Blindsighted

Chapter Fourteen

JEFFREY blinked his eyes several times, forcing himself not to go back to sleep. For a few seconds, he did not know where he was, but a quick glance around the room reminded him of what had happened last night. He looked over at the window, his eyes taking their time coming into focus. He saw Sara.

He leaned his head back into the pillow, letting out a long sigh. "Remember when I used to brush your hair?"

"Sir?"

Jeffrey opened his eyes. " Lena?"

She seemed embarrassed as she walked over to the bed. "Yeah."

"I thought you were…" He waved this off. "Never mind."

Jeffrey forced himself to sit up in bed, despite the pain shooting through his right leg. He felt stiff and drugged, but he knew if he did not stay upright, the rest of the day would be blown.

"Hand me my pants," he said.

"They had to throw them away," she reminded him. "Remember what happened?"

Jeffrey grumbled an answer as he put his feet on the floor. Standing hurt like a hot knife in his leg, but he could live with the pain. "Can you find me some pants?" he asked.

Lena left the room and Jeffrey leaned against the wall so that he wouldn't sit back down. He tried to remember what had happened the night before. Part of him didn't want to deal with it. There was enough on his plate trying to find out who had killed Sibyl Adams.

"How are these?" Lena asked, tossing him a pair of scrubs.

"Great," Jeffrey said, waiting for her to turn around. He slipped them on, suppressing a groan as he lifted his leg. "We've got a full day ahead of us," he said. "Nick Shelton is coming in at ten with one of his drug guys. We'll get a rundown on the belladonna. We've got that punk, what's his name, Gordon?" He tied the string in the pants. "I want to go at him again, see if he can remember anything about when he last saw Julia Matthews." He leaned his hand against the table. "I don't think he knows where she is, but maybe he saw something."

Lena turned around without being told. "We found Julia Matthews."

"What?" he asked. "When?"

"She showed up at the hospital last night," Lena answered. There was something about her voice that sent a sense of dread coursing through his veins.

He sat back down on the bed without even thinking about it.

Lena closed the door and narrated last night's events for him. By the time she was finished, Jeffrey was pacing the room in an awkward gait.

"She just showed up on Sara's car?" he asked.

Lena nodded.

"Where is it now?" he asked. "The car, I mean?"

"Frank had it impounded," Lena said, a defensive tone to her voice.

"Where is Frank?" Jeffrey asked, leaning his hand on the bed railing.

Lena was silent, then, "I don't know."

He gave her a hard look, thinking she knew exactly where Frank was but wouldn't say.

She said, "He put Brad on guard upstairs."

"Gordon's still in jail, right?"

"Yeah, that was the first thing I checked. He was in jail all night. There's no way he could've put her on Sara's car."

Jeffrey hit the bed with his fist. He knew last night he shouldn't have taken that Demerol. This was the middle of a case, not a holiday.

"Hand me my jacket." Jeffrey held his hand out, taking the jacket from Lena. He limped out of the room, Lena on his heels. The elevator was slow in coming, but neither of them spoke.

"She's been sleeping all night," Lena said.

"Right." Jeffrey jabbed at the button. The elevator bell dinged several seconds later, and they rode up together, still in silence.

Lena began, "About last night. The shooting."

Jeffrey waved her off, stepping out of the elevator. "We'll deal with that later, Lena."

"It's just-"

He held his hand up. "You have no idea how little that matters to me right now," he said, using the railing lining the hallway to work his way toward Brad.

"Hey, Chief," Brad said, standing up from his chair.

"Nobody in?" Jeffrey asked, motioning for him to sit down.

"Not since Dr. Linton around two this morning," he answered.

Jeffrey said, "Good," leaning his hand on Brad's shoulder as he opened the door.

Julia Matthews was awake. She stared blindly out the window, not moving when they came in.

"Miss Matthews?" he said, leaning his hand against the railing of her bed.

She continued to stare, not answering.

Lena said, "She hasn't spoken since Sara took the tube out."

He looked out the window, wondering what held her attention. Dawn had broken about thirty minutes ago, but other than the clouds there wasn't anything remarkable to see out the window.

Jeffrey repeated, "Miss Matthews?"

Tears streamed down her face, but still she said nothing. He left the room, using Lena 's arm to lean on.

As soon as they were outside the room, Lena provided, "She hasn't said anything all night."

"Not one word?"

She shook her head. "We got an emergency number from the college and found an aunt. She's tracking down the parents. They're flying into Atlanta on the first available flight."

"When's that?" Jeffrey asked, checking his watch.

"Around three today."

"Frank and I will pick them up," he said, turning to Brad Stephens. "Brad, you've been on all night?"

"Yes, sir."

" Lena will relieve you in a couple of hours." He looked at Lena, daring her to protest. When nothing came, he said, "Take me home, then back to the station. You can walk to the hospital from there."

Jeffrey stared straight ahead as Lena drove to his house, trying to work his mind around what had happened last night. He felt a tension in his neck that even a handful of aspirin couldn't tame. He still could not shake the lethargy from being drugged last night, and his brain was getting sidetracked left and right, even as he came to accept that all this had happened three doors down from where he lay sleeping like a baby. Thank God Sara had been there or he would have two victims instead of one on his hands.

Julia Matthews proved that the killer was escalating. He had gone from a quick assault and murder in the bathroom to keeping a girl for a few days so that he could take his time with her. Jeffrey had seen this kind of behavior over and over again. Serial rapists learned from their mistakes. Their lives were spent figuring out the best way to obtain their objectives, and this rapist, this murderer, was honing his skills even now as Jeffrey and Lena talked about how to catch him.

