Sara sat in the passenger’s seat of Nell’s truck watching the Macon landscape scroll by. Atlanta was a city filled with beautiful gardens and trees, but there was something about being surrounded by a forest that made Sara feel at home. Like Macon, Grant County was a college town, located in a part of the state that still moved at a slower speed. Just seeing the trees made Sara feel like her lungs were working again. The vulture on her shoulder had temporarily left its perch. She felt more like herself.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely the scenery that had brought her this sense of calm. While Nell was shopping for cleaning supplies, Sara had frantically poured her heart out in a long email to her sister. Tessa’s response had been just as long, but instead of filling the message with clichés about soldiering on or enjoying sweet revenge, she’d made lists: Ten things she loved about Will Trent. Three of the stupidest jokes their father had ever told. Eight new words that Tessa had said around Izzie, Sara’s niece, that would probably end up sending Tessa to hell. Six reasons no one would ever be able to make biscuits as good as their grandmother’s. Five things that their mother did that they both swore they would never, ever do, but that they were now doing almost every single day of their lives.
The only direct acknowledgment to Sara’s situation came in the postscript:
Please don’t start listening to Dolly Parton again.
Nell said, “I do that all the time.”
Sara was pulled from her thoughts. “What’s that?”
“Remember something about Jeffrey and smile.” Nell smiled, too. “He loved being in the woods. Used to go hiking all the time when he was in high school.”
Sara opened her mouth to correct her, then thought better of it.
“It’s all right,” Nell said. “You save whatever story you just thought of for Jared when he wakes up. We’ll all smile about it then.”
Sara nodded. This was a familiar refrain that Nell had started the minute they’d left the hospital. She needed to get some clean pajamas for when Jared woke up. She needed to make sure the house was clean for when Jared woke up. Sara didn’t begrudge Nell the goal. She could tell it was the only thing keeping her going.
Nell’s cell phone beeped. She was using the GPS to find Lena and Jared’s house. “I guess it’s down here,” she murmured, taking a lazy, right-hand turn.
Sara pressed her lips together. Nell drove like an old woman, never exceeding the speed limit, slowing to let over every car that even looked as if it might want to merge. Occasionally, she would stop the truck in order to read a sign or remark on a pedestrian. She was still stuck in small-town time, where rushing was considered rude and you didn’t beep your horn unless a dog was in the road.
Nell took in the houses lining the street. “Not too bad,” she commented, which was the most positive thing she’d said about Macon since they got into the truck. “I guess they got all the plans from the same magazine.”
Sara followed her gaze. There was a uniformity to the subdivision, but the houses weren’t overbuilt for the lots or stuffed with extra bedrooms that no one would ever use. People kept their lawns tended. There were minivans in the driveways. American flags hung from porch posts. The street looked exactly like the kind where you’d expect to find two police officers living.
Nell didn’t need her GPS anymore. She parked near a white GBI crime scene van. Charlie Reed stood at the open back doors. A younger man handed him plastic crates that Charlie packed carefully into the cargo area. Sara recognized the sealed evidence bags from her medical examiner days. The past started to creep up again, especially when she noticed the two cops standing around a cruiser parked at the end of the street.
“Well,” Nell said. She was looking up at the house with some trepidation.
Sara guessed the woman had been expecting something closer to a witch’s cottage, not the quaint, single-story clapboard house at the top of a steep hill. The structure was shotgun style, deeper than it was wide, with the front door planted squarely in the middle. Instead of an American flag on the front porch, there was an orange and blue banner with the logo of Auburn University.
Nell seemed to approve of the flag. She said, “At least he’s still standing where he’s from.”
Sara made some mumbling noises that might be interpreted as encouragement. Maybe it wasn’t Nell, but Sara who was having a hard time thinking about Lena living in this house. The lawn was a dark carpet of green. There were some leggy petunias planted around the mailbox. Monkey grass splashed over the front walk. The front door was painted red. More petunias spilled from wooden planters on the porch. Sara couldn’t imagine Lena tending flowers, let alone sitting down and taking notes from a book on feng shui.
“You coming?” Nell asked.
Sara pushed open the door. The air felt chilly compared to the stuffy cab of the truck. The police officers at the end of the street stared with open curiosity. Sara waved. She got two nods in return.
Nell told Sara, “I’m’ll call Possum and see if he checked in with the nurse yet.” She flipped open her phone and dialed the number. Her hand went to her hip. She looked up at the house as she waited for Possum to answer.
Sara hoped Nell was reconsidering her plans. The first thirty minutes of their drive had been spent discussing the realities of what cleaning the crime scene would entail. Sara hadn’t held back toward the end. She’d been fairly brutal, which only seemed to galvanize Nell’s resolve.
