—
Will’s office on the third floor of City Hall East was little more than a storage closet with a window that looked down onto a pair of abandoned railroad tracks and a Kroger grocery store parking lot that seemed to be the meeting place for many suspicious-looking people in very expensive cars. The back of Will’s chair was pressed so tightly against the wall that it gouged the sheetrock every time he turned. Not that he needed to turn. He could see the entire office without moving his head. Even getting into the chair was difficult because Will had to squeeze between his desk and the window in order to reach it—a maneuver that made him glad he wasn’t planning on having children.
He leaned on his elbow as he watched his computer boot up, the screen flickering, the little icons flashing into place. Will opened his email first, tucking a pair of headphones into his ears so he could hear them through the SpeakText program he’d installed a few years ago. After deleting a couple of sexual enhancement offers and a plea from a deposed Nigerian president, he found a note from Amanda and a policy-change notice on the state health insurance plan that he sent to his private email so he could muddle through his loss of covered items from the comfort of his own home.
Amanda’s email needed no such study. She always wrote in all caps and she seldom bothered with proper sentence construction. UPDATE ME was plastered across the screen in a thick, bold font.
What could he tell her? That their victim had eleven kitchen garbage bags shoved up inside her? That Anna, the victim who had survived, had the same number inside of her? That twelve hours had passed and they were no closer to finding out who had taken the women, let alone what pattern connected the two victims?
Blind, possibly deaf, possibly mute. Will had been in the cave where the women were kept. He could not imagine the horrors they experienced. Seeing the torturer’s instruments had been bad enough, but he imagined not seeing them would be worse. At least the burden of Jackie Zabel’s death was off his shoulders, though knowing that the woman had chosen death when help was so nearby brought him no comfort.
Will could still hear the compassionate tone Sara Linton had used as she’d explained how Zabel had taken her life. He could not remember the last time a woman had talked to him that way—tried to throw him a life vest instead of yelling at him to swim harder the way Faith did or, worse, grabbing onto his legs and pulling him farther down the way Angie always tried.
Will slumped back in his chair, knowing he should put Sara out of his mind. There was a case in front of him that needed his undivided attention, and Will made himself focus on the women he could actually have an impact on.
Both Anna and Jackie had probably escaped from the cave at the same time, Jackie unable to hear or see, Anna most probably blind. There would have been no way for the two damaged women to communicate with each other except through touch. Had they held hands, stumbling together blindly as they’d tried to find their way out of the forest? Somehow, they’d been separated, lost from each other. Anna must have known she was on a road, felt the cool asphalt on the soles of her bare feet, heard the roar of an approaching car. Jackie had gone the other way—finding a tree, climbing to what must have felt like safety. Waiting. Every creak of the tree, every movement of the branches, sending panic through her body as she waited for her abductor to find her and take her back to that cold, dark place.
She would have been holding her license, her identity, in one hand and the means of her death in the other. It was an almost incomprehensible choice. Climb down, walk aimlessly to look for help, risking possible capture? Or plunge the blade into her chest? Fight for her life? Or seize control and end it on her own terms?
The autopsy bore witness to her decision. The blade had pierced her heart, severing the main artery, filling the chest with blood. According to Sara, Jackie had probably passed out almost instantly, her heart stopping even as she fell from the tree. Knife dropping. Driver’s license dropping. They had found aspirin in her stomach. It had thinned her blood so that it was still dripping long after her death. This was the hot splatter on Will’s neck. Looking up, seeing her hand reaching down, he had thought she was grasping for freedom, but she had actually managed to find it on her own.
He opened a large folder on his desk and fanned out the photos of the cave. The torture devices, the marine battery, the unopened cans of soup—Charlie had documented all of it, recording the descriptions on a master list. Will thumbed through the photographs, finding the best view of the cave. Charlie had squatted at the base of the ladder the same way Will had last night. Xenon lights pulled every nook and cranny out of shadow. Will found another photo, this one showing the sexual devices laid out like artifacts at an archaeological dig. He could figure out from first glance how most of them were used, but some were so complicated, so horrific, that his mind could not grasp how they operated.
Will was so lost in thought that his brain took its time registering the fact that his cell phone was ringing. He opened the pieces, saying, “Trent.”
“It’s Lola, baby.”
“Who?”
“Lola. One of Angie’s girls.”