He had Lena repeat her story about Julia Matthews, trying to see if it was any different in the telling, trying to pull out additional clues. There were none. Lena was very good at reporting things as she saw them, and nothing new came with the second telling.

Jeffrey asked, "What happened after?"

"After Sara left?"

He nodded.

"Dr. Headley came from Augusta. He closed her up."

Jeffrey became aware of the fact that throughout Lena 's narration of events of the night before, she was using "her" instead of the woman's name. It was common in law enforcement to look at the criminal rather than the victim, and Jeffrey always felt that this was the quickest way to lose sight of why they did the job in the first place. He didn't want Lena to do this, especially considering what had happened to her sister.

There was something different about Lena today. Whether it was a higher level of tension or anger, he could not say. Her body seemed to vibrate with it, and his main goal was to get her back to the hospital, where she could sit and decompress. He knew Lena would not leave her guard at Julia Matthews's bedside. The hospital was the only place to trust her to stay. There was, of course, the added bonus of knowing that if Lena did finally have some sort of nervous breakdown, she was in the right place. For now, he needed to use her. He needed her to be his eyes and ears for what happened last night.

He said, "Tell me what Julia looked like."

Lena tapped the horn, shooing a squirrel out of the road. "Well, she looked normal." Lena paused. "I mean, I thought it was an OD or something from the way she looked. I never would've pegged her for a rape."

"What convinced you otherwise?"

Lena's jaw worked again. "Dr. Linton, I suppose. She pointed out the holes in her hands and feet. I must've been blind, I don't know. The bleach smell and all of that gave it away."

"All of what?"

"Just, you know, physical signs that something wasn't right." Lena paused again. Her tone took a defensive ring. "She had her mouth taped shut, with her drivers license shoved down her throat. I suppose she looked raped, but I wasn't seeing it. I don't know why. I would've figured it out; I'm not stupid. It's just that she looked so normal, you know? Not like a rape victim."

He was surprised by this last part. "What does a rape victim look like?"

Lena shrugged. "Like my sister, I guess," she mumbled. "Like somebody who can't really take care of themselves."

Jeffrey had been expecting a physical description, some comment on the state of Julia Matthews's body. He said, "I don't follow you."

"Never mind."

"No," Jeffrey said. "Tell me."

Lena seemed to think over how to phrase her words, then, "I guess I can understand with Sibyl, because she was blind." She stopped. "I mean there's this whole thing about women asking for it and all. I don't think Sibyl was like that, but I know rapists. I've talked to them, I've busted them. I know how they think. They don't pick somebody who they think is going to put up a fight."

"You think so?"

Lena shrugged. "I guess you can go into all that feminist bullshit about how women should be able to do whatever they want to do and men should just get used to it, but…" Lena paused again. "It's like this," she said. "If I parked my car in the middle of Atlanta with the windows rolled down and the keys in the ignition, whose fault is it when somebody steals it?"

Jeffrey didn't quite get her logic.

"There are sexual predators out there," Lena continued. "Everybody knows there are some sick people, usually men, who prey on women. And they're not picking the ones who look like they can take care of themselves. They're picking the ones who won't, or can't, put up a fight. They're picking the quiet ones like Julia Matthews. Or the handicapped ones." Lena added, "Like my sister."

Jeffrey stared at her, not sure he bought her logic. Lena surprised him sometimes, but what she had just said blew him out of the water. He would expect this land of talk from someone like Matt Hogan, but never from a woman. Not even Lena.

He leaned his head against the headrest, quiet for a few beats. After a while, he asked, "Run down the case for me. Julia Matthews. Give me the physicals."

Lena took her time answering. "Her front teeth were knocked out. Her ankles had been bound. He pubic hair had been shaved off." Lena paused. "Then, you know, he'd cleaned her out on the inside."

"Bleach?"

Lena nodded. "Mouth, too."

Jeffrey watched her closely. "What else?"

"There was no bruising on her." Lena indicated her lap. "No defensive wounds or marks on her hands, other than the holes in her palms and the bruises from the straps."

Jeffrey considered this. Julia Matthews had probably been drugged the entire time, though that didn't make sense to him either. Rape was a crime of violence, and most rapists got off more from causing women pain, controlling them, than actually having sex with them.

Jeffrey said, "Tell me what else. What did Julia look like when you found her?"

"She looked like a normal person," Lena answered. "I told you that."

"Naked?"

"Yeah, naked. She was totally naked, and she was laid out like, with her hands straight out. Her feet were crossed at the ankles. Right across the hood of the car."

"Do you think she was placed like that for a reason?"

Lena answered, "I dunno. Everybody knows Dr. Linton. Everybody knows what car she drives. It's the only one in town."

Jeffrey felt his stomach lurch. This was not the response he had been fishing for. He'd meant for Lena to specifically address the positioning of the body, to draw the same conclusion he had, which was that the woman was displayed in a crucifixion pose. He had assumed Sara's car was chosen because it had been parked closest to the hospital where someone would see it. The possibility that this action was directed toward Sara was chilling.

Jeffrey dismissed these thoughts for the moment, quizzing Lena. "What do we know about our rapist?"

Lena thought out her answer. "Okay, he's white because rapists tend to rape within their own ethnic group. He's superretentive, because she was scrubbed thoroughly with bleach; bleach means he's up on his forensics, because that's the best way to dispose of physical evidence. He's probably an older man, has his own house, because he obviously nailed her to some floor or wall or whatever, and it's not like you can do that in an apartment building, so he must be established in town. He's probably not married, because he'd have a lot of explaining to do if his wife came home and found a woman nailed down in the basement."