Nell spoke into the phone, “How is he?”
Sara walked away from the truck to give her privacy. A breeze stirred the air as she headed toward the crime scene van. Sara rubbed her arms, wishing she’d thought to bring a jacket.
“Dr. Linton.” Charlie Reed smiled at Sara. He was a nice-looking man except for a well-groomed handlebar mustache, which gave him the appearance of a lounge singer. “Please tell me Amanda finally managed to snag us your services?”
“Lord no.” The last thing on earth Sara would ever want to do is work for Amanda Wagner. “I’m here with a friend.” She indicated Nell. “Her son’s Jared Long.”
“Oh.” Charlie’s smiled dropped. “Surely, she doesn’t want to see …?”
“Worse than that. She wants to clean it up.”
Charlie indicated for Sara to follow him to the front of the van. He glanced at Nell, probably to make sure she couldn’t hear them. “It’s pretty bad in there. I mean, not as bad as most, but they used a shotgun and there was quite a struggle. The volume of blood—”
Sara held up her hands. “I would gladly leave right now if I thought I could get her to go with me.”
Charlie looked at Nell again. Her determination must’ve been apparent. “Well, it’s good that she has you here to walk her through it.”
“I’m still trying to change her mind.”
“She doesn’t look like the type who does that,” he noted. “I can give you a quick rundown if you like?”
Sara nodded, ashamed that she was so eager to hear the details.
Charlie’s voice took on a practiced tone. “The man we’re calling Assailant Two entered through the front window.” He indicated the window in question. Black fingerprint powder smeared the white trim. “He more than likely used a pocketknife. Slid it between the frames, pushed open the thumb latch.”
Sara nodded. The entry method was typical for burglaries.
He continued, “We can assume from fingerprints that Assailant Two then opened the front door, letting the man we’re calling Assailant One enter the house. From the gunpowder residue on the floor and walls, we can conclude the first assailant was standing in the front room at the mouth of the hall when he initially fired the shotgun. Sawn-off Remington 870, twenty-eight gauge.”
Sara knew from past cases that a shotgun blast from that distance could rip apart a half-inch piece of plywood. The sawed-off barrel had spread the pellets, which was probably the only reason Jared hadn’t dropped dead on the spot.
Charlie said, “I’ve read the hospital admitting report. My preliminary field investigation supports the shotgun pellets mostly clustered in a twenty-centimeter circle in the victim’s thoracic region, roughly T-2 through T-7, with some penetrating the skull. At the scene, a few pellets were found lodged into the wood around the doorframe. We can assume that the majority of the pellets went into the victim.”
Sara had gotten out of the practice of listening to people talk as if they were giving testimony. “Jared was standing in the doorway?”
“Yes. The victim’s body was almost exactly centered in the doorway. He likely had his arms crossed or in front of him. According to the hospital report, he had no wounds on the back of his arms or hands. He was wearing a toolbelt, which we can surmise is where Detective Adams got the hammer.”
Sara had been wondering about that detail. She didn’t imagine Lena kept a hammer in the bedroom, though who knew what the hell she got up to.
Charlie continued, “Adams used the hammer to take out the first assailant, the shooter, at the doorway to the bedroom.” He pointed just below his eye socket. “Claw went in here. Got lodged in the orbita, went straight through the vitreous. The shotgun went off a second time, blasting a hole approximately thirty-two centimeters into the far wall. At some point, the assailant fell to the floor, whereupon the hammer was yanked out of his face. We found splatter and bone on the walls approximately ten to sixteen inches from the floor, so he was likely supine when it was removed. Some spatter arced onto the ceiling as it was wrenched away.” Charlie shuddered. “Sorry, hammers freak me out.”
“You’re not alone.”
“Nonetheless.” He shuddered again. “At some point, Assailant Number Two tried to come to the rescue. Residue puts him at approximately six feet outside the bedroom when he fired three shots from a Smith and Wesson five-shot revolver. He ended up shooting his buddy instead. I’m not certain how that happened, but Assailant One was standing with his back to the door when he was shot. Obviously, he fell to the floor shortly after. Then somehow the second assailant fell, and Adams went at him.”
“The second assailant fell before she hit him?”
“Fell to his knees,” Charlie clarified. “Sorry. We found knee and hand prints in the blood where he fell to the floor. This was when Detective Adams likely hit him in the head with the butt of the shotgun. We’ve got blood and hair on the gun, and the spatter on the wall and bed, which is approximately thirty-two inches from the floor, backs up a baseball swing. We took the dislodged teeth for evidence, so at least the mother won’t have to see them.” He glanced at Nell again. She was off the phone now, digging around in the back of the truck for her bags of cleaning supplies.
Sara asked, “What happened after the second shooter was taken out?”