The prostitute from last night. Will tried to keep his tone even, because he was more furious with Angie than the hooker, who was just doing what bottom feeders always did—trying to exploit an angle. Will wasn’t Angie’s angle, though, and he was sick of these girls trying to play him. He said, “Listen, I’m not getting you out of jail. If you’re one of Angie’s girls, then get Angie to help you.”
“I can’t get ahold of her.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t either, so stop calling me for help when I don’t even know her phone number. Understand?” He didn’t give her time to respond. He ended the call and gently put his cell phone on his desk. The tape was starting to peel, the string coming lose. He had asked Angie to help him with the phone before she left, but, like a lot of things regarding Will, it hadn’t been a priority.
He looked down at his hand, the wedding ring on his finger. Was he stupid or just pathetic? He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. He bet Sara Linton wasn’t the sort of woman who pulled this kind of crap in a relationship. Then again, Will bet Sara’s husband hadn’t been the kind of pussy who would let it happen.
“God, I hate autopsies.” Faith pushed her way into his office, her color still off. Will knew she hated autopsies—it was an obvious aversion—but this was the first time he’d ever heard Faith admit to it. “Caroline left a message on my cell.” She meant Amanda’s assistant. “We can’t talk to Joelyn Zabel without counsel present.”
Jackie Zabel’s sister. “Is she really going to sue the department?”
She dropped her purse on his desk. “As soon as she finds a lawyer in the Yellow Pages. Are you ready to go?”
He looked at the time on the computer. They were supposed to meet the Coldfields in half an hour, but the shelter was less than ten minutes away. “Let’s talk this through a little bit more,” he suggested.
There was a folding chair against the wall, and Faith had to close the door before she could sit down. Her own office was not much larger than Will’s, but you could at least stretch your legs out in front of you without your feet hitting a wall. Will wasn’t sure why, but they always ended up back in his office. Maybe it was because Faith’s office had, in fact, been a storage closet. There was no window and it still held the lingering scent of urine cake and toilet cleaner. The first time she had closed the door, she’d nearly passed out from the fumes.
Faith nodded toward the computer. “What’ve you got?”
Will turned the monitor around so that Faith could read Amanda’s email.
Faith squinted at the screen, scowling. He kept the background bright pink and the letters navy blue, which for some reason made it easier for him to make out the words. She mumbled under her breath as she adjusted the colors, then slid over the keyboard so she could type a reply. The first time she had done this, Will had complained, but over the last few months, he’d come to realize that Faith was just plain bossy, no matter who she was dealing with. Maybe it came from being a mother since the age of fifteen, or maybe it was just a natural inclination, but she wasn’t comfortable unless she was doing everything herself.
With Jeremy off to college and Victor Martinez apparently out of the picture, Will was taking the brunt of her bossiness. He supposed this was what it was like to have an older sister. But then again, Angie acted the same way with Will and he was sleeping with her. When she was around.
Faith said, “Amanda should already have the autopsy report on Jacquelyn Zabel by now.” She typed as she talked. “What do we have? No fingerprints or trace evidence to follow. Plenty of DNA in sperm and blood, but no matches so far. No ID or even last name on Anna. An attacker who blinds his victims, punches out their eardrums, makes them drink Drano. The trash bags … shit, I can’t even begin to understand that. He tortures them with God knows what. One had a rib removed …” She hit the arrow key, going back to add something earlier in the line. “Zabel was probably going to be next.”
“The aspirin,” Will said. The aspirin found in Jacquelyn Zabel’s stomach was ten times more than the average person would take.
“Nice of him to give them something for their pain.” Faith arrowed back down the screen. “Can you imagine? Trapped in that cave, can’t hear him coming, can’t see what he’s doing, can’t scream for help.” Faith clicked the mouse, sending the email, then sat back in the chair. “Eleven trash bags. How did Sara miss that on the first victim?”
“I don’t imagine you stop to do a pelvic exam when a woman comes in with nearly every bone in her body broken and one foot in the grave.”
“Don’t get testy with me,” she said, though Will didn’t think he was being testy at all. “She doesn’t belong in the middle of this case.”
Faith rolled her eyes, using the mouse to click open the browser.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m going to look her up. Her husband was a cop when he died. I’m sure whatever happened to him made the news.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Faith tapped the keyboard. “What do you mean, ‘fair’?”
“Faith, don’t intrude in her personal—”
She hit the enter key. Will didn’t know what else to do, so he reached down and unplugged the computer. Faith jiggled the mouse, then pressed the space bar. The building was old—the power was always going off. She glanced up, noticing the lights were still on.