"Why do you say basement?"

Lena shrugged again. "I don't imagine he can keep her out in the open."

"Even if he lives alone?"

"Not unless he's sure nobody's gonna drop by."

"So, he's a loner?"

"Well, maybe. But, then, how did he meet her?"

"Good point," Jeffrey said. "Did Sara send blood for the tox screen?"

"Yeah," Lena said. "She drove it over to Augusta. At least, that's where she said she was going. She said she knew what she was looking for."

Jeffrey pointed to a side street. "There."

Lena made a sharp turn. "Are we gonna cut Gordon loose today?" she asked.

"I don't think so," Jeffrey said. "We can use the drug charge to get his cooperation on who Julia's been hanging around with. From what Jenny Price said, he kept her on a tight leash. He'd be the most likely person to notice who was new in her life."

"Yeah," Lena agreed.

"Up here on the right," he instructed, sitting up. "You want to come in?"

Lena sat behind the wheel. "I'll stay here, thanks."

Jeffrey sat back in his seat. "There's something else you're not telling me, isn't there?"

She took a deep breath, then let it go. "I feel like I let you down."

"About last night?" he asked, then: "Me getting shot?"

She said, "There's things you don't know."

Jeffrey put his hand on the door handle. "Is Frank taking care of it?"

She nodded.

"Could you have stopped what happened?"

She shrugged, her shoulders going up to her ears. "I don't know if I can stop anything anymore."

"Good thing that's not your job," he said. He wanted to say more to her, to take some of her load, but Jeffrey knew from experience that Lena would have to work this out for herself. She had spent the last thirty-three years building a fortress around herself. He wasn't about to break through it in three days.

Instead, he said, "Lena, my number one focus right now is to find out who killed your sister and who raped Julia Matthews. This"-he indicated his leg-"I can deal with when it's over. I think we both know where to start looking. It's not like they're all gonna leave town."

He pushed the door open and physically lifted his injured leg out with his hand. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, feeling an intense protest from his knee. His leg had gotten stiff from sitting in the car for so long. By the time Jeffrey stood up from the car, a line of perspiration beaded over his lip.

Pain shot through his leg as he walked toward his house. His house keys were on the same ring as the car keys, so he walked to the back of the house, entering through the kitchen. For the last two years, Jeffrey had been remodeling the house himself. His latest project was the kitchen, and he had gutted the back wall of the house one three-day weekend, planning to have it built back in time to return to work. A shooting had cut his plans short, and he had ended up buying plastic strips from a freezer supply house in Birmingham and nailing them up over the naked two-by-fours. The plastic kept the rain and wind out, but meanwhile he still had a big hole at the back of his house.

In the living room, Jeffrey picked up the phone and dialed Sara's number, hoping he could catch her before she left for work. Her machine picked up, so he dialed the Linton house.

Eddie Linton answered the phone on the third ring. "Linton and Daughters."

Jeffrey tried to remain pleasant. "Hey, Eddie, it's Jeffrey."

The phone clattered as it was dropped onto the floor. Jeffrey could hear dishes and pans in the background, then muffled conversation. A few seconds later Sara picked up the phone.

"Jeff?"

"Yeah," he answered. He could hear her opening the door onto the deck. The Lintons were the only people he knew who didn't have a cordless phone in their house. There was an extension in the bedroom and one in the kitchen. If not for the ten-foot cord the girls had put on the kitchen phone when they were back in high school, privacy would not have been possible.

He heard the door close, then Sara said, "Sorry."

"How're you doing?"

She skipped an answer, saying, "I'm not the one who got shot last night."

Jeffrey paused, wondering about the sharp tone to her voice. "I heard about what happened with Julia Matthews."

"Right," Sara said. "I ran the blood in Augusta. Belladonna has two specific markers."

He cut short a chemistry lesson. "You found both of them?"

"Yes," she answered.

"So, we're looking for the same guy on both."

Her voice was clipped. "Looks that way."

A few seconds passed, then Jeffrey said, "Nick has this guy who's kind of a specialist on belladonna poisoning. He's bringing him by at ten. Can you make it?"

"I can pop over between patients, but I can't stay long," Sara offered. There was a change in her voice, something softer, when she said, "I need to go now, okay?"

"I want to go over what happened last night."

"Later, okay?" She didn't give him time to answer. The phone clicked in his ear.

Jeffrey let out a sigh as he limped toward the bathroom. On the way, he looked out the window, checking on Lena. She was still in the car, both hands gripping the wheel. It seemed like every woman in his life had something they were hiding today.

After a hot shower and shave, Jeffrey felt considerably better. His leg was still stiff, but the more he moved it the less it hurt. There was something to be said for staying mobile. The drive to the station was tense and quiet, the only noise in the car being the sound of Lena's teeth gritting. Jeffrey was glad to see the back of her as she walked toward the hospital.

Maria met him at the front door, her hands clasped in front of her chest. "I'm so glad you're okay," she said, taking his arm, leading him back toward his office. He put a stop to her fussing when she opened the door for him.

"I've got it," Jeffrey said. "Where's Frank?"

Maria's face fell. If Grant was a small place, its police force was even smaller. Rumors traveled faster within the ranks than a bolt of lightning through a steel rod.

Maria said, "I think he's in the back."

