bright blue sky. Will gathered from the discarded cigarette butts in the pea gravel that the staff was familiar with the roof exit. He scanned the medical complex. The five-story hospital building was at the center. Two lower buildings flanked each side. Doctors rented the spaces. From what Will gathered, there were lots of baby doctors on hand. He’d been to the birthing suites a few times. They were more like hotel rooms. Most of Macon’s industrial parks and factories had shut down during the recession, but Maconites were still making babies.
“Over here,” Faith called.
There was a shed covering the exit door. Faith had walked around the back so no one could surprise them.
Will asked, “Sara?”
“She went shopping with Nell. Jared’s mother. She wants to clean the house.”
“The crime scene house?”
“That’s the one.”
Will felt his brow furrow. He couldn’t imagine Sara thought that was a good idea.
Faith said, “I’ll head over to the house later to make sure she’s all right.” She squinted at the name on his shirt. “Buddy?”
“It belonged to the last guy,” Will lied. “I talked to Tony Dell this morning.”
“And?”
“It’s like we thought. Zachary and Lawrence found him at Tipsie’s, said they needed a couple of men for a job.”
“Tony knew them?”
“He says no, that he’s just seen them around the bar. I believe him maybe ninety percent. They hang out in the back with the other rednecks in charge. Way above Tony’s pay grade.”
Faith pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her pocket and slid them on. “I verified what Branson told us this morning. She wasn’t lying about the shooters. They’re mid-level thugs. Nothing this violent in their histories. Certainly not murder for hire.”
“What’s the prognosis on Fred Zachary, the second shooter?”
“Don’t ask me. I can’t get near him. His lawyer’s set up shop in his hospital room. Won’t leave his side.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“The guy’s part of a fancy firm out of Savannah. Vanhorn and Gresham. They just opened up offices in Macon.” She glanced over to make sure he was following. “It’s the same M.O. as Sarasota and Hilton Head. Big Whitey moves in, he organizes the local scumbags, he gives them fancy lawyers, and he takes out any cops who get in his way.”
Will asked, “Anything off the cell towers?”
“Lena got a text from Paul Vickery around eleven-fifty. Nothing big, just checking if she’s okay. Fifteen minutes later, Long got a blocked call we’re trying to trace. Might take until tomorrow.”
“Fifteen minutes later?”
“Yeah, about ten minutes before the attack.”
Will stared out at the view, which was a depressing mix of interstate and strip malls. “Could be one of Jared’s buddies just calling to check in.”
“Could be.”
“Have you talked to Lena’s team?”
“What’s left of it. DeShawn Franklin seems to think this is no big deal. Paul Vickery is a dick.”
Will ran his hand along his jaw. “He’s upset about his partner almost being murdered. He was here looking for Tony Dell this morning.”
“Did he find him?”
“If Tony gets the crap beaten out of him, then we’ll know he did.”
“Vickery struck me as that kind of guy,” Faith admitted. “Very self-righteous about me wasting his time when he could be out looking for whoever put out the hit on Lena and Jared.”
Will said, “Vickery thinks Bill Black is involved.”
“I’d probably make the same assumption. Black’s a con with a violent history. Dell’s car was at the crime scene. They both work at the same place.”
“My boss told Vickery that Tony Dell and Bill Black are good friends.”
“Nice. How’s that target feel on your back?”
“Stabby,” Will admitted. He’d have to be very careful around Vickery if he ever had the bad fortune to cross paths with him again. “What’s the police station like?”
“They’re all helpful on the surface, but the minute you start to pull at a string, they cut you off.”
“Incident reports. Daily briefings. They’re not good at producing paperwork, which is odd for a police station.”
Will noted, “It’s been my impression that police officers have to write everything down.”
“Mine, too. Maybe we should go work for Macon.” She leaned back against the shed. “Chief Gray runs a tight ship, but he’s got the press on his back—both Macon and Atlanta—plus there’s talk someone saw a CNN truck heading down 75.”
“Great,” Will mumbled. He’d seldom worked a case where the media made things better.
Faith said, “Gray has every able-bodied cop pounding the streets, including himself. You gotta hand it to the old guy. He’s got his sleeves rolled up just like everybody else. The downside is that Branson’s got the whole station to herself. Her and Paul Vickery. I get the feeling DeShawn Franklin’s heart isn’t in it. He was handpicked by Chief Gray when he took over the force a few years ago. His loyalties have to be torn.”
“You think he’ll flip?”
