Blindsighted

Chapter Eleven

BEN Walker, the chief of police before Jeffrey, had kept his office in the back of the station, just off the briefing room. A desk the size of an upended commercial refrigerator was in the center of the room with a row of uncomfortable chairs in front of it. Every morning, the men on the senior squad were called into Ben's office to hear their assignments for the day, then they left and the chief shut his door. What Ben did from this time until five o'clock, when he could be seen scooting down the street to the diner for his supper, was a mystery.

Jeffreys first task when he took over Ben's job was to move his office to the front of the squad room. U sing a skill saw, Jeffrey cut a hole in the Sheetrock and installed a glass picture window so that he could sit at his desk and see his men and, more important, so that his men could see him. There were blinds on the window, but he never closed them, and for the most part, his office door was always open.

Two days after Sibyl Adams's body had been found, Jeffrey sat in his office, reading a report that Maria had just handed him. Nick Shelton at the GBI had been kind enough to rush through the analysis on the box of tea. Results: it was tea.

Jeffrey scratched his chin, looking around his office. It was a small room, but he had built a set of bookshelves into one of the walls in order to keep things neat. Field manuals and statistical reports were stacked alongside marksman trophies he had won at the Birmingham competitions and a signed team football from when he had played at Auburn. Not that he really played. Jeffrey had spent most of his time on the bench, watching the other players build careers for themselves.

A photograph of his mother was tucked into the far corner of the shelf. She was wearing a pink blouse and holding a small wrist corsage in her hands. The photo was taken at Jeffreys high school graduation. He had caught his mother giving one of her rare smiles in front of the camera. Her eyes were lit up, probably with the possibilities she saw in front of her son. That he had dropped out of Auburn a year from graduation and taken a job on the Birmingham police force was something she still had not forgiven her only child for.

Maria tapped on his office door, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. On Jeffrey's first day, she told him that she had never fetched coffee for Ben Walker and she wasn't about to fetch it for him. Jeffrey had laughed; the thought had never occurred to him. Maria had been bringing him his coffee ever since.

"The doughnuts for me," she said, handing him the paper cup. "Nick Shelton's on line three."

"Thank you," he said, waiting for her to leave. Jeffrey sat back in his chair as he picked up the phone. "Nick?"

Nick's southern drawl came across the line. "How you?"

"Not so great," Jeffrey answered.

"I hear you," Nick returned. Then, "Got my report?"

"On the tea?" Jeffrey picked up the sheet of paper, looking over the analysis. For such a simple beverage, a lot of chemicals went into processing tea. "It's just cheap store-bought tea, right?"

"You got it," Nick said. "Listen, I tried to call Sara this morning, but I couldn't find her."

"That so?"

Nick gave a low chuckle. "You're never gonna forgive me for asking her out that time, are you, buddy?"

Jeffrey smiled. "Nope."

"One of my drug people here at the lab is hot on this belladonna. Not many cases come in, and he volunteered to give you guys a face-to-face rundown."

"That'd be an awfully big help," Jeffrey said. He saw Lena through the glass window and waved her in.

"Sara talking to you this week?" Nick didn't wait for an answer. "My guy is gonna want to talk to her about how the victim presented."

Jeffrey bit back the cutting remark that wanted to come, forcing some cheerfulness into his voice as he said, "How about around ten?"

Jeffrey was noting the meeting on his calendar when Lena walked in. As soon as he looked up, she began speaking.

"He doesn't do drugs anymore."

"What?"

"At least I don't think so."

Jeffrey shook his head, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

She lowered her voice, saying, "My uncle Hank." She held her forearms out to him.

"Oh." Jeffrey finally got it. He had not been sure if Hank Norton was a past drug addict or had been in a disfiguring fire, his arms were so scarred. "Yeah, I saw they were old."

She said, "He was a speed freak, okay?"

Her tone was hostile. Jeffrey gathered she had been stewing on this since he had left her at Nan Thomas's house. So, this made two things she was ashamed of, her sister's homosexuality and her uncle's past drug problem. Jeffrey wondered if there was anything in Lena's life other than her job that gave Lena pleasure.

"What?" Lena demanded.

"Nothing," Jeffrey said, standing. He took his suit coat off the peg behind his door and ushered Lena out of the office. "You got the list?"

She seemed irritated that he did not want to chastise her for her uncle's old drug habit.

She handed him a sheet of notebook paper. "This is what Nan and I came up with last night. It's a list of people who worked with Sibyl, who might have talked to her before she…" Lena did not finish the sentence.

Jeffrey glanced down. There were six names. One had a star drawn beside it. Lena seemed to anticipate his question.

She said, "Richard Carter is her GTA. Graduate teaching assistant. She had a nine o'clock class at the school. Other than Pete, he's probably the last person who saw her alive."

"That name sounds familiar for some reason," Jeffrey said, slipping on his coat. "He's the only student on the list?"

"Yes," Lena answered. "Plus, he's kind of weird."

"Meaning?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "I've never liked him."

Jeffrey held his tongue, thinking that Lena did not like a lot of people. That was hardly a good reason to look at someone for murder.

He said, "Let's start with Carter first, then we'll talk to the dean." At the entrance, he held the door open for her. "The mayor will have a heart attack if we don't go through the proper protocols with the professors. Students are fair game."

The Grant Institute of Technology's campus consisted of a student center, four classroom buildings, the administrative building, and an agricultural wing that had been donated by a very grateful seed manufacturer. Lush grounds surrounded the university on one side, with the lake backing up to the other. Student housing was within walking distance of all the buildings, and bicycles were the most common mode of campus transportation.

Jeffrey followed Lena to the third floor of the science classroom building. She had obviously met her sister's assistant before, because Richard Carter's face soured when he recognized Lena at the door. He was a short, balding man who wore heavy black glasses and an ill-fitting lab coat over a bright yellow dress shirt. He had that anal-retentive air about him that most of the college people had. The Grant Institute of Technology was a school for geeks, plain and simple. English classes were mandatory but not exactly difficult. The school was geared more toward turning out patents than socially evolved men and women. That was the biggest problem Jeffrey had with the school. Most of the professors and all of the students had their heads so far up their asses they couldn't see the world in front of them.

"Sibyl was a brilliant scientist," Richard said, leaning over a microscope. He mumbled something, then looked back up, directing his words to Lena. "She had an amazing memory."

"She had to," Lena said, taking out her notebook. Jeffrey wondered not for the first time if he should let Lena ride along with him. More than anything, he wanted her underfoot. After yesterday, he did not know if he could trust her to do what he told her to do. It was better to keep her close by and safe than let her go off on her own.

"Her work," Richard began. "I can't describe how meticulous she was, how exacting. It's very rare to see such a high standard of attention in this field anymore. She was my mentor."

"Right," Lena said.

Richard gave her a sour, disapproving look, asking, "When's the funeral?"

Lena seemed taken aback by the question. "She's being cremated," she said. "That's what she wanted."

Richard clasped his hands in front of his belly. The same disapproving look was on his face. It was almost condescending, but not quite. For just a moment, Jeffrey caught something behind his expression. Richard turned, though, and Jeffrey was not sure if he had been reading too much into things.

Lena began, "There's a wake, I guess you'd call it, tonight." She scribbled on her pad, then ripped the sheet off. "It's at Brock's Funeral Home on King Street at five."

Richard glanced down his nose at the paper before folding it neatly in two, then again, then tucking it into the pocket of his lab coat. He sniffed, using the back of his hand to wipe his nose. Jeffrey could not tell if he had a cold or was trying not to cry.

Lena asked, "So, was there anyone strange hanging around the lab or Sibyl's office?"

Richard shook his head. "Just the usual weirdos." He laughed, then stopped abruptly. "I guess that's not altogether appropriate."

"No," Lena said. "It's not."

Jeffrey cleared his throat, getting the young man's attention. "When was the last time you saw her, Richard?"

"After her morning class," he said. "She wasn't feeling well. I think I caught her cold." He took out a tissue as if to support this. "She was such a wonderful person. I really can't tell you how lucky I was that she took me under her wing."

"What did you do after she left school?" Jeffrey asked.

He shrugged. "Probably went to the library."

"Probably?" Jeffrey asked, not liking his casual tone.

Richard seemed to pick up on Jeffrey's irritation. "I was at the library," he amended. "Sibyl asked me to look up some references."

Lena took over, asking, "Was there anyone acting strange around her? Maybe dropping by more than usual?"

Richard shook his head side to side again, his lips pursed. "Not really. We're more than halfway through the term. Sibyl teaches upper level classes, so most of her students have been here for a couple of years at least."

"No new faces in the crowd?" Jeffrey asked.

Again Richard shook his head. He reminded Jeffrey of one of those bobbing dogs some people put on their dashboards.

Richard said, "We're a small community here. Somebody acting strange would stick out."

Jeffrey was about to ask another question when Kevin Blake, the dean of the college, walked into the room. He did not look happy.

"Chief Tolliver," Blake said. "I assume you're here about the missing student."

Julia Matthews was a twenty-three-year-old junior majoring in physical science. She had been missing for two days, according to her dorm mate.

Jeffrey walked around the young woman's dorm room. There were posters on the wall with encouraging statements about success and victory. On the bedside table was a photograph of the missing girl standing beside a man and a woman who were obviously her parents. Julia Matthews was an attractive girl in a plain, wholesome way. In the photograph, her dark hair was pulled into pigtails on either side of her head. She had a snaggled front tooth, but other than that, she looked like the perfect girl next door. As a matter of fact, she looked very much like Sibyl Adams.

"They're out of town," Jenny Price, the missing girls dorm mate, supplied. She stood in the doorway wringing her hands as she watched Jeffrey and Lena search the room.

She continued. "Its their twentieth wedding anniversary. They went on a cruise to the Bahamas."

"She's very pretty," Lena said, obviously trying to calm the girl. Jeffrey wondered if Lena noticed the similarity between Julia Matthews and her sister. They both had olive-colored skin and dark hair. They both looked to be about the same age, though Sibyl was in fact ten years older. Jeffrey felt uncomfortable and set the picture down as he realized that both women resembled Lena as well.

Lena turned her attention to Jenny, asking, "When did you first notice she was missing?"

"When I got back from class yesterday, I guess," Jenny answered. A slight redness came to her cheeks. "She's been gone overnight before, right?"

"Sure," Lena supplied.

"I thought maybe she was out with Ryan. That's her old boyfriend?" She paused. "They broke up about a month ago. I saw them at the library together a couple of days ago, around nine o'clock at night. That was the last time I saw her."

Lena picked up on the boyfriend, saying, "It's pretty stressful trying to have a relationship when you've got classes and work to do."