"Go fetch him for me, will you?" Jeffrey asked, making his way toward his office.

Jeffrey sat in his chair with a groan. He knew he was tempting fate with his leg, keeping it still for a while, but he did not have a choice. His men needed to know he was back on the job, ready to work.

Frank rapped his knuckles on the door and Jeffrey nodded him in.

Frank asked, "How you doing?"

Jeffrey made sure he had the other man's attention. "I'm not gonna get shot at anymore, am I?"

Frank had the decency to look down at his shoes. "No, sir."

"What about Will Harris?"

Frank rubbed his chin. "I hear he's going to Savannah."

"That right?"

"Yeah," Frank answered. "Pete gave him a bonus. Will bought himself a bus ticket." Frank shrugged. "Said he was gonna spend a couple of weeks with his daughter."

"What about his house?"

"Some fellas at the lodge volunteered to take care of the window."

"Good," Jeffrey said. "Sara's gonna want her car back. Did you find anything?"

Frank took a plastic evidence bag out of his pocket and set it down on the desk.

"What's this?" Jeffrey asked, but it was a stupid question. There was a Ruger.357 Magnum in the bag.

"It was under her seat," Frank said.

"Sara's seat?" he asked, still not getting it. The gun was a man stopper, the caliber enough to blow a hole into someone's chest. "In her car? This is hers?"

Frank shrugged. "She doesn't have a permit for it."

Jeffrey stared at the gun as if it could talk to him. Sara certainly wasn't against private citizens having weapons, but he knew for a fact that she wasn't exactly comfortable around guns, especially the kind that could shoot the lock off a barn door. He slipped the gun out of the bag, checking it.

"Serial numbers were filed off," Frank said.

"Yeah," Jeffrey answered. He could see that. "Was it loaded?"

"Yep." Frank was obviously impressed with the weapon. "Ruger security six, stainless steel. That's a custom handle, too."

Jeffrey dropped the gun into his desk drawer, then looked back at Frank. "Anything on the sex offender lists yet?"

Frank seemed disappointed that the discussion about Sara's gun was over. He answered, "Not really. Most of 'em have some kind of alibi. The ones who don't aren't really what we're looking for."

"We've got a meeting at ten with Nick Shelton. He's got a specialist on belladonna. Maybe we can give the guys something more to look for after that."

Frank took a seat. "I got that nightshade in my own backyard."

"Me, too," Jeffrey said, then, "I want to head over to the hospital after the meeting, see if Julia Matthews feels like talking." He paused, thinking about the young girl. "Her parents will be in around three. I want to be at the airport to meet them. You're riding shotgun with me today."

If Frank found Jeffrey's word choice funny, he did not comment.

Chapter Fifteen

SARA left the clinic at quarter till ten so that she could go by the pharmacy before she saw Jeffrey. There was a chill in the air and the clouds promised more rain. She tucked her hands into her pockets as she walked down the street, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk in front of her, hoping her posture and her pace would make her seem unapproachable. She needn't have bothered, though. Since Sibyl's death downtown had taken on an eerie quiet. It was as if the whole town had died with her. Sara knew how they felt.

All night, Sara had lain awake in bed, going over each step she had taken with Julia Matthews. No matter what she did, Sara kept seeing the girl laid out on her car, her hands and feet pierced, her eyes glazed as she stared without seeing the night sky. Sara never wanted to go through anything like that again.

The bell over the pharmacy door jingled as Sara walked in, breaking her out of her solitude.

"Hey, Dr. Linton," Marty Ringo called from behind the checkout counter. Her head was bent down, reading a magazine. Marty was a plump woman with an unfortunate mole growing just above her right eyebrow. Black hairs shot out from it like bristles on a brush. Working in the pharmacy, she knew the latest gossip about anyone and everyone in town. Marty would be certain to mention to whoever wandered into the store next that Sara Linton made a special trip to see Jeb today.

Marty smiled slyly. "You looking for Jeb?"

"Yes," Sara answered.

"Heard about last night," Marty said, obviously fishing for information. "That's a college girl, huh?"

Sara nodded, because that much could be found from the paper.

Marty's voice lowered. "Heard she was messed with."

"Mmm," Sara answered, looking around the store. "Is he here?" she asked.

"They both looked alike, too."

"What's that?" Sara asked, suddenly paying attention.

"Both them girls," Marty said. "You think there's some kind of connection?"

Sara cut the conversation short. "I really need to talk to Jeb."

"He's out back." Marty pointed toward the pharmacy, a hurt expression on her face.

Sara thanked Marty with a forced smile as she made her way toward the back of the store. Sara had always liked being in the pharmacy. She had bought her first tube of mascara here. On weekends, her father used to drive them to the store for candy. Not much had changed since Jeb bought the place. The soda counter, which was more for show than for serving drinks, still shone from polish. Contraceptives were still kept behind the counter. The narrow aisles up and down the length of the store were still labeled with signs made from marker and poster board.

Sara peered over the pharmacy counter but didn't see Jeb. She noticed the back door was open, and with a look over her shoulder, she walked behind the counter.

"Jeb?" she called. There was no response, and Sara walked to the open door. Jeb was standing to the side, his back to Sara. She tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped.

"God," he yelled, turning around quickly. The fear on his face was replaced by pleasure when he saw Sara.

He laughed. "You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm sorry," Sara apologized, but the truth was she was glad he could get worked up over something. "What were you doing?"

He pointed to a row of bushes lining the long parking lot behind the buildings. "See in that bush?"