“Not unless he’s caught in bed with a dead woman or a live boy.” Faith blew out a puff of air. He could tell she was frustrated. “I ran Jared and Lena’s credit, checked their accounts. They pass the smell test. Lena’s Celica is paid off, his truck’s a year out. Low balance on their credit cards. There’s a couple of thou left on Jared’s student loans. Another thou in savings. No big trips or lake houses. They’re a little upside down on their mortgage, but who isn’t?”
“What about their cases?”
“We’re covered up with cases. Jared was trying to win some kind of contest to write the most tickets. Lena’s got a stack of arrests this big.” Faith held her hands a foot apart. “I’ve got four loaners from the field office looking to kill me for drowning them in paperwork. They’re gonna be working eighteen-hour shifts.”
“It’s easier to treat them badly if you don’t know their names.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Faith said. “First thing I asked for was the case file on that shooting-gallery raid you read about in the newspaper.”
Will assumed she was drawing this out for a reason. “And?”
“IA has all the files. Every single scrap.”
Internal Affairs. “That makes sense. Two cops were hurt during the raid.”
“Keith McVale and Mitch Cabello. Don’t be impressed. I only found out their names because I checked the duty roster.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“One’s in Florida spending his disability and the other checked himself out of the hospital this morning. He’s not answering my calls and he’s not at home.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and swiped the screen a few times before showing some photos to Will. “DeShawn Franklin. Mitch Cabello. Keith McVale.”
Except for skin color, there was a sameness to all the men—square-jawed, clean-cut. The same as Paul Vickery. They were more like a military unit than a detective squad.
Faith said, “There’s a third guy who took off around the same time. Another detective.” She held up the phone so Will could see his photo. “I don’t know how he’s connected, but Eric Haigh applied for administrative leave the day of the raid.”
Will scanned the image, which was more of the same. He guessed, “Unavailable?”
“He won’t even answer his phone.” Faith said, “It’s déjà vu all over again.”
Will knew what she meant. The police forces in Hilton Head and Savannah had both seen an uptick of early retirements and transfer requests the minute Big Whitey started throwing his weight around.
He said, “It’s the same strategy Whitey uses with the dealers. You kill or hurt one cop, it’s easier to get the rest of them to either fall in line or fall away.”
“And then Big Whitey corners the drug market.” Faith changed the subject. “I was so desperate this morning I even tracked down your newspaper stories.” She scrolled to the Web browser on her phone. The Macon Chronicle-Herald blotter was already pulled up. “We know about the shooting-gallery raid—at least that it happened. The two runaways were party girls; they straggled home the next afternoon. The school pot bust was a known offender who will be heading to rehab for his billionth time. The guy on the toilet had a heart attack. He was described as a forty-three-year-old entrepreneur.” Faith looked back up at Will. “I wish I was better at making puns.”
“It’ll come to you.”
She chuckled good-naturedly. “The raid has to be the flashpoint. I hate to admit this, but Denise Branson is good. She’s got me completely rope-a-doped.”
Will had worked these kinds of cases before. He saved Faith the explanation. “Internal Affairs won’t release any paperwork on the shooting-gallery raid until they reach a decision. They can’t legally discuss the details because the reputation of an officer or officers is at stake, or because there’s possibly going to be a lawsuit. There’s a gag order on everyone involved, and even without that, no one will talk to you because you’re the bad lady from the state who’s sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“In a nutshell,” Faith confirmed. “I have a teenage son, so I know I should be used to being hated, but this is a whole new level.”
Will wanted to tell her it got better, but he couldn’t lie.
Faith tucked her phone back into her pocket. “I went in there expecting them to turn on Lena, but she’s worshipped around that place. They talk about her like she’s the best detective on the squad. I don’t get it. And when I ask them why she’s so great, they just look at me like it’s so obvious, I must be some kind of idiot for not seeing it.”
Will couldn’t explain why Lena engendered such loyalty. He’d witnessed it in Grant County, too. For someone who continually screwed up, she seemed to have more than her fair share of supporters.
He asked, “What about Denise Branson? Did you get a temperature on her?”
“They’re a bit cold on her, but that’s to be expected. She’s higher up the food chain. She’s self-confident. She’s a woman. Three strikes.” Faith asked, “What else did you get out of Tony Dell?”
“Big Whitey this, Big Whitey that.”
“That makes me nervous.”
Will didn’t address her concern. They’d had many conversations about how dangerous it felt for Tony Dell to keep throwing the name around. “I convinced him Big Whitey’s probably going to kill us. Loose ends.”