“Did you turn off the computer?”
“If Sara Linton wanted you to know the details of her personal life, then she would tell you.”
“You’d think you’d have better posture with that stick up your ass.” Faith crossed her arms, giving him a sharp look. “Don’t you think it’s weird how she’s inserting herself into our investigation? I mean, she’s not a coroner anymore. She’s a civilian. If she wasn’t so pretty, you’d see how strange—”
“What does her beauty have to do with anything?”
Faith was kind enough to let his words hang over their heads like a neon sign flashing idiot. She gave it almost a full minute to burn out before saying, “Don’t forget I have a computer in my office. I can look her up there just as easily.”
“Whatever you find out, I don’t want to know.”
Faith rubbed her face with her hands. She stared at the gray sky outside the window for another solid minute. “This is crazy. We’re spinning our wheels here. We need a break, something to follow.”
“Pauline McGhee—”
“Leo is drawing a blank on the brother. He says her house is clean—no documents, no indication of parents, relatives. No record of an alias, but that’s easy enough to hide if you pay the right people enough money. Pauline’s neighbors haven’t changed their story, either: They either don’t know her or don’t like her. Either way, they can’t tell us anything about her life. He talked to the teachers at the kid’s school. Same thing. I mean, Christ, her son is in care right now because the mother doesn’t have any close friends who are willing to take him.”
“What’s Leo doing now?”
She checked her watch. “Probably trying to figure out how to knock off early.” She rubbed her eyes again, obviously tired. “He’s running McGhee’s fingerprints, but that’s a long shot unless she’s ever been arrested.”
“Is he still worried about us treading on his case?”
“Even more so than before.” Faith pressed her lips together. “I bet it’s because he’s been sick. They do that, you know—look at what your insurance is costing, try to push you out if you’re too much of a drain on the system. God forbid you have a chronic disease that requires expensive medication.”
Thankfully, that wasn’t something Will or Faith had to worry about yet. He said, “Pauline’s abduction could be separate from our case, something as simple as an argument that set off her brother, or a stranger abduction. She’s an attractive woman.”
“If she’s not connected to our case, it’s more likely someone she knew is involved.”
“So, that’s the brother.”
“She wouldn’t have warned the kid about him unless she was worried.” Faith added, “Of course, there’s also that Morgan guy—arrogant bastard. I was ready to slap him through the phone when I talked to him. Maybe there was something going on between him and Pauline.”
“They worked together. She could’ve pushed him too far and he snapped. That happens a lot when men work with bossy women.”
“Ha-ha,” Faith allowed. “Wouldn’t Felix recognize Morgan if he was the abductor?”
Will shrugged. Kids could block out anything. Adults weren’t bad at it, either.
Faith pointed out, “Neither of our two known victims has children. Neither of them has been reported missing, as far as we know. Jacquelyn Zabel’s car is gone. We have no idea if Anna has a car, since we don’t even know her last name.” Her tone was getting sharper as she ticked off each dead end. “Or her first name. It could be something other than Anna. Who knows what Sara heard?”
“I heard it,” Will defended. “I heard her say ‘Anna.’ ”
Faith skipped over his response. “Do you still think there might be two abductors?”
“I’m not sure about anything right now, except that whoever is doing this is no amateur. His DNA is everywhere, which means he probably doesn’t have a criminal record he’s worried about. We don’t have any clues because he didn’t leave any. He’s good at this. He knows how to cover his tracks.”
“A cop?”
Will let the question go unanswered.
Faith reasoned it out. “There’s something he’s doing that makes women trust him—lets him get close enough to snatch them without anyone seeing.”
“The suit,” Will said. “Women—men, too—are more likely to trust a well-dressed stranger. It’s a class judgment, but it’s true.”
“Great. We just need to round up all the men in Atlanta who were wearing suits this morning.” She held up her fingers, ticking off a list. “No fingerprints on the trash bags found in either woman. Nothing to trace on any of the items found in the cave. The bloody print on Jacquelyn Zabel’s driver’s license belongs to Anna. We don’t know her last name. We don’t know where she lived or worked or if she has family.” Faith had run out of fingers.
“The abductor obviously has a method. He’s patient. He excavates the cave, gets it ready for his captives. Like you said, he probably watches the women before he abducts them. He’s done this before. Who knows how many times.”
“Yeah, but his victims haven’t lived to talk about it, or we’d have something come up in the FBI database.”