Jenny gave her a weak smile. "Yeah. Ryan's in the agricultural school. His workload isn't nearly as heavy as Julia's." She rolled her eyes. "As long as his plants don't die, he gets an A. Meanwhile we're studying all night, trying to get lab time."

"I remember what it was like," Lena said, though she had never been to college. The easy way lies came to her both alarmed and impressed Jeffrey. She was one of the best interviewers he had ever seen.

Jenny smiled and her shoulders relaxed. Lena's lie had done the trick. "You know how it is, then. It's hard to make time to breathe, let alone have a boyfriend."

Lena asked, "They broke up because she didn't have enough time for him?"

Jenny nodded. "He's her first boyfriend ever. Julia was really upset." She gave Jeffrey a nervous glance. "She really fell hard for him, you know? She was sick, like, with grief, when they broke up. She wouldn't even get out of bed."

Lena lowered her voice, as if to leave Jeffrey out. "I guess when you saw them in the library, they weren't exactly studying."

Jenny glanced at Jeffrey. "No." She laughed nervously.

Lena walked over, blocking his view of the girl. Jeffrey took the hint.

He turned his back to the two women, pretending to take an interest in the contents of Julia's desk.

Lena's voice dropped to a conversational tone. "What do you think about Ryan?"

"You mean, do I like him?"

"Yeah," Lena answered. "I mean, not like like him. I mean, does he seem like a nice guy?"

The girl was quiet for a while. Jeffrey picked up a science book and thumbed through the pages.

Finally, Jenny said, "Well, he was kind of selfish, you know? And he didn't like it when she couldn't see him."

"Kind of controlling?"

"Yeah, I guess," the girl answered. "She's from the sticks, okay? Ryan kind of takes advantage of that. Julia doesn't know a lot about the world. She thinks he does."

"Does he?"

"God, no." Jenny laughed. "I mean, he's not a bad guy-"

"Of course not."

"He's just…" She paused. "He doesn't like for her to talk to other people, okay? He's, like, scared that she'll see there are better guys out there. At least, that's what I think. Julia's kind of been sheltered all her life. She doesn't know to look out for guys like that." Again she paused. "He's not a bad guy, he's just needy, you know? He has to know where she's going, who she'll be with, when she'll be back. He doesn't like for her to have any time to herself at all."

Lena's voice was still low. "He never hit her, did he?"

"No, not like that." Again the girl was silent. Then, "He just yelled at her a lot. Sometimes when I would come back from study group, I would listen at the door, you know?"

"Yeah," Lena said. "To make sure."

"Right," Jenny agreed, a nervous giggle escaping. "Well, one time, I heard him in here and he was being so mean to her. Just saying nasty things."

"Nasty like what?"

"Like that she was bad," Jenny said. "Like that she was going to hell for being so bad."

Lena took her time asking the next question. "He's a religious guy?"

Jenny made a derisive sound. "When it's convenient. He knows that Julia is. She's really into church and all. I mean, she was back home. She doesn't go much here, but she's always talking about being in the choir and being a good Christian and that kind of thing."

"But Ryan's not religious?"

"Only when he thinks he can work her with something. Like he says he's real religious, but he's got all lands of body piercings, and he's always wearing black and he-" She stopped speaking.

Lena lowered her voice. "What?" she asked then, even lower. "I won't tell anybody."

Jenny whispered something, but Jeffrey couldn't make out what she was saying.

"Oh," Lena said as if she had heard it all. "Guys are so stupid."

Jenny laughed. "She believed him."

Lena chuckled with her, then asked, "What did Julia do that was so bad, do you think? I mean, to get Ryan upset at her like that?"

"Nothing," Jenny answered vehemently. "That's what I asked her later. She wouldn't tell me. She just lay in bed all day, not saying anything."

"This was around the time they broke up?"

"Yeah," Jenny confirmed. "Last month, like I said." There was worry in her voice when she asked, "You don't think he has anything to do with her being missing, do you?"

"No," Lena said. "I wouldn't worry about that."

Jeffrey turned around, asking, "What's Ryan's last name?"

"Gordon," the girl supplied. "Do you think Julia's in trouble?"

Jeffrey considered her question. He could tell her not to worry, but that might give the girl a false sense of security. He settled for, "I don't know, Jenny. We'll do everything we can to find her."

A quick visit to the registrar's office revealed that Ryan Gordon was study hall monitor this time of day. The agricultural wing was on the outskirts of the campus, and Jeffrey felt his anxiety build with every step they took across the campus. He sensed the tension coming from Lena as well. Two days had passed with no solid leads. They could very well be about to meet the man who had killed Sibyl Adams.

Granted, Jeffrey was not prepared to be Ryan Gordon's best friend, but there was something about the kid that set Jeffrey against him the minute they met. He had his eyebrow and both ears pierced as well as a ring hanging out from the septum in the middle of his nose. The ring looked black and crusty, more like something you would put in an ox rather than in a human nose. Jenny's description of Ryan Gordon had not been kind, but in retrospect, Jeffrey thought she had been generous. Ryan looked filthy. His face was an oily mix of acne and healing scabs. His hair looked like it had not been washed in days. His black jeans and shirt were rumpled. There was an odd odor coming off him.

Julia Matthews was, by all accounts, a very attractive young woman. How someone like Ryan Gordon had managed to snag her was a mystery to Jeffrey. This said a lot about the type of kid Gordon was, if he could manage to control someone who could quite clearly do a hell of a lot better than him.

Jeffrey noticed the kind part of Lena that had earlier worked Jenny Price was long gone by the time they reached the study hall classroom. She walked purposefully into the room, ignoring the curious glances coming from the other students, mostly male, as she made a beeline for the kid sitting behind the desk in front of the class.

"Ryan Gordon?" she asked, leaning over the desk. Her jacket pulled back, and Jeffrey saw the kid's eyes gave her gun a sharp glance. His lips stayed pressed into a tight, surly line, though, and when he answered, Jeffrey felt the urge to smack him.

Gordon said, "What's it to you, bitch?"

Jeffrey grabbed the kid up by his collar and duckwalked him out of the room. Even as he did this, Jeffrey was certain there would be an angry message from the mayor before he got back to the office.

Outside the study room, he pushed Gordon into the wall. Jeffrey took out his handkerchief, wiping the grease off his hand. "They got showers in your dorm?" he asked.

Gordon's voice was just as whiny as Jeffrey had expected. "This is police brutality."

To Jeffreys surprise, Lena gave Gordon an open-palmed slap.

Gordon rubbed his cheek, his mouth turned down at the corners. He seemed to size Lena up. Jeffrey found the look he gave her almost comical. Ryan Gordon was thin as a rail, about Lena's height if not her weight. She had attitude on him in spades. Jeffrey had no doubt that Lena would rip his throat open with her bare teeth if Gordon tried to push her.

Gordon seemed to understand this. He took on a passive posture, his voice a nasally whine, perhaps from the ring in his nose, which bobbed when he spoke. "What do you want from me, man?"

He held his arms up defensively as Lena's hand reached out to his chest.

She said, "Put your hands down, you pussy." She reached down into his shirt and pulled up the cross hanging on a chain around his neck.

"Nice necklace," she said.

Jeffrey asked, "Where were you Monday afternoon?"

Gordon looked from Lena to Jeffrey. "What?"

"Where were you Monday afternoon?" Jeffrey repeated.

"I don't know, man," he whined. "Sleeping, probably." He sniffed, rubbing his nose. Jeffrey fought the urge to cringe as the ring in his nose moved back and forth.

"Up against the wall," Lena ordered, pushing him around. Gordon started to protest, but a look from Lena stopped him. He spread his arms and legs out, assuming the position.

Lena patted him down, asking, "I'm not going to find any needles, am I? Nothing that would hurt me?"

Gordon groaned, "No," as she reached into his front pocket.

Lena smiled, pulling out a bag of white powder. "This isn't sugar, is it?" she asked Jeffrey.

He took the bag, surprised that she had found it. This would certainly explain Gordon's appearance. Drug addicts weren't the most conscientious groomers in the world. For the first time that morning, Jeffrey was glad to have Lena around. He would never have thought to frisk the boy.

Gordon glanced over his shoulder, looking at the bag. "These aren't my pants."

"Right," Lena snapped. Spinning Gordon around, she asked, "When was the last time you saw Julia Matthews?"

Gordon's face registered his thoughts. He obviously knew where this was leading. The powder was the least of his problems. "We broke up a month ago."

"That doesn't answer the question," Lena said. She repeated, "When was the last time you saw Julia Matthews?"

Gordon crossed his arms in front of his chest. Jeffrey realized instantly that he had mishandled this whole thing. Nerves and excitement had gotten the better of him. In his mind, Jeffrey said the words that Gordon spoke aloud.

"I want to talk to a lawyer."

Jeffrey propped his feet on the table in front of his chair. They were in the interview room, waiting for Ryan Gordon to be processed. Unfortunately, Gordon had kept his mouth closed tighter than a steel trap from the minute Lena read him his rights. Luckily, Gordons roommate at the dorms had been more than happy to allow a search. This had yielded nothing more suspicious than a pack of rolling papers and a mirror with a razor blade lying on top of it. Jeffrey wasn't sure, but judging from the roommate, the drug paraphernalia could have belonged to either boy. A search of the lab where Gordon worked did not add any additional clues to the pot. The best-case scenario was Julia Matthews had realized what an asshole her boyfriend was and split.

"We fucked up," Jeffrey said, resting his hand on a copy of the Grant County Observer.

Lena nodded. "Yeah."

He took a deep breath and let it go. "I suppose a kid like that would've lawyered up anyway."

"I don't know," Lena answered. "Maybe he watches too much TV."

Jeffrey should have expected this. Any idiot with a television knew to ask for a lawyer when the cops showed up at your door.

"I could have been a little softer," she countered. "Obviously, if he's our guy, he wouldn't exactly be happy to have a woman pushing him around." She gave a humorless laugh. "Especially me, looking just like her."

"Maybe that'll work some in our favor," he offered. "What about I leave you two alone here while we wait for Buddy Conford?"

"He got Buddy?" Lena asked, her tone indicating her displeasure. There were a handful of lawyers in Grant who took on public defender work for a reduced fee. Of them all, Buddy Conford was the most tenacious.

"He's on the rotation this month," Jeffrey said. "You think Gordon's stupid enough to talk?"

"He's never been arrested before. He doesn't strike me as particularly savvy."

Jeffrey was silent, waiting for her to continue.

"He's probably pretty pissed at me for slapping him," she said, and he could see her working out an approach in her mind. "Why don't you help me set it up? Tell me not to talk to him."

Jeffrey nodded. "It might work."

"Couldn't hurt."