“Makes sense.” Faith stared at the interstate. Will could guess her thoughts, which more than likely mirrored his own: It was time to make a move on Big Whitey. Will would have to get in deeper with Tony Dell, possibly through Cayla the pharmacy nurse.
He said, “Tony thinks we should try to arrange a sit-down. Let Big Whitey know we’re not a threat. See if we can do business with him.”
Faith nodded, but she still didn’t look at Will. “Give me the details as soon as you have them.”
“Maybe you could tape a gun to the back of the toilet tank for me.” She didn’t respond. “Like in the—”
“I’ve seen The Godfather.”
Will followed her gaze to the line of cars. I-475 was backing up with lunchtime traffic. Every big-box store and fast-food restaurant imaginable was crammed along the exit.
He asked, “You think of a pun yet? For the entrepreneur on the toilet?”
“It doesn’t seem so funny anymore.”
Will stared back at the cars. A truck swerved into the wrong lane to pass a van. Horns blared. Faith lifted her hat and brushed her hair back up underneath it.
He asked, “Is she okay?”
Faith shook her head. “I haven’t heard a word come out of her mouth. It’s like talking to a brick wall. She won’t respond to anything. Won’t look at me. I was thinking about holding a mirror under her nose to make sure she’s still alive.”
Will waited for Faith to realize that wasn’t the question.
She said, “Sara’s all right. Tired. She didn’t say, but I can tell it’s hard for her to be here.”
Will nodded.
She finally looked up at him. “You need to tell her, Will. This is getting too close to the bone.”
He rubbed his jaw. He felt a knot coming up where Vickery had punched him. “Lena didn’t say anything?”
Faith stared at him for a second longer, then shook her head again. “I tried to go in there like she was just another witness. Then I tried to talk to her like a cop. But the whole time, I’ve got sweat dripping down my back because all I can think is am I going to be the next cop she gets killed.” Faith shrugged her shoulders when she added, “Or you.”
Will wasn’t sure what to say. He shrugged his shoulders, too.
They both turned when they heard a cackling laugh. A group of doctors had made their way up to the roof. Will walked gingerly around the shed. He kept his back to the metal wall. The pea gravel crunched as the group walked toward the edge of the building.
He checked that the coast was clear, then slipped through the door.
Will looked over the railing before heading down the stairs. His toolbox was still outside the ICU. He grabbed the handle and pushed open the door. And then his heart stopped because he hadn’t checked the window first. Luckily, no one was there but the cop and the nurse.
The man’s hand went to his gun.
Will held up his ID. “Maintenance. I got a report that a pipe’s leaking?”
The cop gave Will a hard look. His hand stayed on his gun.
“Officer Raleigh, it’s okay.” The nurse stood up from her desk. “Lordy, Bud, it took you long enough.” She apologized quickly. “I’m sorry, that’s probably not your fault.”
“I’m sorry anyway,” Will told her. “Got hung up on the last job.”
“It’s Ruth.” She smiled, motioning for him to follow her.
Will hefted the toolbox into his other hand as he walked down the hall. He had been in the ICU once before to check a hissing air conditioner. The basic layout was a horseshoe that squared off around the nurses’ station. The rooms were small. The only windows looked into the hallway. Will guessed patients in the ICU didn’t really care about sunlight, but the whole floor made him feel claustrophobic.
Officer Raleigh blocked the doorway to Jared’s room. He grabbed the ID hanging around Will’s neck. He scrutinized Bill Black’s photo. Will was close enough to see the fine down on the young officer’s cheek.
“What’s the deal here?” Ruth seemed perplexed. “This is Buddy. He’s been up here before.”
Will studied the woman. She was older with dark hair that showed a little gray at the part. He wasn’t sure why she kept covering for him. Will was pretty good at remembering faces and he was certain he’d never met this particular nurse before.
“All right.” Raleigh finally moved out of Will’s way.
Will tried to keep his expression neutral as he walked into the room, but Lena, who was folded into a chair in the corner, wasn’t as careful. Her mouth opened in surprise.
Ruth misunderstood her reaction. She told Lena, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We need to get this leak checked out. Only take a minute.”
Will couldn’t help it. He looked everywhere in the room but at Jared.
“It’s there.” Ruth pointed at a brown spot in the ceiling.
Will was tall enough to reach up and touch it. The tile was wet and smelled like apples. He looked at the food tray beside Jared’s bed. The apple juice container was empty.
Will lowered his hand. Ruth was watching him in a way that made him uncomfortable.
She winked at him, then said in a breathy whisper, “I’m a friend of Cayla’s.”