Sara shook her head, not seeing anything but bushes. Then, "Oh," as she saw a small bird nest.

"Finches," Jeb said. "I put a feeder out there last year, but some kids from the school took it away."

Sara turned toward him. "About last night," she began.

He waved her off. "Please, Sara, believe me, I understand. You were with Jeffrey a long time."

"Thank you," she said, meaning it.

Jeb looked back into the pharmacy, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry about what happened, too. You know, with the girl." He shook his head slowly side to side. "It's just hard to think about things like that happening in your own town."

"I know," Sara answered, not really wanting to get into it.

"I guess I can forgive you, skipping out on our date to save somebody's life." He put his hand over the right side of his chest. "Did you really put your hand on her heart?"

Sara moved his hand to the left side. "Yes."

"Good Lord," Jeb breathed. "How did it feel?"

Sara gave him the truth. "Scary," she said. "Very scary."

His voice was filled with admiration when he said, "You are a remarkable woman, Sara. Do you know that?"

She felt silly being praised. "I'll give you a rain check if you want," she offered, trying to move him off the topic of Julia Matthews. "For our date, I mean."

He smiled, genuinely pleased. "That'd be great."

A breeze came and Sara rubbed her arms. "It's getting cold again."

"Here." He led her back inside, shutting the door behind them. "You doing anything this weekend?"

"I don't know," Sara said. Then, "Listen, I came to see if Jeffrey picked up his medication."

"Well." Jeb clasped his hands together. "I guess that means you're busy this weekend."

"No, it doesn't." Sara paused, then said, "It's just complicated."

"Yeah." He forced a smile. "No problem. I'll check his script."

She couldn't stand to see the disappointment on his face. She turned the Medic Alert display to give herself something to do. Bookmarks with religious sayings were alongside diabetes bracelets.

Jeb opened a large drawer under the counter and pulled out an orange pill bottle. He double-checked the label, then said, "He called it in but didn't pick it up yet."

"Thanks," Sara managed, taking the bottle. She held it in her hand, staring at Jeb. She spoke before she could back out of it. "Why don't you call me?" she asked. "About this weekend."

"Yeah, I will."

She reached out with her free hand, smoothing the lapel of his lab coat. "I mean it, Jeb. Call me."

He was quiet for a few seconds, then suddenly he leaned down, kissing her lightly on the lips. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Great," Sara said. She realized she was gripping the pill bottle so tightly that the top was about to pop off. She had kissed Jeb before. It was really no big deal. Something in the back of her mind was scared that Marty would see, though. Something in her mind was scared that news of the kiss would get back to Jeffrey.

"I can give you a bag for that," Jeb offered, pointing to the bottle.

"No," Sara mumbled, tucking the bottle into her jacket pocket.

She murmured a thanks and was out the door before Marty could look up from her magazine.

Jeffrey and Nick Shelton were out in the hall when Sara got to the station. Nick stood with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, his regulation GBI dark blue dress shirt tight across his chest. His non-regulation beard and mustache were trimmed neatly to his face, and his equally forbidden gold rope chain was hanging from his neck. At just under five feet six inches, he was short enough for Sara to rest her chin on the top of his head. This had not prevented him from asking her out a number of times.

"Hey, girl," Nick said, putting his arm around her waist.

Jeffrey had about as much to worry about competition-wise from Nick Shelton as he did from a reindeer, but he still seemed to bristle at the familiar way Nick held her. Sara thought Nick was overly solicitous for this very reason.

"Why don't we start the meeting?" Jeffrey grumbled. "Sara has to get back to work."

Sara caught up with Jeffrey as they walked down the hallway toward the back. She tucked the pill bottle into his coat pocket.

"What's this?" he asked, taking it out. Then, "Oh."

"Oh," Sara repeated, opening the door.

Frank Wallace and a reedy-looking young man in khakis and a shirt like Nick's were sitting in the briefing room when they entered. Frank stood, shaking Nick's hand. He gave Sara a firm nod, which she did not return. Something told Sara that Frank had a hand in what happened last night, and she did not like it.

"This is Mark Webster," Nick said, indicating the other man. He was a boy, really, hardly older than twenty-one. He had that still-wet-behind-the-ears look about him, and a piece of his hair stuck out in the back in a classic cowlick.

"Nice to meet you," Sara said, shaking his hand. It was like squeezing a fish, but if Nick had brought Mark Webster all the way down here from Macon, he couldn't be as goofy as he looked.

Frank said, "Why don't you tell them what you were telling me?"

The boy cleared his throat and actually tugged at his collar. He addressed his words toward Sara. "I was saying it's interesting your twist picked belladonna for his drug of choice. It's very unusual. I've only seen three cases in my work, and most of those were rule-outs, stupid kids who thought they'd have some fun."

Sara nodded her head, knowing that "rule-outs" meant ruling out foul play in a death. As a coroner as well as a pediatrician, she was especially careful when young children came into the morgue with cause of death unknown.

Mark leaned against the table, addressing his remarks to the rest of the group. "Belladonna is in the deadly nightshade family. During the Middle Ages, women chewed small quantities of the seeds in order to dilate their pupils. A woman with dilated eyes was considered more attractive, and that's where they got the name 'belladonna.' It means 'beautiful woman.' "

Sara supplied, "Both victims had extremely dilated pupils."

"Even a slight dose would cause this," Mark answered. He picked up a white Tyvek envelope and pulled out some photographs, which he handed to Jeffrey to circulate.