Jeffrey was silent, staring at the table. Finally he tapped his finger on the front page of the paper. A picture of Sibyl Adams took up most of the space above the fold. "I guess you saw this?"

She nodded, not looking at the photo.

Jeffrey turned the paper over. "It doesn't say she was raped, but they hint at it. I told them she was beaten, but she wasn't."

"I know," she mumbled. "I read it."

"Frank and the guys," Jeffrey began, "they haven't found anything solid from the known offender list. There were a couple Frank wanted to look at seriously, but nothing panned out. They both had alibis."

Lena stared at her hands.

Jeffrey said, "You can leave after this. I know you probably need to get some things together for tonight."

Her acquiescence surprised him. "Thank you."

A knock came at the door, then Brad Stephens poked his head in. "I've got your guy out here."

Jeffrey stood, saving, "Bring him in."

Ryan Gordon looked even more puny in the orange jailhouse jumper than he had in his black jeans and shirt. His feet shuffled in the matching orange slippers, and his hair was still wet from the hosing down Jeffrey had ordered. Gordons hands were cuffed behind his back, and Brad handed Jeffrey the key before leaving.

"Where's my lawyer?" Gordon demanded.

"He should be here in about fifteen minutes," Jeffrey answered, pushing the kid down into a chair. He unlocked the handcuffs, but before Gordon could move his arms he had cuffed him back through the rungs of the chair.

"That's too tight," Gordon whined, pushing his chest out to exaggerate his discomfort. He pulled at the chair, but his hands stayed tight behind him.

"Live with it," Jeffrey muttered, then said to Lena, "I'm going to leave you in here with him. Don't let him say anything off-the-record, do you hear me?"

Lena cast her eyes down. "Yes, sir."

"I mean it, Detective." He gave her what he hoped was a stern look, then walked out of the room. Jeffrey took the next door down, entering the observation room. He stood with his arms crossed, watching Gordon and Lena through the one-way glass.

The interview room was relatively small with painted cement blocks for walls. A table was bolted to the center of the floor with three chairs spread around it. Two on one side, one on the other. Jeffrey watched Lena pick up the newspaper. She propped her feet up on the table, leaning the chair back a little as she opened the Grant County Observer to an inside page. Jeffrey heard the speaker next to him crackle as she folded the paper along the seam.

Gordon said, "I want some water."

"Don't talk," Lena ordered, her voice so low Jeffrey had to turn up the speaker on the wall to hear her.

"Why? You gonna get in trouble?"

Lena kept her nose in the paper.

"You should get in trouble," Gordon said, leaning over as much as he could in the chair. "I'm gonna tell my lawyer you slapped me."

Lena snorted a laugh. "What do you weigh, one fifty? You're about five six?" She put the paper down, giving him a soft, innocent expression. Her voice was high-pitched and girlish. "I would never hit a suspect in custody, Your Honor. He's so big and strong, I'd be afraid for my life."

Gordon's eyes narrowed to slits. "You think you're pretty funny."

"Yeah," Lena said, returning to the paper. "I really do."

Gordon took a minute or two to refigure his approach. He pointed to the newspaper. "You're that dyke's sister."

Lena's voice was still light, though Jeffrey knew she must have wanted to climb over the table and kill him. She said, "That's right."

"She got killed," he said. "Everybody on campus knew she was a dyke."

"She certainly was."

Gordon licked his lips. "Fucking dyke."

"Yep." Lena turned the page, looking as if she was bored.

"Dyke," he repeated. "Fucking clit licker." He paused, waiting for a reaction, obviously irritated that there was none. He said, "Gash grinder."

Lena gave a bored sigh. "Bushwhacker, eats at the Y, dials O on her friend's little pink telephone." She paused, looking at him over the paper, asking, "Leaving any out?"

While Jeffrey felt an appreciation for Lena's technique, he said a small prayer of thanks that she had not chosen a life of crime.

Gordon said, "That's what you've got me in here for, right? You think I raped her?"

Lena kept the paper up, but Jeffrey knew her heartbeat was probably going as fast as his. Gordon could be guessing, or he could be looking for a way to confess.

Lena asked, "Did you rape her?"

"Maybe," Gordon said. He started rocking the chair back and forth, like a little boy craving attention. "Maybe I fucked her. You wanna know about it?"

"Sure," Lena said. She put the paper down, crossing her arms. "Why don't you tell me all about it?"

Gordon leaned toward her. "She was in the bathroom, right?"

"You tell me."

"She was washing her hands, and I went in and fucked her up the ass. She liked it so much she died on the spot."

Lena gave a heavy sigh. "That's the best you can do?"

He seemed insulted. "No."

"Why don't you tell me what you did to Julia Matthews?"

He sat back in the chair, leaning on his hands. "I didn't do anything to her."

"Where is she then?"

He shrugged. "Probably dead."

"Why do you say that?"

He leaned forward, his chest pressed into the table. "She's tried to kill herself before."

Lena did not skip a beat. "Yeah, I know. Slit her wrists."

"That's right." Gordon nodded, though Jeffrey could see the surprise in his face. Jeffrey was surprised, too, though it made perfect sense. Women were far more likely to choose slitting their wrists over the many other methods of suicide. Lena had made a calculated guess.

Lena summarized, "She slit her wrists last month."

He cocked his head, giving her a strange look. "How'd you know that?"

Lena sighed again, picking the paper back up. She opened it with a snap, then started to read.

Gordon started rocking his chair back and forth again.

Lena did not look up from the paper. "Where is she, Ryan?"

"I don't know."

"Did you rape her?"

"I didn't have to rape her. She was a damn lapdog."

"You let her go down on you?"

"That's right."

"That the only way you could get it up, Ryan?"

"Shit." He dropped the chair. "You're not supposed to be talking to me anyway."

"Why?"

" 'Cause this is off-the-record. I can say anything I want and it doesn't matter."

"What do you want to say?"

His lips twitched. He leaned over farther. From Jeffrey's perspective, he thought that with Gordon's hands cuffed behind him, the kid almost looked hog-tied.

Gordon whispered, "Maybe I want to talk about your sister some more."

Lena ignored him.

"Maybe I wanna talk about how I beat her to death."

"You don't look like the type of guy who knows how to use a hammer."

He seemed taken aback by this. "I am," he assured her. "I beat her in the head, then I fucked her with the hammer."

Lena folded the paper to a new page. "Where'd you leave the hammer?"

He looked smug. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"What was Julia up to, Ryan?" Lena asked casually. "She screwing around on you? Maybe she found a real man."

"Fuck that, bitch," Gordon snapped. "I am a real man."

"Right."

"Take off these cuffs and I'll show you."

"I bet you will," Lena said, her tone indicating she was not in the least bit threatened. "Why did she run around on you?"

"She didn't," he said. "That bitch Jenny Price tell you that? She doesn't know anything about it."

"About how Julia wanted to leave you? About how you followed her around all the time, wouldn't leave her alone?"

"Is that what this is about?" Gordon asked. "That why you got me freaking chained up?"

"We've got you chained up for the coke in your pocket."

He snorted. "It wasn't mine."

"Not your pants, right?"

He slammed his chest into the table, his face a mask of anger. "Listen, bitch-"

Lena stood in front of him, leaning over the table, her face in his. "Where is she?"

Spit came from his mouth. "Fuck you."

In one quick motion, Lena grabbed the ring hanging down from his nose.

"Ow, shit," Gordon screamed as he leaned over, his chest slamming into the table, his arms sticking up behind his back. "Help!" he screamed. The glass in front of Jeffrey shook from the noise.

Lena whispered, "Where is she?"

"I saw her a couple of days ago," he managed through gritted teeth. "Jesus, please let go."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know," he yelled. "Please, I don't know! You're gonna pull it out."

Lena released the ring, wiping her hand on her pants. "You stupid little twit."

Ryan wiggled his nose, probably making sure it was still there. "You hurt me," he whined. "That hurt."

"You want me to hurt you some more?" Lena offered, resting her hand on her gun.

Gordon tucked his head into his chest, mumbling, "She tried to kill herself because I left her. She loved me that much."

"I think she didn't have a clue," Lena countered. "I think she was pretty much fresh off the truck and you took advantage of her." She stood up, leaning halfway over the table. "What's more, I don't think you have the balls to kill a fly, let alone a living person, and if I ever"-Lena slammed her hands into the table, her anger bursting like a grenade-"if I ever hear you say anything else about my sister, Ryan, anything at all, I will kill you. Trust me on this, I know I have it in me. I don't doubt that for a second."

Gordon's mouth moved wordlessly.

Jeffrey was so engrossed in the interview that he didn't notice the knock at the door.

"Jeffrey?" Maria said, poking her head into the observation room. "We got a situation at Will Harris's place."

"Will Harris?" Jeffrey asked, thinking that was the last name he had expected to hear today. "What happened?"

Maria stepped into the room, lowering her voice. "Somebody threw a rock in the front window of his house."

Frank Wallace and Matt Hogan were standing on Will Harris's front lawn when Jeffrey pulled up. He wondered how long they had been there. Wondered, too, if they knew who had done this. Matt Hogan did not have qualms about hiding his prejudices. Frank, on the other hand, Jeffrey was not sure about. What he did know was Frank had been in on the interview of Pete Wayne yesterday. Jeffrey felt his tension build as he parked the car. He did not like being in a position where he could not trust his own men.

"What the hell happened?" Jeffrey asked, getting out of the car. "Who did this?"

Frank said, "He got home about half an hour ago. Said he was working at old Miss Betty's house, aerating her yard. Came home and saw this."

"It was a rock?"

"Brick, actually," Frank said. "Same kind you see everywhere. Had a note around it."

"What'd it say?"

Frank looked down at the ground, then back up. "Will's got it."

Jeffrey looked at the picture window, which had a large hole in it. The two windows on either side were untouched, but the glass in the center would cost a small fortune to replace. "Where is he?" Jeffrey asked.

Matt nodded toward the front door. He had the same smug look Jeffrey had seen on Ryan Gordon a few minutes ago.

Matt said, "In the house."

Jeffrey started toward the door, then stopped himself. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty. "Go buy some plywood," he said. "Bring it back here as soon as possible."

Matt's jaw set, but Jeffrey leveled him with a hard stare. "You got something you want to say to me, Matt?"

Frank interjected, "We'll see if we can get some glass on order while we're there."

"Yeah," Matt grumbled, walking toward the car.

Frank started to follow, but Jeffrey stopped him. He asked, "You got any idea who might have done this?"

Frank stared down at his feet for a few seconds. "Matt was with me all morning, if that's what you're getting at."

"It was."

Frank looked back up. "I'll tell you what, Chief, I find out who did, I'll take care of it."