Will was trying to summon up one of Bill Black’s grunts when Faith finally appeared.
“What the hell’s going on?” She directed her anger at the cop. “I know Chief Gray taught you better than this. Did you check this guy out?”
Raleigh hesitated. He clearly had a healthy fear of his chief. “The guy’s got an ID.”
“You can get those at Kinko’s.” Faith nodded toward the doors. “Go downstairs and check with HR.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Had Raleigh been a few years older, he would’ve told Faith where to stick her order, but he was new enough to jump when she snapped her fingers.
Ruth looked up at the ceiling, all business as she asked Will, “What do you think, Bud?”
Will looked up, too. “I think something’s leaking.”
Faith suggested, “Maybe we can move Mr. Long to a different room?”
Ruth shook her head. “It’s just me up here for the next hour and I can’t move him by myself.” Faith offered, “I can help.”
“We’re not really allowed to—”
Will interrupted, “I’ll need the room cleared anyway.” He pushed up the ceiling tile and used the flashlight on his belt to look inside the drop ceiling. Will had been looking into ceilings in the hospital almost every day of the last ten. He knew that his chances of finding at least one suspicious-looking pipe were good, but the nest of lines crisscrossing the ICU still surprised him.
He pushed the tile aside so everyone could see as he tried to sound authoritative. “That’ll be oxygen, the condense line for the AC, PVC pipe, some old polybute. I’m gonna need a schematic so—”
“I get it,” Ruth stopped him. “Let me call my supervisor and see if I can get her up here.”
She left, Faith on her heels. Will kept his flashlight pointed toward the ceiling, but his eyes were on Jared Long.
The young man’s face had blown up like a balloon. There were tubes sticking out of everything. His eyes were taped shut. Dried blood was caked around his nostrils. The flesh on his hands was a waxy, yellow color. No cop wanted to see another cop in a hospital bed. Will wasn’t normally superstitious, but he had to suppress the shiver working its way up his spine.
Then again, Jared Long wasn’t the only cautionary tale in the room.
Slowly, like she didn’t want to break anything, Lena uncurled herself from the chair.
Will asked, “You holding up?”
“No.” She stood on the other side of the bed with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Sara doesn’t know you’re doing this, does she?”
Lena had always been an astute observer, but Will wasn’t going to talk to her about Sara. He glanced over his shoulder, checking Ruth. The nurse was talking on the phone. Faith was practically glued to her side.
Lena said, “I won’t tell her. I haven’t told anybody.” She rubbed her lips together. They were cracked and dry. “You’ll find out eventually. I’m good at keeping my mouth shut. I’ve learned to do the right thing.”
Will asked, “What happened last night?”
“They shot him.” Lena stopped the story there, dismissing her involvement in a wholly predictable way. Still, Will could tell she was reeling from the aftershock. Her eyes were bloodshot. The bruise under her eye mottled the skin. She couldn’t seem to keep her balance. Her pupils were wide open, though he didn’t know if that was from the dark room or some kind of medication.
He said, “Tell me what brought this on.”
Her head moved slowly side to side.
“Was it the raid last week?” He paused. “Two cops were hurt. Were you part of that? Were you on the team?”
She paused before answering, “I’m not allowed to talk about the raid.”
“You and I both know you don’t play by the rules.”
“Ask Branson.”
“I’m asking you.”
Her head started shaking again. She looked down at Jared. Her voice was barely a whisper when she told her husband, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Will said, “Lena, something happened to set this off.”
She didn’t respond.
He tried to be diplomatic. “Did Jared pull somebody over who might want to hurt him?”
She gave Will a confused look, as if it never occurred to her that a motorcycle cop working part of a drug corridor that ran up the Eastern Seaboard might find himself in a dangerous situation.
She asked, “You think he got in the way of some traffickers?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
She seemed to think about it. “They would’ve shot him then and there.”
Will knew she was right, but he still asked, “Jared didn’t mention anything?”
“We weren’t really talking.”
Will let her words settle. He wasn’t surprised there was marital discord. The first thing he’d seen when he walked through the front door of their house was a pillow and sheet on the couch.
Will asked, “What about you?”
“What about me?”
Will checked on Ruth again. Faith made a motion with her hand, indicating that there wasn’t much time.
He tried to keep his patience as he told Lena, “Whatever brought this on—I know you didn’t mean to do it. You’re not a bad person. But you did something, and it got us here, and you need to tell me what that thing is so I can stop whoever did this.”
There was still a small shake to Lena’s head. Her hand was resting on the guardrail. She flexed open her fingers, letting the tips graze the sheet covering Jared’s body.