Mark said, "Belladonna is bell shaped, usually purple, and smells kind of funny. It's not something you'd keep around in your yard if you had kids or small animals. Whoever is growing it probably has a fence around it, maybe three feet tall at the least, in order to keep from poisoning everybody around."

"Does it need any specific kind of soil or feed?" Jeffrey asked, passing the photo to Frank.

"It's a weed. It can grow practically anywhere. That's what makes it so popular. The only thing is, it's a bad drug." Mark paused at this. "The high is prolonged, lasts about three to four hours, depending on how much you take. Users report very real hallucinations. A lot of times they'll actually think it happened, if they can remember it."

Sara asked, "It causes amnesia?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, selective amnesia, which means they only remember bits and pieces. Like she might remember it was a man that took her, but she won't remember what he looked like even if she was staring him in the face. Or she might say he was purple with green eyes." He paused. "It's a hallucinogen, but not like your typical PCP or LSD. Users report that there's no discerning between the hallucination and the real thing. With, say, angel dust, ecstasy, what have you, you know you're hallucinating. Belladonna makes everything seem real. If I gave you a cup of Datura, when you came around you might swear to me you had a conversation with a coatrack. I could hook you up to a lie detector and you'd come out as telling the truth. It takes things that are there in reality and puts a twist on them."

"Tea?" Jeffrey asked, giving Sara a look.

"Yes, sir. Kids've been boiling it in tea to drink." He clasped his hands behind him. "I've got to tell you, though, it's dangerous stuff. Real easy to OD on."

Sara asked, "How else can you ingest it?"

"If you've got the patience," Mark answered, "you can soak the leaves in alcohol for a couple of days, then evaporate it. It's still a crapshoot, though, because the consistency isn't guaranteed, even with people who grow it for medical purposes."

"What medical purposes?" Jeffrey asked.

"Well, you know when you go to the eye doctor and he dilates your eyes? It's a belladonna compound. Very diluted, but it's belladonna. You couldn't take a couple of bottles of the eyedrops and kill somebody, for instance. At this low level of concentration, the worst you could do is give them a really bad headache and killer constipation. It's at the pure level that you have to be careful."

Frank bumped her arm, handing her the photograph. Sara looked down at the plant. It looked pretty much like every plant she had ever seen. Sara was a doctor, not a horticulturist. She couldn't even grow a Chia Pet.

Without warning, her mind was racing again, thinking back to when she first found Julia Matthews on her car. She was trying to remember if the duct tape had been there. With sudden clarity, Sara remembered that it had. She could see the tape on the woman's mouth. She could see Julia Matthews's body crucified on the hood of the car. "Sara?" Jeffrey asked.

"Hm?" Sara looked up. Everyone was staring at her, as if they were anticipating a response to something. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "What was it you asked?"

Mark answered, "I asked if you noticed anything strange about the victims. Were they unable to speak? Did they have a blank stare?"

Sara handed back the photo. "Sibyl Adams was blind," she provided. "So of course her stare was blank. Julia Matthews…" She paused, trying to force the image from her mind. "Her eyes were glazed. I imagine it was from being gorked out on this drug more than anything else."

Jeffrey gave her a funny look. "Mark mentioned something about belladonna interfering with vision."

"There's a sort of blindsightedness," Mark said in a tone that implied he was repeating himself. "According to user reports, you can see, but your mind can't make out what it is you're seeing. Like I could show you an apple or an orange, and you would be aware that you were seeing something round, maybe textured, but your brain wouldn't recognize what it is."

"I know what blindsightedness is," Sara returned, realizing too late that her tone was condescending. She tried to cover for this by saying, "Do you think Sibyl Adams experienced this? Maybe that's why she didn't scream out?"

Mark looked at the other men. Obviously, this was another thing he had covered while Sara was zoning out. "There's been reported loss of voice from the drug. Nothing physically happens in the voice box. There's no physical restraint or damage caused by the drug. I think it's more to do with something happening in the language center of the brain. It has to be similar to whatever causes the sight recognition problems."

"Makes sense," Sara agreed.

Mark continued. "Some signs that it's been ingested would be cotton mouth, dilated pupils, high body temperature, elevated heart rate, and difficulty breathing."

"Both victims experienced all of those symptoms," Sara provided. "What kind of dose would bring this about?"

"It's pretty potent stuff. Just one bag of tea can send somebody loopy, especially if they're not recreational drug users. The berries aren't that bad on a scale of things, but anything from the root or the leaf is going to be dangerous, unless you know exactly what you're doing. And then there's no guarantee."

"The first victim was a vegetarian," Sara said.

"She was a chemist, too, right?" Mark asked. "I can think of a million different drugs to fool around with other than belladonna. I don't think anybody who took the time to research it would take that kind of risk. It's Russian roulette, especially if you're dealing with the root. That's the deadliest part. Just a little bit too much from the root and you're gone. There's no known antidote."

"I didn't see any signs of drug use in Julia Matthews." She said to Jeffrey, "I suppose you're going to interview her after this?"

He nodded, then asked Mark, "Anything else?"

Mark brushed his fingers through his hair. "After the drug, there's noted constipation, still the cotton mouth, sometimes hallucinations. It's interesting to know that the drug was used in a sex crime, ironic even."

"How's that?" Jeffrey asked.

"During the Middle Ages, the drug was sometimes inserted with a vaginal applicator so that the rush would come sooner. There are even some people who think the whole myth of witches flying on broomsticks comes from the image of a woman inserting the drug with a wooden applicator." He smiled. "But then we'd have to get into a protracted discussion on deity worshipping and the rise of Christianity in European cultures."