He did not wait around for Jeffrey's opinion on this. He turned, walking back toward Matt's car. Jeffrey waited for them to drive off before walking up the drive to Will Harris's house.

Jeffrey gave the screen door a gentle knock before letting himself in. Will Harris was sitting in his chair, a glass of iced tea beside him. He stood when Jeffrey entered the room.

"I didn't mean to bring you out here," Will said. "I was just reporting it. My neighbor got me kind of scared."

"Which one?" Jeffrey asked.

"Mrs. Barr across the way." He pointed out the window. "She's an older woman, scares real easy. She said she didn't see anything. Your people already asked her." He walked back to his chair and picked up a piece of white paper, which he offered to Jeffrey. "I got kind of scared, too, when I saw this."

Jeffrey took the paper, tasting bile in the back of his throat as he read the threatening words typed onto the white sheet of paper. The note said: "Watch your back, nigger."

Jeffrey folded the paper, tucking it into his pocket. He put his hands on his hips, looking around the room. "Nice place you got here."

"Thank you," Will returned.

Jeffrey turned toward the front windows. He did not have a good feeling about this. Will Harris's life was in danger simply because Jeffrey had talked to him the other day. He asked, "You mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?"

Will seemed surprised. "You think that's necessary?"

Jeffrey shrugged. "Better safe than sorry, don't you think?"

Chapter Twelve

LENA sat at the kitchen table in her house, staring at the salt and pepper shakers. She tried to get her head around what had happened today. She was certain that Ryan Gordons only crime was being an asshole. If Julia Matthews was smart, she had headed back home or was lying low for a while, probably trying to get away from her boyfriend. This left the reason Jeffrey and Lena had gone to the college wide open. There were still no suspects for her sister's murder.

With each minute that passed, with each hour that went by with no solid lead toward finding the man who had killed her sister, Lena felt herself getting more and more angry. Sibyl had always warned Lena that anger was a dangerous thing, that she should allow other emotions to come through. Right now, Lena could not imagine herself ever being happy again, or even sad. She was numbed by the loss, and anger was the only thing that made her feel like she was still alive. She was embracing her anger, letting it grow inside of her like a cancer, so that she would not break down into a powerless child. She needed her anger to get her through this. After Sibyl's killer was caught, after Julia Matthews was found, Lena would let herself grieve.

"Sibby." Lena sighed, putting her hands over her eyes. Even during the interview with Gordon, images of Sibyl had started to seep into Lena 's mind. The harder she fought them off, the stronger they were.

They came in flashes, these memories. One minute, she was sitting across from Gordon, listening to his pathetic posturing, the next she was twelve years old, at the beach, leading Sibyl down to the ocean so they could play in the water. Early on after the accident that had blinded Sibyl, Lena had become her sister's eyes; through Lena, Sibyl was sighted again. To this day, Lena thought this trick was what made her a good detective. She paid attention to detail. She listened to her gut instinct. Right now, her gut was telling her any more time focusing on Gordon was wasted.

"Hey there," Hank said, taking a Coke out of the refrigerator. He held up a bottle for Lena, but she shook her head.

Lena asked, "Where did those come from?"

"I went to the store," he said. "How'd it go today?"

Lena didn't answer his question. "Why did you go to the store?"

"You didn't have anything to eat," he said. "I'm surprised you haven't wasted away."

"I don't need you to go to the store for me," Lena countered. "When are you going back to Reece?"

He seemed pained by her question. "In a couple of days, I guess. I can stay with Nan if you don't want me here."

"You can stay here."

"It's no trouble, Lee. She's already offered her sofa."

"You don't need to stay with her," Lena snapped. "Okay? Just drop it. If it's only a few days, that's fine."

"I could stay in a hotel."

"Hank," Lena said, aware her voice was louder than it needed to be. "Just drop it, okay? I've had a really hard day."

Hank fiddled with his bottle of Coke. "Wanna talk about it?"

Lena bit back the "Not with you" that was on the tip of her tongue. "No," she said.

He took a swig of Coke, staring somewhere over her shoulder.

"There are no leads," Lena said. "Other than the list." Hank look puzzled, and she explained, "We've got this list of everybody who moved to Grant in the last six years who's a sexual predator."

"They keep a list of that?"

"Thank God they do," Lena said, heading off any civil liberties arguments he wanted to start. As an ex-addict, Hank tended to side with personal privacy over common sense. Lena was in no mood for a discussion about how ex-cons had paid their dues.

"So," Hank said, "you've got this list?"

"We've all got lists," Lena clarified. "We're knocking on doors, trying to see if anybody matches up."

"To?"

She stared at him, trying to decide whether or not to go on. "Someone with a violent sexual assault in their background. Someone who's white, between the ages of twenty-eight and thirty-five. Someone who thinks of himself as a religious person. Someone who might have seen Sibyl around. Whoever attacked her knew her routines, so this person had to be someone who knew her by sight or in passing."

"That sounds like a pretty narrow margin."

"There are nearly a hundred people on the list."

He gave a low whistle. "In Grant?" He shook his head side to side, not quite buying this.

"That's just the last six years, Hank. I guess if we go through these without finding anyone, we'll go back even further. Maybe ten or fifteen years."

Hank pushed his hair back off his forehead, giving Lena a good look at his forearms. She pointed to his bare arms. "I want you to keep your coat on tonight."

Hank looked down at the old track marks. "If you want me to, okay."

"Cops will be there. Friends of mine. People I work with. They see those tracks and they're gonna know."

He looked down at his arms. "I don't think you'd have to be a cop to know what these are."

"Don't embarrass me, Hank. It's bad enough I had to tell my boss you're a junkie."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Yeah, well," Lena said, not knowing what else to offer. She was tempted to look him over, to pick at him until he exploded and she got a good fight out of him.

Instead, she turned in her chair, looking away from him. "I'm not in the mood for a heart-to-heart."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Hank said, but he did not get up. "We need to talk about what to do with your sister's ashes."

Lena held her hand up to stop him. "I can't do that right now."

"I've been talking to Nan -"

She interrupted him. "I don't care what Nan has to say about this."

"She was her lover, Lee. They had a life together."

"So did we," Lena snapped. "She was my sister, Hank. For God's sake, I'm not going to let Nan Thomas have her."

" Nan seems like a real nice person."

"I'm sure she is."

Hank fiddled with the bottle. "We can't leave her out of this just because you're uncomfortable with it, Lee." He paused, then, "They were in love with each other. I don't know why you have a problem accepting that."

"Accepting it?" Lena laughed. "How could I not accept it? They lived together. They took vacations together." She remembered Gordon's earlier comment. "Evidently the whole fucking college knew about it," she said. "It's not like I had a choice."

Hank sat back with a sigh. "I don't know, baby. Were you jealous of her?"

Lena cocked her head. "Of who?"

" Nan."

She laughed. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say." She added, "And we both know I've heard you say some really stupid shit."

Hank shrugged. "You had Sibby to yourself for a long time. I can see where her meeting somebody, getting involved with someone, might make it difficult for her to be there for you."

Lena felt her mouth open in shock. The fight she was hoping for seconds ago was now blowing up in her face. "You think I was jealous of Nan Thomas because she was fucking my sister?"

He flinched at her words. "You think that's all they were about?"

"I don't know what they were about, Hank," Lena said. "We didn't talk about that part of her life, okay?"

"I know that."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

He did not answer. "You're not the only one who lost her."

"When did you hear me say that I was?" Lena snapped, standing.

"It just seems that way," Hank said. "Listen, Lee, maybe you need to talk to somebody about this."

"I'm talking to you about it right now."

"Not me." Hank frowned. "What about that boy you were seeing? Is he still around?"

She laughed. "Greg and I split up a year ago, and even if we hadn't, I don't think I'd be crying on his shoulder."

"I didn't say you would be."

"Good."

"I know you better than that."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me," she snapped. Lena left the room, her fists clenching as she took the steps upstairs two at a time, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Her closet was filled mostly with suits and slacks, but Lena found a black dress tucked in the back. She pulled out the ironing board, stepping back, but not in time to miss the iron slipping off the shelf and smashing into her toe.

"Damnit," Lena hissed, grabbing her foot. She sat down on the bed, rubbing her toes. This was Hank's fault, getting her worked up this way. He was always doing this kind of thing, always pushing his damn AA philosophies about closure and sharing onto Lena. If he wanted to live his life that way, if he needed to live his life that way so that he did not end up shooting himself full of dope or drinking himself to death, that was fine, but he had no right to try to push that onto Lena.

As for his armchair diagnosis of Lena being jealous of Nan, that was just ridiculous. Her entire life, Lena had worked to help Sibyl become independent. It was Lena who had read reports aloud so that Sibyl did not have to wait for Braille translations. It was Lena who listened to Sibyl practice her oral exams and Lena who helped Sibyl with experiments. All that had been for Sibyl, to help her go out on her own, to get a job, to make a life for herself.

Lena opened the ironing board and placed the dress on it. She smoothed the material, remembering the last time she had worn this dress. Sibyl had asked Lena to take her to a faculty party at the college. Lena was surprised but had agreed to go. There was a clear line between college people and town folks, and she had felt uncomfortable in that crowd, surrounded by people who had completed not only college but also gone on to get higher degrees. Lena was not a country bumpkin, but she remembered feeling like she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Sibyl, on the other hand, had been in her element. Lena could remember seeing her at the center of a crowd, talking to a group of professors who seemed to be really interested in what she was saying. No one was staring at her the way people did when the girls were growing up. No one was making fun of her or making snide comments about the fact that she could not see. For the first time in her life, Lena had realized that Sibyl did not need her.

Nan Thomas had nothing to do with this revelation. Hank was wrong about that. Sibyl had been independent from day one. She knew how to take care of herself. She knew how to get around. She may have been blind, but in some ways she was sighted. In some ways, Sibyl could read people better than someone who could see because she listened to what they were saying. She heard the change of cadence in their voices when they were lying or the tremor when they were upset. She had understood Lena like no one else in her life.

Hank knocked at the door. "Lee?"

Lena wiped her nose, realizing that she had been crying. She did not open the door. "What?"

His voice was muffled, but she could hear him loud and clear. He said, "I'm sorry I said that, honey."

Lena took a deep breath, then let it go. "It's okay."

"I'm just worried about you."

"I'm okay," Lena said, turning on the iron. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to go."

She watched the door, saw the doorknob turn slightly, then turn back as it was released. She heard his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

The Brock Funeral Home was packed to the gills with Sibyl's friends and colleagues. After ten minutes of shaking hands and accepting condolences from people she had never met in her life, Lena had a tight knot developing in her stomach. She felt like she might explode from standing still for too long. She did not want to be here, sharing her grief with strangers. The room seemed to be closing in on her, and though the air-conditioning was low enough to keep some people in their coats, Lena was sweating.