“The neighbors arrived.” Charlie nodded up the road. “There are two officers on the block as well as a paramedic and a fireman. Sorry, firewoman. They got Jared’s heart pumping again. Fortunately for me, the on-duty officers who responded to the 911 call stayed out of the bedroom. The scene was fairly pristine when I arrived.”
Sara asked, “You said Jared’s heart stopped?” That would explain why they’d taken him to the closest hospital instead of the trauma center.
“Correct,” Charlie answered. “As I understand it, the neighbors worked on the victim for quite a while before the ambulance arrived. I’m surprised he made it, if you want to know the truth. He lost a significant amount of blood. My estimate—and don’t quote me on this until I do the math—is maybe two liters.”
Sara let the information settle. If Charlie was right, Jared had suffered a Class III hemorrhage, losing thirty to forty percent of his blood volume. The cascade of respiratory distress and organ failure were second and third only to severe tachycardia. If not for his neighbors physically pumping Jared’s heart, Sara would’ve met Nell at the funeral home this morning instead of the hospital.
And that didn’t even take into account the severity of the wounds that had caused the bleeding in the first place.
“Hello,” Nell said. Plastic shopping bag handles cut into her hands, but she shook her head when Sara offered to take some. She told Charlie, “I’m Darnell Long, Jared’s mama.”
“Charlie Reed,” he answered. “I work for the state. I’m so sorry about your son, Mrs. Long. I know he’s in capable hands.”
“The Lord never puts more on us than we can bear.”
Charlie clasped his hands together. “ ‘He who follows Me shall never walk in darkness.’ ”
Nell seemed surprised to hear the man quoting from the Bible. Sara felt the same. Charlie had never struck her as a churchgoer. Then again, he was born in the South, where babies drank Scripture with their mother’s milk.
“I should get back to work.” Charlie’s smile said he was pleased with their reactions. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He headed back to his van.
“Well,” Nell said, watching Charlie leave. Sara was beginning to understand that there was a certain amount of judgment in the word, which Nell had first uttered when she’d seen the packed parking lot of the strip club beside the dollar store.
She asked Sara, “What’s with that mustache?”
“Charlie’s one of the top forensics experts in the state. And very nice. He cares about what he does.”
“Well.” Nell didn’t say anything else. She headed up the driveway. The bags were heavy. Sara could see the crisscross of the handles cutting off the circulation to her fingers.
She asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to help with those?”
“I’ve got it, thank you.” Still, Nell grunted as she made her way up the last part of the driveway.
Jared’s police bike was parked in front of the garage. The floodlight above the door was still on. Sara looked back at the street. There was no mistaking that a police officer lived here. Even in the dark of night, the light would’ve put the bike on display.
Nell asked, “What do we do about this?” Police tape was draped across the door, but Charlie had yet to seal the house.
“They’ve got more,” Sara told her, pulling the tape down. She didn’t open the door yet. “Nell, I need to tell you again that this is a bad idea. It’s going to be so much worse than you’re thinking.
There was a violent fight. Jared lost a lot of blood. It’ll be on the floor, on the walls, on every surface. It’s a biohazard. Medical waste has to be properly disposed of. You really need to leave this to the professionals.”
Nell hefted the bags. “I think I know how to clean up a mess.”
“I can let you borrow the money. Or give it to you. I don’t care which—”
“No,” Nell said, her tone making it clear that she was finished discussing the matter. “Thank you.”
She stood waiting. Finally, Sara turned the knob, pushed open the door.
There was a distinctive odor that could be found at all crime scenes—not the metallic scent of blood that came from the oxidation of iron, but the stench of fear. Sara had always been a firm believer in intuition. There was a baser part of the human brain that cued every living being to danger. That part became fully engaged the minute Sara walked through the front door of Lena and Jared’s home.
A man had died here. Two men had almost been killed. A woman had fought for her life. The threat of violence lingered in the stale air.
Sara watched Nell take it all in. Her posture changed. She nearly dropped some of the bags. Sara suggested, “Why don’t you sit down?”
“I’m all right.”
“Let’s sit down.”
Nell shook her head. She looked around the front room of the house. The floor plan was open, with a combined family room and kitchen. Sunlight streamed in through the windows. The ceiling fan over the couch gave a soft whine as the blades moved. Nothing bad had happened in this space. The furniture was not overturned. The walls were a muted light gray. The only area in disarray was the kitchen, which was obviously being remodeled. Flat packs of unassembled cabinets were stacked in a neat pile. The kitchen sink was a bucket resting on an old washstand. The dishwasher was in the corner, the cord and drain hose wrapped around it like a bow. The stove was pulled away from the wall, but Sara could see the gas line was still attached.
Without thinking, she said, “He’s just as bad as Jeffrey.”