Mark seemed to sense he had lost his audience. "People in drug communities who know about belladonna tend to stay away from it." He looked at Sara. "If you'll excuse the language, ma'am?"

Sara shrugged. Between the clinic and her father, she had pretty much heard it all.

Mark still blushed when he said, "It's a total mind fuck." He offered Sara a smile in apology. "The number one memory, even among users with amnesia, is flying. They really believe they're flying, and the)' can't understand, even after they come down, that they haven't actually flown."

Jeffrey crossed his arms. "That might explain why she keeps staring out the window."

"Has she said anything yet?" Sara asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing." Then, "We're going to the hospital next if you want to see her."

Sara looked at her watch, pretending to consider this. There was no way in hell she was going to see Julia Matthews again. It was too much to even think about. "I've got patients," she said.

Jeffrey indicated his office. "Sara, mind if I talk to you for a second?"

Sara felt the urge to bolt, but she fought it. "Is this about my car?"

"No." Jeffrey waited until she was in his office, then shut the door. Sara sat on the edge of his desk, trying for a casual pose. "I had to take my boat in to work this morning," Sara said. "Do you know how cold it is on the lake?"

He ignored this, getting straight to the point. "Found your gun."

"Oh," Sara answered, trying to think of what to say. Of all the things she had been expecting him to say, this was the last one. The Ruger had been in her car for so long that she had forgotten about it. "Am I under arrest?"

"Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift."

Jeffrey gave her a hard look. "What, somebody gave you a three-fifty-seven with the serial numbers filed off for your birthday?"

Sara shrugged this off. "I've had it for years, Jeffrey."

"When did you buy that car, Sara? Couple of years ago?"

"I moved it from the old one when I bought it."

He stared at her, not speaking. Sara could tell that he was mad, but she did not know what to say. She tried, "I've never used it."

"That makes me feel good, Sara," he snapped. "You've got a gun in your car capable of literally taking somebody's head off and you don't know how to use it?" He paused, obviously trying to understand. "What're you gonna do if someone comes after you, huh?"

Sara knew the answer to this, but she did not say.

Jeffrey asked, "Why do you have it in the first place?"

Sara studied her ex-husband, trying to figure out the best way to get out of this office without having another fight. She was tired and she was upset. This wasn't the time to go a few rounds with Jeffrey. Sara just did not have the fight in her at the moment.

"I just had it," she answered.

"You don't just have this kind of gun," he said.

"I need to get back to the clinic." She stood, but he was blocking her exit.

"Sara, what the hell is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

His eyes narrowed, but he did not answer. He moved aside, opening the door for her.

Sara thought for a second that it was a trick. "That's it?" she asked.

He stepped aside. "It's not like I can beat it out of you."

She put her hand to his chest, feeling guilty. "Jeffrey."

He looked out into the squad room, "I need to go over to the hospital," he said, obviously dismissing her.

Chapter Sixteen

LENA leaned her head into her hand, trying to close her eyes for just a minute of rest. She had been sitting in a chair outside Julia Matthews's room for over an hour, and the last few days were finally catching up with her. She was tired and about to start her period. Despite this, her pants were loose on her hips from not eating. When she snapped her paddle holster on over her belt this morning, it was loose against her hip. As the day wore on, it started to rub, chafing her side.

Lena knew she needed to eat, needed to get back to living her life instead of just dragging along through every day like she was living on borrowed time. For now, she could not imagine doing that. She didn't want to get up in the morning and go for a run, like she had every morning for the last fifteen years. She did not want to go down to the Krispy Kreme and get coffee with Frank and the other detectives. She did not want to go to pack her lunch or go out to dinner. Every time she looked at food, she felt sick. All she could think was that Sibyl would never eat again. Lena was walking around while Sibyl was dead. Lena was breathing while Sibyl was not. Nothing made sense. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Lena took a deep breath and let it go, looking up and down the hallway. Julia Matthews was the only patient in the hospital today, which made Lena 's job easy. Except for a nurse who had been floated down on loan from Augusta, it was just Lena and Julia on this floor.

She stood, trying to walk some sense into her brain. She was feeling punch-drunk, and Lena could not think of anything to fight this other than to remain in motion. Her body ached from restless sleep, and she was still unable to get the image of Sibyl in the morgue out of her mind. Part of Lena was glad that there was another victim, though. Part of Lena wanted to go into Julia Matthews's room and shake her, to beg her to speak, to tell them who had done this to her, who had killed Sibyl, but Lena knew this would get them nowhere.

The few times Lena had gone into the room to check on the girl, she had been silent, not answering even the most innocuous questions from Lena. Did she want another pillow? Was there anyone she wanted Lena to call for her?

Thirsty, the girl had pointed to the pitcher on the hospital table rather than asked for water. Her eyes still had a haunted look about them, too, caused by the fact that the drug was still in her system. Her pupils were wide open, and she had the look of someone who was blind-blind like Sibyl had been. Only Julia Matthews would recover from this. Julia Matthews would see again. She would get better. She would go back to school and make friends, maybe meet a husband one day and have kids. Memories of what had happened would always be in the back of Julia Matthews's mind, but at least she would have a life. At least she would have a future. Lena knew that part of her resented Matthews for this. Lena knew, too, that she would trade Julia Matthews's life for Sibyl's on a second's notice.