"Hey," Frank said, cupping her elbow in his hand.

Lena was surprised at the gesture but did not pull away. She felt overwhelmed with relief to talk to someone familiar.

"You hear what happened?" Frank asked, shooting Hank a sideways look. Lena felt a blush of embarrassment at the look, knowing that Frank had pegged her uncle for a punk. Cops could smell it from a mile away.

"No," Lena said, escorting Frank to the side of the room.

"Will Harris," he began in a low tone. "Somebody threw a rock through his front window."

"Why?" Lena asked, already guessing the answer.

Frank shrugged. "I don't know." He looked over his shoulder. "I mean, Matt." Again the shrug came. "He was with me all day. I don't know."

Lena pulled him into the hallway so they would not have to whisper. "You think Matt did something?"

"Matt or Pete Wayne," he said. "I mean, they're the only two I can think of."

"Maybe somebody in the lodge?"

Frank bristled, like she knew he would. She might as well have accused the pope of fiddling with a ten-year-old.

Lena asked, "What about Brad?"

Frank gave her a look.

"Yeah," Lena said. "I know what you mean." She could not say without a shadow of a doubt that Brad Stephens might not like Will Harris, but she knew that Brad would cut off his own arm before he broke the law. Once Brad had backtracked three miles just to pick up some trash that had accidentally blown out of his car window.

"I was thinking of talking to Pete later on," Frank said.

Without thinking, Lena checked the time. It was a little after five-thirty. Pete would probably be home.

"Can we take your car?" she asked, thinking she could leave hers for Hank to take home.

Frank looked back into the parlor. "You wanna leave your sister's wake?" he asked, not hiding his shock.

Lena stared at the floor, knowing she should feel ashamed at the very least. The fact was, she had to get out of this room with these strangers before grief took hold and she became too paralyzed to do anything but sit in her room crying.

Frank said, "Meet me around the side in ten minutes."

Lena walked back into the room, looking for Hank. He was standing by Nan Thomas, his arm around her shoulder. She felt herself bristle, seeing them together like that. He certainly had no problem comforting a complete stranger, no matter that his own flesh and blood was not ten feet away from him, alone.

Lena went back into the hallway to get her coat. She was slipping it on when she felt someone helping her. She was surprised to see Richard Carter behind her.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, his tone hushed, "that I'm sorry about your sister."

"Thanks," she managed. "I appreciate that."

"Have you found anything about that other girl?"

"Matthews?" she asked before she could catch herself. Lena had grown up in a small town, but she was still amazed at how quickly word got around.

"That Gordon," Richard said, giving a dramatic shudder. "He's not a very nice boy."

"Yeah," Lena mumbled, trying to move him along. "Listen, thanks for coming tonight."

His smile was slight. He realized she was moving him along, but obviously he did not want to make it easy for her. He said, "I really enjoyed working with your sister. She was very good to me."

Lena shifted from one foot to another, not wanting to give him the impression that she was looking for a long conversation. She knew Frank well enough to know he wouldn't wait for very long.

"She enjoyed working with you, too, Richard," Lena offered.

"Did she say that?" he asked, obviously pleased. "I mean, I know she respected my work, but did she say that?"

"Yes," Lena said. "All the time." She picked out Hank in the crowd. He still had his arm around Nan. She pointed them out to Richard. "Ask my uncle. He was just talking about it the other day."

"Really?" Richard said, putting his hands up to his mouth.

"Yes," Lena answered, taking her car keys out of her coat pocket. "Listen, can you give these to my uncle?"

He stared at the keys without taking them. This was one of the reasons Sibyl had gotten along so well with Richard, she wasn't able to see the condescending looks he gave. In fact, Sibyl seemed to have the patience of Job where Richard Carter was concerned. Lena knew for a fact that Sibyl had helped him get out of academic probation on more than one occasion.

"Richard?" she asked, dangling the keys.

"Sure," he finally said, holding out his hand.

Lena dropped the keys onto his palm. She waited until he had taken a few steps away, then scooted out the side door. Frank was waiting in his car, the lights out.

"Sorry I'm late," Lena said, getting in. She wrinkled her nose when she smelled smoke. Technically, Frank was not allowed to smoke around her when they were on the job, but she kept her mouth shut since he was doing her a favor letting her ride along.

"Those college people," Frank said. He took a drag on the cigarette, then chucked it out the window. "Sorry," he offered.

"It's okay," Lena said. She felt odd being dressed up and in Frank's car. For some reason, she was reminded of her first date. Lena was strictly a jeans and T-shirt girl, so putting on a dress was a big deal. She felt awkward wearing heels and hose, and never knew how to sit or where to put her hands. She missed her holster.

"About your sister," Frank began.

Lena let him off the hook. "Yeah, thanks," she said.

Night had fallen while Lena was in the funeral home, and the farther away from town they got, the farther away from streetlights and people, the darker it got in the car.

"This thing at old Will's house," Frank began, breaking the silence. "I don't know about that, Lena."

"You think Pete had a hand in it?"

"I don't know," Frank repeated. "Will worked for his daddy, maybe twenty years before Pete came along. That's something you shouldn't forget." He reached for a cigarette, then stopped himself. "I just don't know."

Lena waited, but there was nothing more. She kept her hands in her lap, staring ahead as Frank drove out of town. They crossed the city line and were well into Madison before Frank slowed his car, taking a hard right onto a dead-end street.

Pete Wayne's brick ranch house was modest, much like the man. His car, a 1996 Dodge with red tape where the taillights used to be, was parked in the driveway at an angle.

Frank pulled the car up to the curb and cut the headlights. He gave a nervous laugh. "You all dressed up like that, I feel like I should get your door for you."

"Don't you dare," Lena countered, grabbing the handle in case he was serious.

"Hold on," Frank said, putting his hand on Lena's arm. She thought he was pushing the joke, but something about his tone made her look up. Pete was coming out of his house, a baseball bat in his hand.

Frank said, "Stay here."

"The hell I will," Lena said, opening her door before he could stop her. The dome light came on in the car, and Pete Wayne looked up.

Frank said, "Good going, kid."

Lena bit back her anger over the nickname. She walked up the driveway behind Frank, feeling stupid in the high heels and long dress.

Pete watched them coming, keeping the bat at his side. "Frank?" he asked. "What's up?"

"Mind if we come in for a second?" Frank asked, adding, "Brother."

Pete gave a nervous sideways look to Lena. She knew these lodge people had their own special code of language. What exactly Frank meant by calling Pete his brother, she had no idea. For all she knew, Frank was telling Pete to hit Lena with the bat.

Pete said, "I was just going out."

"I see that," Frank said, eyeing the bat. "Little late for practice, ain't it?"

Pete handled the bat nervously. "I was just putting it into the van. Got a little nervous about what happened at the diner," he said. "Thought I'd keep it behind the bar."

"Let's go inside," Frank said, not giving Pete a chance to respond. He walked up the front steps and stood at the front door, waiting for Pete to catch up, hovering over the other man as he fumbled with his keys in the lock.

Lena followed them. By the time they reached the kitchen, Pete was noticeably on guard. His hand was wrapped so tightly around the bat that his knuckles had turned white.

"What's the problem here?" Pete asked, directing his question toward Frank.

"Will Harris had a problem this afternoon," Frank said. "Somebody threw a rock into his front window."

"That's too bad," Pete answered, his voice flat.

"I gotta say, Pete," Frank said, "I think you did it."

Pete laughed uncomfortably. "You think I got time to run down and toss a brick through that boy's window? I've got a business to run. I don't have time to take a crap most days, let alone take a trip."

Lena said, "What makes you think it was a brick?"

Pete swallowed hard. "Just a guess."

Frank grabbed the bat out of his hand. "Will's worked for your family for nearly fifty years."

"I know that," Pete said, taking a step back.

"There were times when your daddy had to pay him with food instead of money because he couldn't afford help otherwise." Frank weighted the bat in his hand. "You remember that, Pete? You remember when the base closed and y'all almost went under?"

Pete's face flushed. " 'Course I remember that."

"Let me tell you something, boy," Frank said, putting the tip of the bat squarely against Pete's chest. "You listen to me good when I tell you this. Will Harris didn't touch that girl."

"You know that for a fact?" Pete countered.

Lena put her hand on the bat, bringing it down. She stepped in front of Pete, looking him in the eye. She said, "I do."

Pete broke eye contact first. His eyes went to the floor, and his posture took on a nervous stance. He shook his head, letting out a heavy breath. When he looked up, it was Frank he spoke to. "We've gotta talk."

Chapter Thirteen

EDDIE Linton had purchased acreage around the lake when he first started making money from his plumbing business. He also owned six houses near the college that he rented out to students, as well as an apartment complex over in Madison that he was always threatening to sell. When Sara moved back to Grant from Atlanta, she had refused to live in her parents' house. Something about moving back home, living in her old room, smacked of defeat to Sara, and at the time she was feeling beaten down enough without the constant reminder that she did not even have a space of her own.

She had rented one of her fathers houses her first year back, then started working weekends at the hospital in Augusta in order to save up a down payment for her own place. She had fallen in love with her house the first time the realtor showed her through. Built in a shotgun style, the house's front door lined up directly with the back door. Off to the sides of the long hallway were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small den on the right, with the living room, dining room, another bathroom and kitchen on the left. Of course, she would have bought the house if it had been a shack, because the view to the lake was phenomenal from the deck off the back. Her bedroom took full advantage of this, a large picture window flanked by three windows that opened out on either side.

On days like today, she could see clear across, nearly to the university. Some days, when the weather was right, Sara took her boat into the school dock and walked to work.

Sara opened the window in her bedroom so she could hear Jeb's boat when he got to the dock. Last night had seen another soft rain, and a cool breeze was coming off the lake. She studied her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door. She had chosen a wraparound skirt with a small floral print and a tight black Lycra shirt that fell just below her navel. Already, she had put her hair up, then let it back down. She was in the process of pinning it back up when she heard a boat at the dock. She slipped on her sandals and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine before walking out the back door.

"Ahoy," Jeb said, tossing her a rope. He tucked his hands into his orange life vest, affecting what Sara supposed he thought was a jaunty sailor look.

"Ahoy yourself," Sara answered, kneeling by the bollard. She put the wine and glasses down on the dock as she tied off the line. "Still haven't learned to swim, have you?"

"Both my parents were terrified of the water," he explained. "They never got around to it. And it's not like I grew up near water."

"Good point," she said. Having grown up on a lake, swimming came second nature to Sara. She could not imagine not knowing how. "You should learn," she said. "Especially since you're boating."