Jeffrey always had to have some sort of project going. Restoring an old car. Adding a second sink in the bathroom. Redoing his kitchen. Fixing things gave him a sense of accomplishment, if not completion. When he was dating Sara, a thick plastic sheet served as the outside wall to his kitchen. The refrigerator was in the dining room. A garden hose ran through the front window and attached through various valves to the ice maker.
Nell said, “Jeffrey always liked working with his hands.” She set the bags down on the countertop, which was a piece of plywood on some two-by-fours. She ran her finger along the wood. Her eyes traveled to the sink bucket, the bare but cleanly swept floor. “I guess I can’t fault her housekeeping. There’s no way Jared cleaned up like this.”
Sara didn’t answer. Lena had always been neat. Her desk at the station looked like something out of an office supply catalogue.
“I’ll get his daddy in here to finish this up.” Nell nodded toward the stacked boxes. “Possum’ll get those assembled in a day. I’ll help him hang the top cabinets. He can do the bottom on his own. I don’t guess they have a countertop, but we’ll pick something out that—” She stopped talking. Sara followed her gaze to the couch. There was a pillow with a sheet neatly folded on the top. On the coffee table beside the remote were a pair of glasses, a glass of water, and a plastic case for a retainer.
“Hello?” Faith Mitchell walked through the open front door. She’d already met Nell and Possum at the hospital. Sara had made the introductions.
Faith asked, “You just get here?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Nell wouldn’t take her eyes off the couch. Faith seemed to note the arrangement, but made no comment. She smiled at Sara in a way that let her know there was enough discomfort to go around.
Sara said, “We saw Charlie.”
“He’s still packing up the van.”
Nell noisily started unpacking the bags, banging the bottle of bleach and box of gloves down on the plywood counter.
Faith walked around the front room, picking up items, obviously trying to get a feel for the place. Will’s partner was one year his junior, but she’d come up through the Atlanta police force before joining the GBI and was equal parts pragmatic and cynical. Sara could not have wished for a better agent to back up Will. Faith was clever and competent. She hated taking risks. In other words, she was the complete opposite of Lena Adams.
She was also nosy as hell. She walked around the room with a judgmental air, taking in the curtains and furnishings with the same sharp eye as Nell.
Sara felt slow on the uptake. Nell wasn’t just here to clean. Lena was pushing her out of Jared’s hospital room, so Nell was invading Lena’s home.
Nell had finished unpacking the bags. She braced her hands on the wooden counter. “I should probably look at it first.”
There was no use arguing with her. Nell was obviously determined to keep moving forward. Sara and Faith silently followed her toward the hallway.
Nell didn’t get far. She stopped just outside the guest bathroom. The shower curtain was pulled back. A dirty sliver of soap was beside a bottle of Axe shampoo. The seat was up on the toilet. The counter was cluttered with men’s toiletries—deodorant, a razor and shaving cream, a toothbrush that needed replacing and a half-empty tube of toothpaste. Little hairs filled the sink where Jared had shaved and failed to wash out the bowl.
Nell continued down the hall, mumbling, “I guess she kicked him out of the bathroom, too.”
Faith mumbled in an equally low voice, “You couldn’t pay me to share my bathroom with a man.”
“Amen,” Sara answered as she trailed Nell down the hallway. She stepped over a white chalk outline on the floor where Charlie had taken some DNA. Sara guessed from the look of it that someone had spat in the hall, probably to make a point.
Which further supported the idea that the shooters hadn’t randomly chosen their victims.
There was a spare bedroom on either side of the hall. The first one was being used as an office. The second appeared to be another unfinished project. The walls were a cheery yellow. The closet door was propped up on two sawhorses. Nell shook her head as she passed by, probably adding it to the list of Possum’s chores. She stopped a few feet from the master bedroom.
Sara heard Nell draw in a sharp breath. The woman’s hands shook as she grabbed the doorframe.
Charlie’s estimate may have been too conservative. Despite the passage of time, the pool of blood where Jared had fallen was still congealing. Light glimmered on the wet surface. The edges had curdled into a dark rust that seeped into the hardwood floor.
The rest of the blood had dried hours ago, leaving burgundy stains that told the story of violent altercation. The ceiling and walls weren’t the worst of it. Large boot prints mixed with Lena’s bare footprints back and forth across the floor. Splatter. Spatter. Spray. Drops. Knee prints. Handprints. Smears where an area rug must’ve gotten bunched up beneath Jared’s body. Tracks that showed where someone had crawled toward the bed. Still more shoe prints indicated where the neighbors and first responders rushed in to work on Jared. They must have all been covered in blood by the time they left. Long trails of red even managed to seep into the grout lines in the bathroom floor.