Will’s desk phone rang, and Faith picked it up. “Mitchell.” She listened for a few beats, then took her notepad out of her purse. She wrote in neat block letters, but Will was incapable of deciphering the words. “Can you follow up on that?” She waited. “Great. Call me on my cell.”
She hung up the phone. “That was Leo. The prints came back from Pauline McGhee’s SUV. Her real name is Pauline Agnes Seward. She had a missing persons report filed in Ann Arbor, Michigan, back in ’89. She was seventeen. According to the report, her parents said there was some kind of argument that set things off. She was off the straight and narrow—doing drugs, sleeping around. Her prints were on file because of a shoplifting rap she pleaded nolo on. The locals made a cursory search, put her in the database, but this is the first hit they’ve had in twenty years.”
“That jibes with what Morgan said. Pauline told him she ran away from home when she was seventeen. What about the brother?”
“Nothing came up. Leo’s going to do a deeper background search.” Faith put the pad back in her pocketbook. “He’s trying to track down the parents. Hopefully they’re still in Michigan.”
“Seward doesn’t sound like a common name.”
“It’s not,” she agreed. “Something would’ve come up in the computer if the brother was involved in a serious crime.”
“Do we have an age range? A name?”
“Leo said he’d get back to us as soon as he found something.”
Will sat back in his chair, leaned his head against the wall. “Pauline still isn’t part of our case. We don’t have a pattern to match her with.”
“She looks like our other victims. No one likes her. She’s not close to anyone.”
“She might be close to her brother,” Will said. “Leo says Pauline had Felix through a sperm donor, right? Maybe the brother is the donor?”
Faith made a noise of disgust. “God, Will.”
Her tone made him feel guilty for suggesting such a thing, but the fact was their job was all about thinking of the worst things that could happen. “Why else would Pauline warn her son that his uncle is a bad man she needed to protect him from?”
Faith was reluctant to answer. Finally, she said, “Sexual abuse.”
“I could be way off,” he admitted. “Her brother could be a thief or an embezzler or a drug addict. He could be a con.”
“If a Seward had a record in Michigan, Leo would have already pulled him up on the computer search.”
“Maybe the brother’s been lucky.”
Faith shook her head. “Pauline was scared of him, didn’t want her son around him. That points to violence, or fear of violence.”
“Like you said, if the brother was threatening or stalking her, there’d be a report somewhere.”
“Not necessarily. He’s still her brother. People don’t run to the police when it’s a family matter. You know that.”
Will wasn’t so sure, but she had a point about Leo’s computer search. “What would make you warn Jeremy away from your brother?”
She gave it some thought. “I can’t think of anything Zeke could do that would make me tell Jeremy not to talk to him.”
“What if he hit you?”
She opened her mouth to answer, then seemed to change her mind. “It’s not about whether I would put up with it—it’s about what Pauline would do.” Faith was quiet, thinking. “Families are complicated. People put up with a lot of shit because of blood.”
“Blackmail?” Will knew he was grasping at straws, but he continued, “Maybe the brother knew something bad about Pauline’s past? There has to be a reason she changed her name at seventeen. Fast-forward to now. Pauline has a lucrative job. She’s good on her mortgage. She drives a nice car. She’d probably be willing to pay a lot of money to keep it that way.”
Will shot down his own idea. “On the other hand, if the brother is blackmailing her, he needs her to keep working. There’s no reason to take her.”
“It’s not like she’s being held for ransom. Nobody cares that she’s gone.”
Will shook his head. Another dead end.
Faith said, “Okay, maybe Pauline’s not involved in our case. Maybe she’s got some kind of weird Flowers in the Attic thing going on with her brother. What do we do now? Just sit around and wait for a third—or fourth—woman to be taken?”
Will didn’t know how to answer that. Fortunately, he didn’t have to.
Faith looked at her watch. “Let’s go talk to the Coldfields.”
There were children at the Fred Street Women’s Shelter—something Will hadn’t anticipated, though of course it made sense that homeless women would also have homeless children. A small area at the front of the shelter was cordoned off for their play. Their ages were varied, but he assumed they were all under the age of six, because the older kids would be in school this time of day. All the children were dressed in mismatched, faded clothes and playing with toys that had seen better days: Barbie dolls with short haircuts, Tonka toys with missing wheels. Will supposed he should have felt sad for them, because watching them play was much like a scene from his own childhood, but the exception here was that these kids had at least one parent who was looking out for them, one connection to the normal world.