"Don't need to know how," Jeb said, patting the boat as he would a dog. "I can walk on water with this baby."

She stood up, admiring the boat. "Nice."

"Real babe magnet," he joked, unhooking the vest. She knew he was teasing, but the boat, painted a deep metallic black, was sleek and sexy, with a dangerous look about it. Unlike Jeb McGuire in his bulky orange life jacket.

Jeb said, "I'll tell you what, Sara, if you ever looked at me the way you're looking at my boat right now, I'd have to marry you."

She laughed at herself, saying, "It's a very pretty boat."

He pulled out a picnic basket and said, "I'd offer to take you for a ride, but it's a bit nippy on the water."

"We can sit here," she said, indicating the chairs and table on the edge of the dock. "Do I need to get silverware or anything?"

Jeb smiled. "I know you better than that, Sara Linton," He opened the picnic basket and took out silverware and napkins. He had also had the foresight to bring plates and glasses. Sara tried not to lick her lips when he pulled out fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, corn, and biscuits.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" she asked.

Jeb stopped, his hand on a tub of gravy. "Is it working?"

The dogs barked, and all Sara could think was Thank God for small favors. She turned back to the house, saying, "They never bark. I'll just go check."

"You want me to come, too?"

Sara was about to tell him no but changed her mind. She had not been making that part up about the dogs. Billy and Bob had barked exactly twice since she had rescued them from the racing track in Ebro; once when Sara had accidentally stepped on Bob's tail, and once when a bird had flown down the chimney into the living room.

She felt Jeb's hand at her back as they walked up the yard toward the house. The sun was just dipping down over the roofline, and she shielded her eyes with her hand, recognizing Brad Stephens standing at the edge of the driveway.

"Hey, Brad," Jeb said.

The patrolman gave a curt nod to Jeb, but his eyes were on Sara.

"Brad?" she asked.

"Ma'am." Brad took off his hat. "The chief's been shot."

Sara had never really pushed the Z3 Roadster. Even when she drove it back from Atlanta, the speedometer had stayed at a steady seventy-five the entire way. She was doing ninety as she drove the back route to the Grant Medical Center. The ten-minute drive seemed to take hours, and by the time Sara made the turn into the hospital, her palms were sweating on the wheel.

She pulled into a handicap space at the side of the building so she would not block the ambulance doors. Sara was running by the time she reached the emergency room.

"What happened?" she asked Lena Adams, who was standing in front of the admitting desk. Lena opened her mouth to answer, but Sara ran past her into the hallway. She checked each room as she went by, finally finding Jeffrey in the third exam room.

Ellen Bray did not seem surprised to see Sara in the room. The nurse was putting a blood pressure cuff around his arm when Sara walked in.

Sara put her hand on Jeffrey's forehead. His eyes opened slightly, but he did not seem to register her presence.

"What happened?" she asked.

Ellen handed Sara the chart, saying, "Buckshot to his leg. Nothing serious or they would've taken him to Augusta."

Sara glanced down at the chart. Her eyes wouldn't focus. She couldn't even make out the columns.

"Sara?" Ellen said, her voice filled with compassion. She had worked in the Augusta emergency room most of her career. She was in semiretirement now, supplementing her pension by working nights at the Grant Medical Center. Sara had worked with her years ago, and the two women had a solid professional relationship built on mutual respect.

Ellen said, "He's fine, really. The Demerol should knock him out soon. Most of his pain is coming from Hare digging around in his leg."

"Hare?" Sara asked, feeling a little relief for the first time in the last twenty minutes. Her cousin Hareton was a general practitioner who sometimes filled in at the hospital. "Is he here?"

Ellen nodded, pumping the cuff's bladder. She held up her finger for silence.

Jeffrey stirred, then slowly opened his eyes. When he recognized Sara, a slight smile crept across his lips.

Ellen released the blood pressure cuff, saying, "One-forty-five over ninety-two."

Sara frowned, looking back at Jeffrey's chart. The words finally started to make sense.

"I'll go fetch Dr. Earnshaw," Ellen said.

"Thanks," Sara said, flipping the chart open. "When did you start on Coreg?" she asked. "How long have you had high blood pressure?"

Jeffrey smiled slyly. "Since you walked into the room."

Sara skimmed the chart. "Fifty milligrams a day. You just switched from captopril? Why did you stop?" She got the answer in the chart. " 'Nonproductive cough prompted change,' " she read aloud.

Hare walked into the room, saying, "That's common with ACE inhibitors."

Sara ignored her cousin as he put his arm around her shoulders.

She asked Jeffrey, "Who are you seeing for this?"

"Lindley," Jeffrey answered.

"Did you tell him about your father?" Sara snapped the chart closed. "I can't believe he didn't give you an inhaler. What's your cholesterol like?"

"Sara." Hare snatched the chart from her hands. "Shut up."

Jeffrey laughed. "Thank you."

Sara crossed her arms, anger welling up. She had been so worried on the drive over, expecting the worst, and now that she was here, Jeffrey was fine. She was inordinately relieved that he was okay, but for some reason she was feeling tricked by her emotions.

"Lookit," Hare said, popping an X ray into the lightbox mounted on the wall. He gasped audibly, saying, "Oh my God, that's the worst I've ever seen."

Sara cut him with a look, turning the X ray right side up.

"Oh, thank God." Hare sighed dramatically. When he saw she wasn't enjoying his sideshow, he frowned. The thing that made Sara both love and hate her cousin was he seldom took things very seriously.

Hare said, "Missed his artery, missed his bone. Cut right through here on the inside." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Nothing bad at all."

Sara ignored the evaluation, leaning closer to double-check Hare's findings. Aside from the fact that her relationship with her cousin had always been riddled with fierce competition, she wanted to make sure for herself that nothing had been missed.

"Let's turn you over on your left side," Hare suggested to Jeffrey, waiting for Sara to help. Sara kept Jeffrey's injured right leg stable as they turned him, offering, "This should help bring your blood pressure down a little. Are you due for your medication tonight?"

Jeffrey supplied, "I'm late on a few doses."

"Late?" Sara felt her own blood pressure rise. "Are you an idiot?"

"I ran out," Jeffrey mumbled.

"Ran out? You're within walking distance of the pharmacy." She leveled a deep frown at Jeffrey. "What were you thinking?"

"Sara?" Jeffrey interrupted. "Did you come all the way over here to yell at me?"

She did not have an answer.

Hare suggested, "Maybe she can give you a second opinion on whether or not you should go home tonight?"

"Ah." Jeffrey's eyes crinkled with a smile. "Well, since you're giving a second opinion, Dr. Linton, I've been experiencing some tenderness in my groin. Do you mind taking a look?"

Sara offered a tight smile. "I could do a rectal exam."

"It's about time you got your turn."

"Je-e-sus," Hare groaned. "I'm gonna leave you two lovebirds alone."

"Thanks, Hare," Jeffrey called. Hare tossed a wave over his shoulder as he left the room.

"So," Sara began, crossing her arms.

Jeffrey raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"What happened? Did her husband come home?"

Jeffrey laughed, but there was a strained look in his eyes. "Close the door."

Sara did as she was told. "What happened?" she repeated.

Jeffrey put his hand to his eyes. "I don't know. It was so fast."

Sara took a step closer, taking his hand despite her better judgment.

"Will Harris's house was vandalized today."

"Will from the diner?" Sara asked. "For God's sake, why?"

He shrugged. "I guess some people got it into their heads that he was involved with what happened to Sibyl Adams."

"He wasn't even there when it happened," Sara answered, not understanding. "Why would anyone think that?"

"I don't know, Sara." He sighed, dropping his hand. "I knew something bad would happen. Too many people are jumping to conclusions. Too many people are pushing this thing out of hand."

"Like who?"

"I don't know," he managed. "I was staying at Will's house to make sure he was safe. We were watching a movie when I heard something outside." He shook his head, as if he still could not believe what had happened. "I got up off the couch to see what was going on, and one of the side windows just exploded like that." He snapped his fingers. "Next thing I know, I'm on the floor, my leg's on fire. Thank God Will was sitting in his chair or he would've been hit, too."

"Who did it?"

"I don't know," he answered, but she could tell from the set of his jaw that he had a good guess.

She was about to question him further when he reached his hand out, resting it on her hip. "You look beautiful."

Sara felt a small jolt of electricity as his thumb slipped under her shirt, stroking her side. His fingers slipped under the back of her shirt. They were warm against her skin.

"I had a date," she said, feeling a rush of guilt for leaving Jeb at her house. He had been very understanding, as usual, but she still felt bad about abandoning him.

Jeffrey watched her through half-closed eyes. He either did not believe her about the date or he would not accept that it could have been anything serious. "I love it when your hair is down," he said. "Did you know that?"

"Yeah," she said, putting her hand over his, stopping him, breaking the spell. "Why didn't you tell me you have high blood pressure?"

Jeffrey let his arm drop. "I didn't want to give you one more fault to add to your list." His smile was a little forced and incongruous with the glassy look in his eyes. Like Sara, he seldom took anything stronger than aspirin, and the Demerol seemed to be working fast.

"Give me your hand," Jeffrey said. She shook her head, but he persisted, holding his hand out to her. "Hold my hand."

"Why should I?"

"Because you could've seen me at the morgue tonight instead of the hospital."

Sara bit her lip, fighting back the tears that wanted to come. "You're okay now," she said, putting her hand to his cheek. "Go to sleep."

He closed his eyes. She could tell that he was fighting to stay awake for her benefit.

"I don't want to go to sleep," he said, then fell asleep.

Sara stared at him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. She reached out, smoothing his hair back off his forehead, leaving her hand there for a few seconds before putting her palm to his cheek. His beard was coming in, a speckled black against his face and neck. She brushed her fingers lightly along the stubble, smiling at the memories that came. Sleeping, he reminded her of the Jeffrey she had fallen in love with: the man who listened to her talk about her day, the man who opened doors for her and killed spiders and changed the batteries in the smoke detectors. Sara finally took his hand and kissed it before leaving the room.

She took her time walking back up the hallway toward the nurses' station, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. The clock on the wall showed she had been here an hour, and Sara realized with a start that she was back on hospital time, where eight hours went by like eight seconds.

"He asleep?" Ellen asked.

Sara leaned her elbows on the counter of the admitting desk. "Yeah," she answered. "He'll be okay."

Ellen smiled. "Sure he will."

"There you are," Hare said, rubbing Sara's shoulders. "Hows it feel to be in a real hospital with the big doctors?"

Sara exchanged a look with Ellen. "You'll have to excuse my cousin, Ellen. What he lacks in hair and height he makes up for by being an asshole."

"Ow." Hare winced, pressing his thumbs into Sara's shoulders. "Want to fill in for me while I run out for a bite to eat?"