But the area around the door to the bedroom told the real story. This was where Jared had been shot. This was where Lena had first taken on the intruders. The dried blood splattering and spattering the walls and ceiling could fill a forensic textbook. They varied in size and shape, in coverage and scope, and would help map out every second of what had obviously been an extremely violent struggle. Even with the pieces of tooth and bone gone, the hammer and weapons taken into evidence, the shadow of death lurked in every corner.
Nell’s voice caught. “I can’t … I don’t know what …”
Sara didn’t say anything.
Nell sniffed, but no tears came. “Do you think a wet-vac would …” Her voice trailed off again. Her grip tightened on the splintered wood around the door.
Sara looked at Faith, who just shook her head.
“All right.” Nell thrust herself into the room. She picked her way toward the dresser. Though she was careful, there was no way to avoid the carnage. Her sneakers walked across dried footprints. Boot prints. Shoe prints. Handprints.
Her voice came out at a higher pitch. “Jared’s always been more comfortable in his pajamas.” She started opening drawers, which had presumably been photographed and inventoried by Charlie’s team. “No self-respecting man sits around in a hospital gown. I know he’ll want to put on something normal as soon as possible.”
Sara stood outside the door with Faith. They both silently watched the woman riffle Lena and Jared’s private things. The top three drawers obviously belonged to Lena. Her underthings were mostly utilitarian, though Nell managed to make a huffing sound when she found something that crossed the line. The bottom drawers belonged to Jared. They were filled with basketball shorts, T-shirts, and boxers. He wore a uniform eighty percent of his day. He probably had one suit in the closet for weddings and funerals and a couple of polos and khakis for less formal occasions.
Nell stopped her search. She rested her hands on her hips as she looked around the room. “I know he hasn’t stopped wearing pajamas.”
Sara kept her mouth shut right up until Nell made her way to the bedside table. “Nell.”
She looked up, but kept her hand on the drawer pull.
“That’s probably Lena’s.” Sara indicated the flattened book, which was clearly a romance novel, beside the hand lotion and tube of lip balm.
When Nell didn’t move, Faith said, “You probably don’t want to know what your son’s wife keeps in her bedside table.” She added, “Or your son, for that matter.”
“What on earth does that—”
She was cut off by the sound of motorcycle engines. Sara turned around. The front door was wide open. She saw at least six motormen in the street. If Sara knew cops, they’d come here to look after Jared’s mother. And just in time, too.
Faith seized on the opportunity, suggesting to Nell, “Why don’t you go talk to Jared’s friends? I’m sure they want to know how he’s doing.”
“I don’t have time to be everybody’s mama,” Nell grumbled, but she stomped out of the room anyway.
“Man.” Faith waited until Nell was out of earshot. “That woman has a razor for a mouth.”
Sara kept her own counsel. “Did you talk to Charlie?”
“He briefed me earlier.” Faith looked back at the bedroom. “Nell’s gonna get a call in a few minutes from the hospital. Jared’s fever is up.”
“He has an infection?”
“That’s what the nurse said.”
Nurses were seldom wrong about these things. Sara thought of Nell’s steely determination, all the plans she’d made in the last few hours for when Jared finally woke up. “I don’t think she’ll make it if he dies.”
“It’s always the strong ones who break the hardest.”
Sara tucked her chin to her chest.
Faith entered the room, walking across the dried blood with a cop’s impunity. “I guess I should look for those pajamas. Maybe that’ll make her feel like she’s helping him.”
“Maybe.” Sara leaned against the doorjamb as Faith searched the closet. She stared at the footprints scattered across the floor. The blood was so dry that it had skeletonized, but Charlie had been careful. Sara could still track the progress. It helped that Lena had such small feet. Sara always forgot how petite she was, barely five-four and probably one-ten on a heavy day.
Charlie Reed had said that four initial responders came from the neighborhood. Judging by the bloody prints on the floor, they had each waited by the bathroom door as the others took turns working on Jared. That left the two sets of boot prints to the assailants. They had both sported the cowboy variety, with flat plastic soles that left distinct exclamation points in the blood. One had a skull and crossbones carved into each heel. The other pair was an off brand with a generic set of furrows. Both of the attackers pronated, probably from riding motorcycles.
But that didn’t account for all of the prints.
Sara walked over to the bed. She knelt down, asking Faith, “Two attackers, right?”
Faith’s voice was muffled as she dug around the closet shelves.
“That’s right.”
“Four responders?”
“Uhhh …” She drew out the word. “Yep. Two cops, an off-duty paramedic, and a chick with the fire department.”
“What about this?”
Faith turned around.
Sara pointed to a shoe print right up against Jared’s bedside table. This one was also from a boot, but it was larger than the other two and the heel had the distinctive logo of a Cat’s Paw no-slip rubber sole.