Will said, “You know you can trust me. There’s a reason I’m here.”
She didn’t acknowledge his plea. “Your partner. You work with her long?”
“Faith.” Will tasted blood on his tongue. Without thinking, he’d chewed at the cut in his cheek. “A while.”
“She any good?”
“Yes.” Will tried another tack. “Who’s Big Whitey?” That snapped her out of it. He saw a flash of anger as the old Lena started to surface. “What did Branson say?”
“Who is he?”
“No one.” She seemed genuinely afraid now. “He doesn’t exist.
He’s a lie.”
“Lena—”
“Stop.” Her voice took on a pleading tone. “Listen to me, Will. If you love Sara, you’ll stay away from this.” She gripped the bed rail, desperate. “I mean it. Stay away.”
Will looked back at the nurse again. She was obviously finishing up her phone call.
He told Lena, “Talk to me. Let me help you.”
Lena shook her head. Tears started to flow. “We’re supposed to protect people. We’re supposed to keep them safe.”
“The best way to keep Jared safe is—”
“How do you decide?” She swallowed hard. The sound was louder than the hum of the machines. “How do you decide whose life is more important?” Her hand went to her stomach. The palm was flat, fingers splayed. “He would want this,” she whispered. “This is what Jared would want me to do.”
Faith cleared her throat loud enough to announce her return.
Ruth was behind her. She asked Will, “How bad is the leak? I mean, are we talking the whole ceiling’s gonna come down?”
Will took his time, clicking off the flashlight, dropping it back into the loop on his belt. Finally, he shook his head and shrugged at the same time. “I won’t know until I get up there.”
Ruth sighed. “It’s gonna be an hour before my boss can help move him. Can you come back?”
Bill Black took over. “You’re gonna have to put in another request.”
Ruth sighed again, but she was obviously used to dealing with the hospital bureaucracy. “All right, Buddy. Thanks for coming, anyway.” She went to Jared and started checking the machines. Lena watched her like a hawk. It was unnerving the way she just stood there. Except for stretching her fingers, she didn’t reach out to him. She barely looked at his face.
Ruth must’ve felt it, too. She told Lena, “It’s okay to touch him, hon. He’s not gonna break.” As if to prove this, she put her hand to Jared’s cheek. And then she kept it there. Her brow furrowed.
Something was wrong.
Ruth’s hand went to Jared’s forehead. Then his neck. Then his wrist. She looked at her watch, checking his pulse against the flashing number on the monitor. Will could see the thumping heart was beating faster than usual. The blood pressure was low.
“What is it?” Faith asked.
“He’s just a little clammy.” Ruth grabbed the control and raised the foot of the bed. The floor vibrated beneath Will’s feet. The nurse put some false cheer in her tone. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but let me get the doctor, all right?” She left the room at a brisk pace. Faith followed her, though Will doubted Lena would tell him anything else.
He picked up his toolbox. He tried one last time. “Lena, I know you think you’ve got all of this under control, but you don’t.”
She didn’t look up as she said, “I’ve never been able to control anything in my life.”
Will waited, giving her another chance to come clean. She ignored him. She just stood there staring down at Jared. Her hand was still pressed flat to her stomach. Her mouth moved soundlessly, as if in prayer.
All Will could do was leave the room. Ruth was on the phone by her desk. She barely registered his presence, which Will took as a bad sign. Jared’s condition was obviously a more serious matter than she’d let on.
He walked down the hallway toward Faith. She was reading her emails. Or pretending to. Will could see the screen was dark.
He stopped a few feet away from her and opened his toolbox.
Faith kept her voice low. “Well?”
Will found his clipboard and pen. He looked at Ruth again. She had her back to him, the phone pressed to her ear.
Still, he kept his voice down. “She’s protecting someone.”
“She’s protecting herself.”
Will wasn’t so sure about that. He checked some boxes on his form. “I think she was at the raid on the shooting gallery. She told me she wasn’t allowed to talk about it.”
“Of course she was at the raid. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was leading it.”
“She warned me off Big Whitey.”
Faith looked up from her BlackBerry.
Will kept checking boxes. He was giving himself time to decide whether or not to tell Faith the rest. In the end, he knew he didn’t have a choice. “She told me if I love Sara, I’ll drop the case.”
Faith looked back at her phone. Her thumb scrolled across the black screen. She seldom registered any emotion beyond irritation, but Will could tell Lena’s words had hit home.
She asked, “Why do I get the feeling that, five years ago, she told Jeffrey Tolliver the same thing?”