"What've we got?" Sara asked, thinking that going home right now probably was not the best thing for her.

Ellen gave a small smile. "We've got a frequent flier getting fluorescent light therapy in two."

Sara laughed out loud. In the obscure language of hospital lingo, Ellen had just informed her that the patient in room two was a hypochondriac who had been left to stare at the overhead lights until he felt better.

"Microdeckia," Hare concluded. The patient was not playing with a full deck.

"What else?"

"Some kid from the college sleeping off a long one," Ellen said.

Sara turned to Hare. "I don't know if I can take these complicated cases."

He chucked her under her chin. "There's a girl."

"I guess I should go move my car," Sara said, remembering she had parked in the handicap spot. As every cop in town knew the car she drove, Sara doubted she was likely to get a ticket. Still, she wanted to walk outside for some fresh air, take some time to collect her thoughts, before she went back in to check on Jeffrey.

"How is he?" Lena asked as soon as Sara walked into the waiting room. Sara looked around, surprised to see the room was empty but for Lena.

"We kept it off the radio," Lena provided. "This kind of thing…" She let her voice trail off.

"This kind of thing what?" Sara prompted. "Am I missing something here, Lena?"

Lena looked away nervously.

"You know who did it, huh?" Sara asked.

Lena shook her head. "I'm not sure."

"That's where Frank is? Taking care of business?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He dropped me off here."

"Pretty easy not to know what's going on when you don't bother to ask," Sara snapped. "I guess the fact that Jeffrey could've died tonight is lost on you."

"I know that."

"Yeah?" Sara demanded. "Who was watching his back, Lena?"

Lena started to answer, but she turned away before saying anything.

Sara slammed the emergency room doors open with her hands, feeling anger well up. She knew exactly what was going on here. Frank knew who was responsible for shooting Jeffrey, but he was keeping his mouth closed out of some obscure sense of loyalty, probably to Matt Hogan. What was going through Lena's mind, Sara could not begin to guess. After everything Jeffrey had done for her, to have Lena turn her back on him like this was inexcusable.

Sara took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she walked around to the side of the hospital. Jeffrey could have been killed. The glass could have sliced through his femoral artery and he could have bled to death. For that matter, the original shot could have gone into his chest instead of through the window. Sara wondered what Frank and Lena would be doing now if Jeffrey had died. Probably drawing straws to see who got his desk.

"Oh, God." Sara stopped short at the sight of her car. Lying on the hood of Sara's car was a nude young woman with her arms spread out.

She was on her back, her feet crossed at the ankle in an almost casual pose. Sara's first instinct was to look up to see if the woman had jumped from one of the windows. There were no windows on this side of the two-story building, though, and the hood of the car showed no signs of impact.

Sara took three quick steps to the car, checking the woman's pulse. A fast, hard beat came under Sara's fingers, and she muttered a small prayer before running back into the hospital.

"Lena!"

Lena jumped up, fists clenched, as if she expected Sara to come over and start a fight.

"Get a stretcher," Sara ordered. When Lena did not move, Sara yelled, "Now!"

Sara jogged back to the woman, half expecting her to be gone. Everything was moving in slow time for Sara, even the wind in her hair.

"Ma'am?" Sara called to the woman, raising her voice loud enough to be heard across town. The woman did not respond. "Ma'am?" Sara tried again. Still nothing.

Sara assessed the body, seeing no immediate signs of trauma. The skin was pink and ruddy, very hot to the touch despite the night cold. With her arms out and feet crossed as they were, the woman could've been sleeping. In the bright light, Sara could make out crusted blood around the palms of the woman's hands. Sara lifted one of the hands to examine it, and the arm moved awkwardly to the side. There was an obvious dislocation at the shoulder.

Sara looked back at the woman's face and was startled to notice that a silver piece of duct tape had been wrapped around her mouth. Sara couldn't remember if the tape had been there before she had gone back into the hospital. Surely she would've noticed it before. Something like a taped mouth wasn't easily overlooked, especially when the tape was at least two inches across by four inches long and dark silver. For just a brief second, Sara felt paralyzed, but Lena Adams's voice brought her back to reality.

"It's Julia Matthews," Lena said, but her voice sounded far away to Sara. "Sara?" Hare asked, walking quickly over to the car. His mouth dropped open at the sight of the nude woman.

"Okay, okay," Sara mumbled, trying to get herself calm. She shot Hare a look of sheer panic, which he returned in kind. Hare was used to an occasional overdose or heart attack, nothing like this.

As if to remind them both of where they were, the woman's body began to convulse.

"She's going to be sick," Sara said, picking at the edge of the tape. Without pausing, she ripped off the tape. In one swift motion, she rolled the woman onto her side and held her head down as she vomited in fits and starts. A sour smell came, almost like bad cider or beer, and Sara had to turn away to take a breath.

"It's okay," Sara whispered. She stroked the woman's dirty brown hair back behind her ear, remembering that she had done the same thing for Sibyl just two days ago. The vomiting stopped abruptly, and Sara gently rolled her back over, keeping her head steady.

Hare's tone was urgent. "She's not breathing."

Sara cleared the woman's mouth with her finger, surprised to feel some resistance. After a few seconds of digging, she pulled out a folded driver's license, which she handed to a surprised Lena Adams.

"Breathing's back," Hare said, relief flooding his voice.

Sara rubbed her fingers clean on her skirt, wishing she'd had on a pair of gloves before she had stuck her fingers into the woman's mouth.

Ellen jogged to the car, her jaw set as she angled a long stretcher in front of her. Without words, she stepped to the woman's feet, waiting for Sara's signal.

Sara counted to three, then they both moved the woman onto the bed. Sara felt a sick taste in her mouth as they did this, and for a few seconds she saw herself on the bed instead of the woman. Sara's mouth went dry and she felt a numbness overcome her.

"Ready," Hare said, strapping the woman to the bed.

Sara trotted beside the gurney, holding on to the young woman's hand. The time it took them to get back into the hospital was interminable. The bed seemed to be rolling through glue as they entered the first trauma room. The woman made small murmurs of pain with each jolt of the bed. Briefly, Sara latched on to the woman's fear.

Twelve years had passed since Sara had practiced emergency medicine and she needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand. In her head, Sara went over what she'd learned her first day in the ER. As if to prompt Sara, the woman started wheezing, then gasping for air. The first priority was to establish an airway.

"Jesus," Sara hissed as she opened the woman's mouth. Under the bright lights of the exam room, Sara could see that her top front teeth had been knocked out, obviously within the last few days. Again, Sara felt herself freezing up. She tried to shake this off. Sara had to think of this woman as a patient or they would both be in trouble.

In seconds Sara had intubated the woman, careful with the tape so as not to do further damage to the skin around the mouth. Sara fought the urge to cringe as the ventilator kicked in. The sound almost sickened her.

"She's got good sounds," Hare reported, handing Sara a stethoscope.

"Sara?" Ellen said. "I can't get a peripheral."

"She's dehydrated," Sara reported as she tried to find a vein on the woman's other arm. "We should drop a central anyway." Sara held her hand out for the needle, but one was not immediately placed in her hand.

"I'll get it from two," Ellen said, then left the room.

Sara turned back to the young woman on the bed. There did not seem to be any bruises or cuts on her body other than the marks on her hands and feet. Her skin was warm to the touch, which could point to any number of things. Sara did not want to jump to conclusions, but already the similarities between Sibyl Adams and the woman in front of her were going through her mind. They were both petite women. They both had dark brown hair.

Sara checked the woman's pupils. "Dilated," she said, because the last time she'd done something like this, the rule had been to call out your findings. She exhaled slowly, noticing for the first time that Hare and Lena were in the room.

"What's her name?" Sara asked.

"Julia Matthews," Lena provided. "We were looking for her at the school. She's been missing for a couple of days."

Hare glanced at the monitor. "Pulse ox is falling."

Sara checked the ventilator. "FiO2 is thirty percent. Bump it up a little."

"What's that smell?" Lena interrupted.

Sara sniffed the woman's body. "Clorox?" she asked.

Lena caught another whiff. "Bleach," she confirmed.

Hare nodded as well.

Sara examined the woman's skin carefully. There were lines of superficial scrapes all along the body. Sara noticed for the first time that the woman's pubic hair had been shaved off. From the lack of growth, Sara guessed she had been shaved in the last day or so.

Sara said, "She's been scrubbed clean."

She smelled the woman's mouth but did not pick up the strong scent that usually comes from ingesting bleach. Sara had seen some rawness in the back of the throat when she'd tubed the woman, but nothing out of the ordinary. Obviously the woman had been given a drug similar to if not actually belladonna. Her skin was so hot to the touch that Sara could feel it through her gloves.

Ellen entered the room. Sara watched the nurse as she opened the central line kit on one of the trays. Ellens hands didn't seem as steady as they usually did. This scared Sara more than anything else.

Sara held her breath as she jabbed the three-inch needle into the woman's jugular. The needle, called an introducer, would act as a funnel for three separate IV ports. When they found out what kind of drug the woman had been given, Sara would use one of the extra ports to help counteract the effects.

Ellen stood back from the patient, waiting for Sara's orders.

Sara rattled off the tests as she flushed the ports with heparin solution to keep them from clotting. "Blood gases, tox screen, LFT, CBC, chem twenty-seven. Go ahead and pull for a coag panel while you're at it." Sara paused. "Dip her urine stat. I want to know what's going on before I do anything else. Something's keeping her knocked out. I think I know what it is, but I need to be sure before we start treatment."

"All right," Ellen answered.

Sara checked for positive blood return, then flushed the lines again. "Normal saline, wide open."

Ellen did as she was told, adjusting the IV.

"Do you have a portable X ray? I'll need to make sure I did this right," Sara said, indicating the internal jugular line. "Plus I need a chest, a flat of the abdomen, and a look at her shoulder."

Ellen said, "I'll get it from down the hall after I draw the blood work."

"Also, check for GHB, roofies." Sara spoke as she secured the dressing around the needle. "We'll need to do a rape kit."

"Rape?" Lena questioned, stepping forward.

"Yes," Sara answered, her tone sharp. "Why else would someone do this to her?"

Lena's mouth worked, but no answer came. She had obviously kept this case separate from her sisters up until that point. Lena's eyes locked on to the young woman, and she stood at the foot of the bed, her body ramrod straight. Sara was reminded of the night Lena had come to the morgue to see Sibyl Adams. The young detective's mouth was set in that same angry line.

"She seems stable," Ellen offered, more to herself than anyone else.

Sara watched as the nurse used a small syringe to draw blood from the radial artery. Sara rubbed her own wrist, knowing how painful the procedure could be. She leaned against the bed, her hands on Julia Matthews's arm, trying to somehow convey that she was safe now.