Faith turned back to the closet. She didn’t seem interested. “I’m sure Charlie got it.”
“But look at the prints. Lena was barefooted. The attackers wore cowboy boots.” She pointed to the other prints. “Two of the neighbors wore sneakers, the third one probably had on bedroom slippers, and the fourth one was wearing socks.”
Faith pulled a couple of pairs of sweatpants off the shelf. She added a T-shirt from the dirty-clothes basket. “These can pass for pajamas, right?”
Slowly, Sara stood up. “Aren’t you concerned that a third assailant might’ve been here last night?”
“Are you saying that I’m not doing my job?”
“No.” Sara felt properly chastened. “No, of course not.”
“You’re forgetting the EMTs.” Faith counted it off on her fingers. “Three crews, right? Jared was taken out first. The second shooter was next, the first was taken to the morgue, so that’s six more guys at least, which is twelve more possibilities for prints. And God only knows who traipsed in here from Macon PD.”
“Charlie told me the cops from the 911 call stayed out of the bedroom.”
“Really?” Faith didn’t sound happy, but Sara kept talking.
“He also said that the first ambulance took a while to get here. The extraneous blood would’ve been dry in five, ten minutes tops. So unless an EMT purposely stepped in the pool of blood around Jared, then walked over here, there’s no way that any of them could’ve made this third print.” Sara put a finer point on it. “Whoever left this boot print was here when the crime occurred.”
“That’s where the second assailant fell,” Faith said, her voice straining to sound reasonable. “I’m sure one of the first EMTs checked on him. Right? They wouldn’t just rush in, see one body, and leave the other two without checking on them.”
“The EMTs were most likely in 5.11 Tacticals.” Sara was familiar with the boots, which were specifically designed for paramedics and firefighters. “And even without that, the blood was obviously dry by the time they got here. You don’t see any other prints from the EMTs, do you? Not even around Jared.”
Faith gave a heavy sigh. “There was a lot going on in this room last night. There’s no telling where that print came from. All right?”
Sara nodded, but only to keep the peace. It was absolutely possible, even probable, that one of the EMTs had checked on the second assailant before leaving the house. But there was no way in hell he’d stood over the body and leaned down to do it. The EMT would be on his knees as he ran vitals. Unless he was a contortionist, there was no reason for him to wedge his foot against the bedside table.
“Look.” Faith closed the closet door. “I know you’re good at this, Sara, but this is Charlie’s scene. He’s been here practically from the minute Jared was carried out. Maybe it’s Charlie’s shoe that made the print, or one of his guys. Or maybe he’s tracked it back to an EMT who tripped or stepped where he should’nt’ve or whatever. Charlie will do all the rule-outs and trace it back to someone. You know the process. No stone unturned.”
“You’re right,” Sara agreed, but she had seen Faith lie enough to know what it looked like. Obviously, something else was going on.
Faith said, “Come on. Let’s see if my plan worked.” She left the room.
Sara assumed she was supposed to follow. She took one last look at the boot print before heading back up the hallway. Her medical examiner’s mind wouldn’t shut off just because she hadn’t done the job in years. The Cat’s Paw logo said a lot about the owner of the boot. He was frugal, the type of person who would resole a shoe rather than throw it out. Going by the size, he was at least six feet tall or more. He worked in a job that required a nonconducting, nonslip sole—probably a mechanic or electrician or builder. Analysis would show if there was any oil or residue transferred from the porous rubber sole. Known associates of the assailants could be narrowed down from there. Barring that, a simple phone call to the shoe repair stores in the area could easily generate a list of customers who’d purchased Cat’s Paw soles.
Which was probably what someone on Charlie’s team was doing right now.
Faith was right. Charlie was very good at his job. So was Faith, for that matter. If they were hiding something, it was probably for a good reason. As much as Sara felt otherwise, she had to keep reminding herself that she was firmly on the outside looking in.
Faith stood at the open front door. In the street, the motormen had surrounded Nell in a protective huddle. They all seemed relaxed and talkative. Sara was sure they were telling Nell stories of Jared’s many exploits. Whether or not they were true didn’t matter. There was no better liar than a cop spinning a yarn.
“I’m shocked they listened to me,” Faith admitted. “I told them to take up donations for the cleaning service. I figured even old Razor Mouth wouldn’t be rude enough to say no.”
Sara laughed despite herself. “That’s pretty smart.”
“One of Amanda’s tricks—but don’t tell her I’m using it. People think they’re gonna be judged if they hire someone else to clean up their mess. I think it’s a southern thing.” She walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll see if I can get them to pitch in and finish the kitchen, too. Jesus, I woulda killed him myself if I had to wash dishes out of a bucket.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Sara pointed out. The bucket had a hole in the bottom that led to the drain. A garden hose was threaded to the faucet to extend the reach. It was exactly the kind of thing that Jeffrey would’ve done—completely rigged yet unquestionably functional.