“Good Lord,” Faith mumbled, digging into her purse. There was a jar for donations on the counter by the front entrance, and she shoved in a couple of tens. “Who’s watching these kids?”
Will looked down the hall. The walls were decorated with paper Easter cutouts and some of the children’s drawings. He saw a closed door with the symbol for a women’s restroom. “She’s probably in the toilet.”
“Anyone could snatch them.”
Will didn’t think many people wanted these children. That was part of the problem.
“Ring bell for service,” Faith said, he supposed reading from the sign below the bell, which even a monkey could have figured out.
Will reached over and rang the bell.
She said, “They do computer training here.”
“What?”
Faith picked up one of the brochures on the counter. Will saw pictures of smiling women and children on the front, a couple of corporate logos that named the big-money sponsors along the bottom. “Computer training, counseling, meals.” Her eyes went back and forth as she skimmed the text. “Medical counseling with a Christian focus.” She dropped the pamphlet back in with the others. “I guess that means they tell you you’re going to hell if you have an abortion. Good advice for women who’ve already got one mouth they can’t afford to feed.” She tapped the bell again, this time hard enough to make it spin off the counter.
Will picked up the bell from the floor. When he stood, he found a large Hispanic woman behind the counter, an infant in her arms. She spoke in a distinctive Texas drawl, her words directed toward Faith. “If you’re here to arrest someone, we ask that you don’t do it in front of the children.”
“We’re here to talk to Judith Coldfield,” Faith replied, keeping her voice low, mindful that the kids were not only watching but had guessed her occupation just like the woman.
“Walk around the side of the building to the storefront. Judith’s working retail today.” She didn’t wait for a thank-you. Instead, she turned around with the child and went back down the hallway.
Faith pushed open the door, heading out into the street again. “These places annoy the hell out of me.”
Will thought a homeless shelter was a strange thing to hate, even for Faith. “Why is that?”
“Just help them. Don’t make them pray about it.”
“Some people find solace in prayer.”
“What if they don’t? Then they’re not worthy of being helped? You may be homeless and starving to death, but you can’t have a free meal or a safe place to sleep unless you agree that abortion is an abomination and that other people have the right to tell you what to do with your body?”
Will wasn’t sure how to answer her, so he just followed her around the side of the brick building, watching her angrily hitch her purse up on her shoulder. She was still mumbling when they rounded the corner to the storefront. There was a large sign out front that probably had the name of the shelter on it. The economy was bad for everybody these days, but especially for charities who depended on people feeling flush enough to help their fellow man. Many of the local shelters took in donations that they sold in order to help pay for basic operations. Window lettering advertised various items inside the store. Faith read them off as they walked to the entrance.
“ ‘Housewares, linens, clothes, donations welcome, free pickup for larger items.’ ”
Will opened the door, willing her to shut up.
“ ‘Open every day but Sunday.’ ‘No dogs allowed.’ ”
“I got it,” he told her, glancing around the store. Blenders were lined up on a shelf, toasters and small microwaves underneath. There were some clothes on racks, mostly the kind of styles that were very popular during the eighties. Canned soups and various pantry staples were stored away from the sun streaming in through the windows. Will’s stomach grumbled, and he remembered sorting cans of food that came into the orphanage over the holidays. Nobody ever gave the good stuff. It was usually Spam and pickled beets, just the sort of thing every kid wanted for Christmas dinner.
Faith had found another sign. “ ‘All donations are tax deductible. Proceeds go directly to help homeless women and children. God blesses those who bless others.’ ”
He realized that his jaw was aching from clenching his teeth so hard. Luckily, he didn’t have to dwell on the pain for long. A man popped up from behind the counter like Mr. Drucker from Green Acres. “How y’all doin’?”
Faith’s hand flew to her chest. “Who the hell are you?”
The man blushed so hard that Will could almost feel the heat coming off his face. “Sorry, ma’am.” He wiped his hand on the front of his T-shirt. Black finger marks showed where he had done this many times before. “Tom Coldfield. I’m helping my mom with …” He indicated the floor behind the counter. Will saw he was working on a push-style lawnmower. The engine was partially disassembled. It looked like he was trying to put on a new fan belt, which hardly explained why the carburetor was on the floor.
Will told him, “There’s a nut on the—”
Faith interrupted. “I’m Special Agent Faith Mitchell. This is my partner, Will Trent. We’re here to meet with Judith and Henry Coldfield. I assume you’re related?”