Hare brought her back with a gentle "Sara?"

"Hm?" Sara was startled. They were all looking at her. She turned to Lena. "Can you help Ellen with the portable?" she asked, trying to use a firm voice.

"Yeah," Lena returned, giving Sara an odd look.

Ellen filled the last syringe. "It's down the hall," she told Lena.

Sara heard them leave, but she kept her eyes on Julia Matthews. Sara's vision tunneled, and for the second time she felt herself on the gurney, saw a doctor leaning over her, taking her pulse, checking her vitals.

"Sara?" Hare was looking at the woman's hands, and Sara was reminded of the marks she had first seen in the parking lot.

Both palms were punctured through the center. Sara glanced down at the woman's feet, noting that they, too, had been punctured in the same way. She bent to examine the wounds, which were clotting rapidly. Specks of rust added color to the dried black blood.

"The palm has been pierced through," Sara offered. She looked under the woman's fingernails, recognizing thin slivers of wood pressed under the nails. "Wood," she reported, wondering why someone would take the time to scrub the victim down with bleach in order to remove physical traces, yet leave slivers of wood under the nails. It did not make sense. And then to leave her arranged on the car in such a way.

Sara worked all of this out in her head, and her stomach responded to the obvious conclusion with a slight pitch. She closed her eyes, picturing the woman as she had been when Sara first found her: legs crossed at the ankles, arms at ninety-degree angles from the body.

The woman had been crucified.

"Those are puncture wounds, right?" Hare said.

Sara nodded, not taking her eyes off the woman. Her body was well nourished and her skin had been taken care of. There were no needle marks to indicate prolonged drug use. Sara stopped in her tracks, realizing she'd assessed the woman as if she was at the morgue rather than the hospital. As if sensing this, the heart monitor went into failure, the shrill scream of the machine putting Sara on alert.

"No," Sara hissed as she leaned over the woman, starting compressions. "Hare, bag her."

He fumbled around in the drawers for the bag. Within seconds, he was squeezing air into the woman's lungs. "She's in V-tach," he warned.

"Slow," Sara said, wincing as she felt one of the patient's ribs crack under her hands. She kept her eyes on Hare, willing him to cooperate. "One, two, squeeze. Quick and hard. Keep it calm."

"Okay, okay," Hare mumbled, concentrating on squeezing the bag.

Despite the great press given CPR, it was merely a stopgap measure. CPR was the act of physically forcing the heart to circulate blood into the brain, and very rarely could this be done manually as efficiently as a healthy heart performing the task on its own. If Sara stopped, so would the heart. It was a time-buying procedure until something else could be done.

Lena, obviously alerted by the shrieking monitor, ran back into the room. "What happened?"

"She crashed," Sara said, feeling a slight sense of relief as she spotted Ellen in the hallway. "Amp of Epi," she ordered.

Sara watched impatiently as Ellen popped open a box of Epi and put the syringe together.

"Jeesh." Lena cringed as Sara administered the drug straight into the woman's heart.

Hare's voice rose a few octaves. "She's in V-fib."

With one hand Ellen took the paddles off the cart behind her, charging the defibrillator with the other.

"Two hundred," Sara ordered. The woman's body jumped into the air as Sara electrocuted her. Sara watched the monitor, frowning when there was no corresponding reaction. Sara shocked her two more times with the same response. "Lidocaine," she ordered just as Ellen popped another box.

Sara administered the drug, keeping an eye on the monitor.

"Flat line," Hare reported.

"Again." Sara reached for the paddles. "Three hundred," she ordered.

Again, she shocked the woman. Again, there was no response. Sara felt a cold sweat come over her. "Epi."

The sound of the box popping open was like a needle in Saras ear. She took the syringe, pushing the Adrenalin directly into the woman's heart one more time. They all waited.

"Flat line," Hare reported.

"Let's go to three-sixty."

For the fifth time, a charge went through the woman's body with no response.

"Goddamnit, goddamnit," Sara muttered, resuming compressions. "Time?" she called.

Hare glanced at the clock. "Twelve minutes."

It had seemed like two seconds to Sara.

Lena must have sensed from Hare's tone of voice where he was going with this. She whispered under her breath, "Don't let her die. Please, don't let her die."

"She's in prolonged asystole, Sara," Hare said. He was telling her that it was too late. It was time to stop, time to let go.

Sara narrowed her eyes at him. She turned to Ellen. "I'm going to crack her chest."

Hare shook his head, saying, "Sara, we don't have the capabilities here."

Sara ignored him. She felt down the woman's ribs, cringing as she made contact with the one she had broken. When Sara's ringers reached the bottom of the diaphragm, she took a scalpel and sliced a six-inch opening into the upper abdomen. She slipped her hand into the incision, reaching under the rib cage and into the woman's chest.

She kept her eyes closed, blocking out the hospital as she massaged the woman's heart. The monitor showed false hope as Sara squeezed, manually circulating the woman's blood. A tingling came to her fingers, and in her ears she could hear a slight piercing tone. Nothing else mattered as she waited for the heart to respond. It was like squeezing a small balloon filled with warm water. Only this balloon was life.

Sara stopped. She counted to five seconds, eight, then up to twelve, before being rewarded with spontaneous beeps from the heart monitor.

Hare asked, "Is that her or you?"

"Her," Sara offered, letting her hand slip out. "Start a lidocaine drip."

"Jesus Christ," Lena muttered, hand to her own chest. "I can't believe you just did that."

Sara snapped off her gloves, not answering.

The room was quiet but for the beeps of the heart monitor and the in and out of the ventilator.

"So," Sara said. "We'll do a darkfield for syphilis and a gram stain for gonorrhea." Sara felt her face flush over this. "I'm sure a condom was used, but make a note to follow up in a few days for pregnancy." Sara was conscious of a waver in her voice that she hoped Ellen and Lena did not pick up. Hare was another matter. She could hear what he was thinking without even looking at him.

He seemed to sense her nervousness and tried to make light of it. "Good God, Sara. That's the sloppiest incision I've ever seen."

Sara licked her lips, willing her own heart to calm. "I was trying not to upstage you."

"Prima donna," Hare offered, wiping perspiration from his forehead with a pad of surgical gauze. "Jesus Christ." He laughed uncomfortably.

"We don't see much of this around here," Ellen said as she packed surgical towels into the incision to control the bleeding until it was closed. "I can call Larry Headley over in Augusta. He lives about fifteen minutes from here."

"I would appreciate that," Sara said, taking another pair of gloves from the box on the wall.

"You okay?" Hare asked, his tone casual. His eyes showed his concern.

"Fine," Sara answered, checking the IV. She told Lena, "I guess you can find Frank?"

Lena had the decency to look embarrassed. "I'll go see." She left the room, her head down.

Sara waited until she was gone, then asked Hare, "Can you take a look at her hands?"

Hare was silent as he examined the woman's palms, feeling the bone structure. After a few minutes, he said, "This is interesting."

Sara asked, "What's that?"

"Missed all the bones," Hare answered, rotating the wrist. When he got to the shoulder, he stopped. "Dislocated," he said.

Sara crossed her arms, suddenly cold. "From trying to get away?"

Hare frowned. "Do you realize how much force it would take to dislocate your shoulder blade?" He shook his head, unable to accept it. "You'd pass out from the pain before you'd-"

"Do you realize how terrifying it is to be raped?" Sara's gaze bored right into him.

Pain registered in his expression. "I'm sorry, honey. Are you okay?"

Tears stung the back of her eyes, and Sara had to fight to keep her voice even. "Check her hips, please. I want you to do a full report."

He did as he was told, giving Sara a curt nod after the examination. "I'm thinking there's some ligature damage in the hip, here. I need to do this when she's awake; it's fairly subjective."

Sara asked, "Can you tell anything else?"

"All the bones in her hands and feet were missed. Her feet were speared between the second and third cuneiforms and the navicular. That's very precise. Whoever did it knew what he was doing." He paused, looking down at the floor to regain his composure. "I don't see why someone would do this."

"Look at this," Sara said, pointing to the skin around the woman's ankles. They both had angry black bruises around their circumference. "Obviously there was a secondary restraint to hold the feet down." Sara picked up the woman's hand, noticing a fresh scar at the wrist. The other had the same mark. Julia Matthews had attempted suicide at some point during the last month. The scar was a white line slashing vertically across her small wrist. A dark bruise put the old wound in stark relief.

Sara did not bring this to Hare's attention. Instead, she offered, "It looks to me like a band was used, probably leather."

"I'm not following."

"The piercing was symbolic."

"Of?"

"Crucifixion, I would imagine." Sara put the woman's hand back by her side.

Sara rubbed her arms, fighting the chill in the room. She walked over, opening drawers, looking for a sheet to cover the young woman. "If I had to guess, I would say that the hands and feet were nailed back from the body."

"Crucifixion?" Hare dismissed this. "That's not how Jesus was crucified. The feet would be together."

Sara snapped, "Nobody wanted to rape Jesus, Hare. Of course her legs were spread apart."

Hare's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed this. "Is this what you do at the morgue?"

She shrugged, looking for a sheet.

"Christ, you've got more balls than I do," Hare said, breathing heavily.

Sara tucked the sheet around the young woman, trying to comfort her. "I don't know about that," she said.

Hare asked, "What about her mouth?"

"Her front teeth were knocked out, I imagine to facilitate fellatio."

His voice rose in shock. "What?"

"It's more common than you think," Sara told him. "The Clorox removes trace evidence. I imagine he shaved her so we couldn't do a comb for his pubic hair. Even during normal sex, hairs are torn out. He could have shaved her for the sexual thrill, though. A lot of attackers like to think of their victims as children. Shaving the pubic hair would fuel that fantasy."

Hare shook his head, overcome with the nastiness of the crime. "What kind of animal would do this?"

Sara stroked back the woman's hair. "A methodical one."

"Do you think she knew him?"

"No," Sara answered, never more sure of anything in her life. She walked over to the counter where Lena had left the evidence bag. "Why did he give us her driver's license? He doesn't care if we know who she is."

Hare's tone was incredulous. "How can you be so sure?"

"He left-" Sara tried to catch her breath. "He left her in front of the hospital where anybody could've seen him dump her." She put her hand over her eyes for just a second, wishing that she could hide. She had to get out of this room. That much she was certain of.

Hare seemed to be trying to read her expression. His face, normally open and kind, took on a stern look. "She was raped in a hospital."

"Outside a hospital."

"Her mouth was taped shut."

"I know that."

"By someone who obviously has some kind of religious fixation."

"Right."

"Sara-"

She held up her hand for silence as Lena returned.

Lena said, "Frank's on his way."