By contrast, Will would’ve been horrified by the contraption. He shared a lot of qualities with Jeffrey, but he would not rest until a project was not just finished, but finished right. Or at least the way he felt was right. It drove Will crazy that the builder who’d worked on Sara’s apartment hadn’t painted the top edges of all the doors.
“Do me a favor?” Faith was rummaging through the stack of mail on the kitchen table. “Check to see if Nell’s still outside.”
Sara stood on the tips of her toes to see down the hill. Nell was still talking to the cops. “Yes. Why?”
Faith ripped open one of the envelopes.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Only if I get caught.” Her eyes skimmed what looked like an invoice. “Jared opened it, right? Only he can’t remember because of his head injury.”
“That’s inviting some bad karma.”
“And it wasn’t even worth it.” Faith folded the invoice. “You’ll be pleased to know that Lena’s Pap smear was normal.” She tucked the paper back into the envelope. “I should go tell Nell about Jared. The doctor should’ve called by now.”
“Wait.” Sara said, “I know it’s not likely to come up, but Nell doesn’t know about Will. I mean, me and Will. Together.” She felt her heart start to jump, like she was telling a fib to her mother. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
If Faith was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Okay. I won’t say anything.”
Sara felt compelled to give an explanation. “It’s just that Will’s still legally married and …” She let her voice trail off. There was no reason to lie. “They just loved Jeffrey so much. They wouldn’t understand how I was able to move on.” Sara paused. “Sometimes, I wonder how I did it myself.”
“I’m glad you did.” Faith leaned against the table. “Will loves you, you know? I mean, crazy love. He was never this way with Angie. From the day he met you, his feet stopped touching the ground.”
Sara smiled, though the last thing she wanted to think about right now was Will’s elusive wife.
Faith said, “Seriously, I’ve never seen him like this before. You’ve changed him. You’ve made him—” She shrugged, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. “Happy.”
Unreasonably, Sara felt tears well into her eyes. “He’s made me happy, too.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” Faith wriggled her eyebrows. “ ‘This, too, shall pass.’ ”
Sara wiped her eyes. “There’s been an alarming number of people quoting Bible verses at me today.”
“My mother got my name from the Bible. I’m supposed to be the substance of things hoped for. Talk about wishful thinking.” Faith pushed away from the table. “I really should get Nell. How bad is an infection at this stage?”
“They’ll probably bring in somebody from the CDC.” The Centers for Disease Control had a dedicated team serving the Atlanta area. “It’s good that we’re close.”
“That doesn’t sound cheerful.”
“No,” Sara admitted. “Infections are unpredictable. People respond differently to treatment. No two patients have the same outcome. If the infection is somewhere like his heart or his brain, then the odds are low he’ll survive, and even then, it’s a tough recovery.” She felt the need to add, “But he’s young and otherwise healthy. That counts for a lot.”
“Shit, here she comes.” Faith waited for Nell to make her way up the porch steps. She had a FedEx padded mailer in one hand and a small envelope in the other.
“I guess you’ll get your wish.” Nell tucked the envelope into her back pocket. “They say they take up a collection when stuff like this happens. I didn’t want to be rude, but it’s not like I’m an invalid.” Her words were hard, but Sara could see the relief on Nell’s face. The deep lines had smoothed from her forehead. Some of the tension was gone from her jaw. “They’re nice boys. I shouldn’t complain.”
Faith said, “They feel as helpless as you do, Mrs. Long. Doing something for you, even something that you’re capable of doing on your own, makes them feel better.”
“I suppose,” Nell admitted. She held up the FedEx mailer. The word PERSONAL was written across the back in red marker. “The delivery guy dropped this off while we were in the street. It’s addressed to Lena. Says it’s personal. I didn’t know if I should open it or not.”
“Is there a return address?” Faith sounded disinterested, though Sara knew better.
Nell squinted at the label. “It’s all smeared. Should I open it?”
Faith’s shrug was almost believable. “If you want. It might be something Lena needs.”
Nell guffawed. “They say the same thing here as in Alabama—you can piss on my face, but don’t tell me it’s raining?”
Faith’s smile showed her teeth.
“That’s what I thought.” Nell went to the kitchen and retrieved her purse from the counter. Sara wasn’t surprised when she pulled out a large utility knife, but Faith obviously was. Her eyebrows shot straight up.
“Let’s see what personal thing we got here.” Nell sliced open the top of the padded mailer. She peered inside the envelope, her eyes narrowed as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing.