“My folks,” the man explained, a prominent pair of buckteeth sticking out as he smiled at Faith. “They’re in the back. Dad’s kind of unhappy about missing his golf game.” He seemed to realize how inconsequential this seemed to them. “Sorry, I know what happened to that woman was awful. It’s just that—well—they told that other detective everything that happened.”
Faith kept up her sweet side. “I’m sure they won’t mind telling us again.”
Tom Coldfield seemed to disagree, but he motioned for them to follow him to the back room anyway. Will let Faith go ahead of him, and they all had to pick their way around boxes and various piles of items that had been donated to the shelter. Will guessed Tom Coldfield had been athletic at one point in his life, but his early thirties had beaten that out of him, giving a round spread to his waist and a stoop to his shoulders. There was a bald spot on the crown of his head, almost like a tonsure that a Franciscan monk would sport. Without even asking, Will guessed that Tom Coldfield had a couple of kids. He looked like a textbook soccer dad. He probably drove a minivan and played online fantasy football.
Tom said, “Sorry about the mess. We’re short volunteers.”
Faith asked, “Do you work here?”
“Oh, no. I’d go crazy if I did.” He gave a chuckle at what must have been Faith’s surprised reaction. “I’m an air traffic controller. My mom guilts me into helping out when they’re shorthanded.”
“Were you in the military?”
“Air Force—six years. How’d you guess?”
Faith shrugged. “Easiest way to get training.” Then, probably to build a rapport with the man, she added, “My brother’s in the Air Force, stationed in Germany.”
Tom moved a box out of their way. “Ramstein?”
“Landstuhl. He’s a surgeon.”
“That’s a bad mess over there. Your brother’s doing the Lord’s work.”
Faith was in cop mode now, her personal opinions set aside. “He certainly is.”
Tom stopped in front of a closed door and knocked. Will looked down the hallway, seeing the other end of the shelter, the counter they’d stood in front of while they waited for the woman to come out of the bathroom. Faith noticed this, too, and she rolled her eyes at Will as Tom opened the door.
“Mom, this is Detective Trent and—I’m sorry, is it Mitchell?”
“Yes,” Faith confirmed.
Tom introduced his parents, though this was certainly a formality as the room contained only two people. Judith was sitting behind a desk, a ledger opened in front of her. Henry was in a chair by the window. He had a newspaper in his hands, and he shook the paper, creasing it carefully before he gave Will and Faith his attention. Tom hadn’t been lying when he’d said his father was annoyed about missing his golf game. Henry Coldfield looked like a parody of a grumpy old man.
“Should I get some more chairs?” Tom offered. He didn’t wait for a response, disappearing before anyone could answer. The office was regular-size, which was to say it was big enough for four people to occupy without knocking elbows. Still, Will stood in the doorway while Faith took the only other vacant chair in the room. Normally, they figured out ahead of time who would do the talking, but they were going into this interview cold. When Will looked to Faith for guidance, she only shrugged. The family was hard to read. They would have to figure this out as they went along. The first step in an interview was to make the witness feel comfortable. People didn’t tend to open up and start being helpful until you made them realize that you weren’t the enemy. Since she was sitting closest to them, Faith started.
“Mr. and Mrs. Coldfield, thank you for meeting with us. I know you already spoke to Detective Galloway, but what you went through the other night was very traumatic. Sometimes it takes a few days before you remember everything.”
“We’ve never really had anything like this happen to us before,” Judith Coldfield said, and Will wondered if she thought people routinely rammed their cars into women who had been raped and tortured in an underground cavern.
Henry seemed to realize this as well. “Judith.”
“Oh, dear.” Judith put her hand to her mouth, covering the embarrassed smile on her face. Will saw where Tom had gotten his buckteeth as well as his easy blush. The woman explained, “I meant to say, we’ve never talked to the police before.” She patted her husband’s hand. “Henry got a speeding ticket once, but once was enough. When was that, dear?”
“Summer of ’83,” Henry answered, the set to his jaw indicating he still hadn’t gotten over the experience. He looked at Will as he spoke, as if only a man would understand. “Seven miles over the limit.”
Will tried to think of something that sounded commiserating, but his mind drew a blank. He asked Judith, “You’re from up North?”
“Is it that obvious?” She laughed, putting her hand to her mouth again, covering her smile. She was painfully self-conscious about her protruding teeth. “Pennsylvania.”
“Is that where you lived before you retired?”