Sara asked, “What is it?”
Nell reached into the package. “I don’t—”
The mailer dropped to the floor.
Nell held up a tiny jacket, the sort of thing you’d buy for a baby. It was dark blue with orange piping down the sleeves and an Auburn University logo across the back.
Her lips parted in surprise. She looked at Sara, then Faith, then down at the little jacket again. She cupped the hoodie sewn into the back of the collar.
Wordlessly, Nell ran into the hallway, her shoulder catching the corner. Sara was close on her heels as Nell entered the spare bedroom.
“He didn’t—” Nell’s voice caught. She stood in the middle of the room, the jacket gripped tightly in her hands. “How could he not—” A strangled cry came out of her mouth. She buried her face in the small jacket. “Oh, God.”
Faith came up behind Sara. Her mouth was set. Guilt virtually radiated off her skin.
“This is a nursery,” Nell whispered, clutching the jacket to her chest. “He was working on a nursery.” Her fingers traced the back of the closet door. The outline of several balloons had been drawn with a pencil. Cans of brightly colored paint were on the floor. There were art brushes and sponges and trays to hold the paint.
Nell stared at Faith. Her tone was deadly sharp. “You knew.”
Faith didn’t bother to lie this time.
A phone started ringing. Nell checked her pocket for her cell phone. Her voice shook as she answered, “Possum, what is it? I’m busy now.” She listened, nodding a few times before she closed the phone and put it back in her pocket. “Jared’s got an infection.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “They say I need to get back up there.”
“I’ll drive you,” Sara offered.
“No.” Nell held the baby’s jacket against her chest. “I need some time alone, all right? Can you drive her back?” She was talking to Faith. “I just need some time, okay?”
Nell didn’t wait for an answer. She left the room. All the air seemed to go with her.
Faith let out a long sigh. “That was awful.”
Sara said nothing.
Faith studied her carefully. “Sara?”
Sara shook her head as she took in the nursery, the way the light from the windows fell across the floor. The yellow walls were cheery and warm. She could imagine sheers hanging in the windows, a summer breeze rustling the edges. Balloons would be painted around the walls to match the closet door. The jacket would hang on a tiny plastic hanger—something colorful to match the décor. The hoodie wasn’t sized for a newborn, but at three to six months, Lena’s baby would be big enough to wear it. Faith said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
Sara could only keep shaking her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
One of the last things that Sara and Jeffrey had planned together was adopting a baby. Sara couldn’t have children of her own. It had taken years for her and Jeffrey to be in the same place about adoption, to decide that they were ready to raise a child together.
Then Jeffrey had died, and Sara had come completely undone. The adoption agency returned their application. At the time, Sara barely registered the rejection. She’d been incapable of taking care of herself, let alone a baby.
“Sara?” Faith asked. “Will you please say something?”
Acid filled Sara’s mouth.
It wasn’t fair.
That’s what Sara wanted to say. To scream at the top of her lungs.
It just wasn’t fair.
Lena wasn’t strong. She would bend, not break. She would recover from this tragedy the same easy way she recovered from every other tragedy before.
Even if she lost Jared, Lena would always know what it felt like to have his child growing inside of her. She could always hold her baby’s hand and think of holding Jared’s. She could see her child laugh and learn and grow and play sports and do school projects and graduate from college and Lena would always, always remember her husband. She would see Jared in her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. On her deathbed, she would find peace in the knowledge that they had made something beautiful together. That even in death, they would both go on living.
“Sara,” Faith said. “What’s happening here?”
Sara wiped her eyes, angry that she was back in the same dark place she’d started at this morning. “Why does everything come so damn easy to her?” She struggled to speak. Her throat clenched around every word that wanted to come out of her mouth. “Everything just opens up, and she always walks through unscathed and—” Sara had to stop for breath. “It’s just so easy for her. She always has it so goddamn easy.”
Faith indicated the door. “Come on.”
Sara couldn’t move.
“Let’s go.” Faith took Sara by the arm and led her out of the room. Sara thought they were leaving the house, but Faith stopped at the kitchen table. She held up the envelope she’d opened before.
Sara didn’t take it. “I don’t care about her Pap smear.”
“Look who it’s from.”
Sara scanned the return address. Macon Medical Center.
Driscoll Benedict, OB-GYN. “So?”
Faith opened the envelope, unfolded the doctor’s invoice. She held it up for Sara to see. The treatment date was ten days ago. The amount was zeroed out with the advisory that the hospital would bill Lena separately for her emergency room visit.
Across the bottom, someone had written, “God bless you both. You are in our prayers.”
Sara took the invoice from Faith. Her knees felt weak. She sat down at the table. Even without the note of condolence, she recognized the medical billing code.
Lena had lost the baby.