“Oh, no,” Judith said. “Henry’s job moved us around a bit. Mostly in the Northwest. We lived in Oregon, Washington State, California—but we didn’t like that, did we?” Henry made a grumpy sound. “We were in Oklahoma, but not for long. Have you ever been? It’s so flat there.”
Faith cut to the chase. “How about Michigan?”
Judith shook her head, but Henry supplied, “I saw a football game in Michigan back in ’71. Michigan and Ohio State. Ten to seven. Nearly froze to death.”
Faith lighted on the opportunity to draw him out. “You’re a football fan?”
“Can’t stand it.” His frown seemed to indicate he was still unhappy about the situation, though most people would kill to see a rivalry game.
“Henry was a salesman,” Judith supplied. “He traveled around quite a bit even before that. His father was in the Army for thirty years.”
Faith took over, trying to find a way to open up the man. “My grandfather was Army.”
Judith jumped in again. “Henry had a college deferment for the war.” Will guessed she meant Vietnam. “We had friends who served, of course, and Tom was in the Air Force, which we’re really proud of. Isn’t that right, Tom?”
Will hadn’t realized Tom was back. The Coldfields’ son smiled an apology. “Sorry, no more chairs. The kids are using them to build a fort.”
“Where were you stationed?” Faith asked him.
“I was at Keesler both tours,” he answered. “I started out my training, then worked my way up to the Three-thirty-fourth’s master sergeant in charge of tower class fundamentals. They were talking about sending me to Altus when I put in for discharge.”
“I was going to ask you why you left the Air Force, then I remembered Keesler’s in Mississippi.”
The blush came back in full force, and Tom gave an embarrassed laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”
Faith turned her attention to Henry, probably guessing that they wouldn’t get much from Judith without Henry’s blessing. “Ever leave stateside?”
“Always stayed in the U.S.”
“You have an Army accent,” Faith noted, which Will gathered meant he had no accent at all.
Henry’s reticence seemed to slowly melt away under Faith’s attention. “You go where they tell you to go.”
“That’s exactly what my brother said when he shipped overseas.” Faith leaned forward. “If you want the truth, I think he likes moving around all the time, never putting down roots.”
Henry started to open up some more. “Married?”
“Nope.”
“Lady in every port?”
“Lord, I hope not.” Faith laughed. “As far as my mother’s concerned, it was the Air Force or the priesthood.”
Henry chuckled. “Most mothers feel that way about their sons.” He squeezed his wife’s hand, and Judith beamed proudly at Tom.
Faith turned her attention to the son. “You said you’re an air traffic controller?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, though Faith was probably younger than Tom.
Tom told them, “I work out of Charlie Brown.” He meant the general aviation airport just west of Atlanta. “Been there about ten years. It’s a nice gig. Sometimes we handle Dobbins traffic overnight.” Dobbins was an Air Force base just outside the city. “I bet your brother’s flown out of there before.”
“I bet he has,” Faith agreed, keeping eye contact with the man just long enough to make him feel flattered. “You live out in Conyers now?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tom smiled openly, his buckteeth jutting out like tusks on an elephant. He was more relaxed now, talkative. “I moved to Atlanta when I left Keesler.” He nodded toward his mother. “I was real happy when my parents decided to move down here.”
“They’re on Clairmont Road, right?”
Tom nodded, still smiling. “Close enough to visit without having to pack a suitcase.”
Judith didn’t seem to like the easy rapport that was developing between the two. She quickly inserted herself back into the conversation. “Tom’s wife loves her flower garden.” She started to rummage around in her purse. “Mark, his son, is obsessed with aviation. Every day, he looks more and more like his father.”
“Mom, they don’t need to see—”
He was too late. Judith pulled out a photograph and handed it to Faith, who made the proper appreciative noises before passing it to Will.
He kept his expression neutral as he looked at the family photo. The Coldfield genes were certainly strong. The girl and boy in the picture were carbon copies of their father. Making matters worse, Tom had not found himself an attractive wife to dilute the Coldfield gene pool. She had stringy-looking blonde hair and a resigned set to her mouth that seemed to indicate this was as good as it would ever get.
“Darla,” Judith supplied, naming the wife. “They’ve been married for almost ten years. Isn’t that right, Tom?”
He shrugged in that embarrassed way children shrug at their parents.
“Very nice,” Will said, handing the picture back to Judith.
Judith asked Faith, “Do you have children?”
“A son.” Faith didn’t offer any more information. Instead she asked Judith, “Is Tom an only child?”
“That’s right.” Judith smiled again, covering her mouth. “Henry and I didn’t think we’d be able to …” Her voice trailed off, and she just stared at Tom with obvious pride. “He was a miracle.”
Again Tom shrugged, obviously embarrassed.
Faith subtly shifted the topic onto the reason they were all here. “And you were visiting Tom and his family the day of the accident?”
Judith nodded. “He wanted to do something nice for our fortieth anniversary. Didn’t you, Tom?” Her voice took on a distant quality. “Such a horrible thing to happen. I don’t think another anniversary will go by without remembering …”
Tom spoke. “I don’t understand how this could happen. How could that woman—” He shook his head. “It makes no sense. Who the hell would do something like that?”
“Tom,” Judith shushed. “Language.”
Faith gave Will a glance that indicated she was using every ounce of willpower in her body not to roll her eyes. She recovered quickly, directing her words toward the elderly couple. “I know you’ve already told Detective Galloway everything, but let’s start fresh from the beginning. You were driving down the road, you saw the woman, and then …?”
“Well,” Judith began. “At first I thought it might be a deer. We’ve seen deer on the side of the road many times. Henry always goes slow if it’s dark in case one darts out.”
“They see the lights and it just freezes them,” Henry explained, as if a deer caught in headlights was an obscure phenomenon.
“It wasn’t dark,” Judith continued. “It was dusk, I suppose. And I saw this thing in the road. I opened my mouth to tell Henry, but it was too late. We had already hit it. Her.” She took out a tissue from her purse and pressed it to her eyes. “Those nice men tried to help her, but I don’t think—surely, after all that …”
Henry took his wife’s hand again. “Has she … is the woman …?”
“She’s still in the hospital,” Faith provided. “They’re not sure if she’ll ever regain consciousness.”
“My Lord,” Judith breathed, almost a prayer. “I hope she doesn’t.”
“Mother—” Tom’s voice rose in surprise.
“I know that sounds mean, but I hope she never knows.”
The family went quiet. Tom looked at his father. Henry’s throat worked, and Will could tell the man was starting to get overwhelmed by his memories. “Thought I was having a heart attack,” he managed around a harsh laugh.
Judith lowered her voice, confiding as if her husband were not right beside her, “Henry has heart issues.”
“Nothing bad,” he countered. “Stupid air bag hit me square in the chest. Safety device, they call it. Damn thing almost killed me.”
Faith asked, “Mr. Coldfield, did you see the woman on the road?”
Henry nodded. “It’s what Judith said. It was too late to stop. I wasn’t speeding. I was going the posted limit. I saw something—thought it was a deer, like she said. Jammed my foot on the brake. She just appeared out of nowhere. Right out of nowhere. I still didn’t think it was a woman until we got out of the car and saw her there. Awful. Just awful.”
“Have you always worn glasses?” Will broached the subject carefully.
“I’m an amateur pilot. Get my eyes checked twice a year.” He took off the glasses, his feathers ruffled but his tone steady. “I may be old, but I’m flight ready. No cataracts, corrected to twenty-twenty.”
Will decided he might as well get it all out of the way. “And your heart?”
Judith intervened. “It’s nothing really. Just something to keep an eye on, make sure he’s not straining himself too much.”
Henry took over, still indignant. “Nothing that concerns the doctors. I take some horse pills. I don’t do any heavy lifting. I’m fine.”
Faith tried to soothe him, changing the subject. “An Army brat flying airplanes?”
Henry seemed to be debating whether or not to let the topic of his health go. Finally, he answered, “My dad got me lessons when I was a kid. We were stationed up in Nowhere, Alaska. He thought it was a good way to keep me out of trouble.”
Faith smiled, helping him relax again. “Good flying weather?”
“If you were lucky.” He laughed, wistful. “Had to be careful landing—cold wind would whip that plane around like a flyswatter. Some days, I’d just close my eyes and hope I touched down on the field and not in the ice.”
“Cold field,” Faith pointed out, making a play on his name.
“Right,” Henry said, as if he’d heard the pun many times. He put his glasses back on, all business. “Listen, I’m not one to tell other people how to go about their business, but why aren’t you asking us about that other car?”
“What other car?” Faith echoed. “The one that stopped to help?”
“No, the other one we saw streaking down the road, opposite. It must have been about two minutes before we hit that girl.”
Judith filled their stunned silence. “Surely you know this already. We told the other policeman all about it.”