The elevator dinged open, and Lena put her hand to her gun without thinking. Jeffrey and Nick Shelton walked into the hallway, followed by Frank and a skinny-looking kid who looked like he had just come from his high school graduation. She dropped her hand, walking to meet them, thinking she'd be damned if all those men were going to go into the small hospital room containing a woman who had just been raped. Especially Opie.

"How's she doing?" Jeffrey asked.

Lena skipped the question. "You're not all going in there, are you?"

The look on Jeffrey's face said he had planned just this.

"She's still not talking," Lena said, trying to help him save face. "She hasn't said anything."

"Maybe just you and I should go in," he finally decided. "Sorry, Mark."

The young man did not seem to mind. "Hey, I'm just glad this got me out of the office for a day."

Lena thought it was pretty shitty of him to say this within walking distance of a woman who had arguably been to hell and back, but Jeffrey caught her arm before she could say anything. He led her up the hallway, talking as they walked.

"She's stable?" he asked. "Her medical condition?"

"Yeah."

Jeffrey stopped at the door to the room, his hand on the handle but not opening it. "How about you? You're doing okay?"

"Sure."

"I have a feeling her parents are going to want to move her to Augusta. How do you feel about going with her?"

Lena 's first impulse was to protest, but she nodded an uncharacteristic acquiescence. It might do her some good to get out of town. Hank would be going back to Reece in a day or two. Maybe she would feel differently when she had the house back to herself.

"I'll let you start," Jeffrey said. "If she looks like she'll be more comfortable with just you, then I'll step out."

"Right," Lena said, knowing this was standard procedure. Generally, the last thing a woman who had been raped wanted to do was talk to a man about it. As the only female detective on the squad, this job had fallen to Lena a couple of times before. She had even gone to Macon once to help interview a young girl there who had been brutally beaten and raped by her next-door neighbor. Still, even though Lena had been at the hospital all day with Julia, something about actually talking to the girl, interviewing her, made Lena feel sick to her stomach. It was too close to home.

"You ready?" Jeffrey asked, his hand on the door.

"Yeah."

Jeffrey opened the door, letting Lena go in ahead of him. Julia Matthews was asleep, but she woke at the noise. Lena didn't imagine the young girl would have a good night's sleep for a long while, if ever.

"Want some water?" Lena asked, walking to the far side of the bed, picking up the pitcher. She filled the girls glass, then turned the straw so she could drink.

Jeffrey stood with his back close to the door, obviously wanting to give the young girl space. He said, "I'm Chief Tolliver, Julia. Do you remember me from this morning?"

She gave a slow nod.

"You've ingested a drug called belladonna. Do you know what that is?"

She shook her head side to side.

"It causes you to lose your voice sometimes. Do you think you can speak?"

The girl opened her mouth, and a scratchy sound came out. She moved her lips, obviously trying to form words.

Jeffrey gave an encouraging smile. "Want to try to tell me your name?"

She opened her mouth again, her voice raspy and small. "Julia."

"Good," Jeffrey said. "This is Lena Adams. You know her, right?"

Julia nodded, her eyes finding Lena.

"She's going to ask you some questions, okay?"

Lena tried not to hide her surprise. She wasn't sure she could tell Julia Matthews the time of day, let alone question the young woman. Lena fell back on her training, starting with what she knew.

"Julia?" Lena pulled a chair up to the young woman's bed. "We need to know if you can tell us anything about what was done to you."

Julia closed her eyes. Her lips quivered, but she did not answer.

"Did you know him, sweetie?"

She shook her head.

"Was it someone from one of your classes? Had you seen him around school?"

Julia's eyes closed. Tears came a few seconds later. She finally said, "No."

Lena put her hand on the girl's arm. It was thin and frail, much as Sibyl's had seemed in the morgue. She tried not to think about her sister when she said, "Let's talk about his hair. Can you tell me what color it was?"

Again she shook her head.

"Any tattoos or marks that might help us identify him?"

"No."

Lena said, "I know this is hard, honey, but we have to find out what happened. We need to get this guy off the street so he can't hurt anyone else."

Julia kept her eyes closed. The room was intolerably quiet, so much so that Lena felt the urge to do something loud. The silence was making her nervous for some reason.

Without warning, Julia finally spoke. Her voice was husky. "He tricked me."

Lena pressed her lips together, letting the girl have her time.

"He tricked me," Julia repeated, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter. "I was at the library."

Lena thought about Ryan Gordon. Her heart thumped in her chest. Had she been wrong about him? Was he capable of doing something like this? Maybe Julia had escaped while he was in jail.

"I had a test," Julia continued, "and I stayed late to study." Her breathing became labored at the memory.

"Let's take some deep breaths," Lena said, then she breathed in and out, in and out, with Julia. "That's good, honey. Just keep calm."

She started to cry in earnest now. "Ryan was there," she said.

Lena allowed herself to look at Jeffrey. He was focused on Matthews, his brow furrowed. She could almost read his thoughts.

"At the library?" Lena asked, trying not to sound too pushy.

Julia nodded, then reached out for her glass of water.

"Here," Lena said, helping her lean up so that she could drink.

The girl took several swallows, then let her head drop back down. She stared out the window again, her mind obviously taking time to recover. Lena tried not to tap her foot. She wanted to reach over the bed and force the girl to talk. She could not understand how Julia Matthews could be so passive in her interrogation. If Lena were in that bed, she would be spitting out every detail she had. Lena would be pushing whoever would listen to find the man who did this. Her hands would be itching to rip his heart out of his chest. How Julia Matthews could just lie there, she did not know.

Lena counted to twenty, forcing herself to give the woman some time. She had counted in the Ryan Gordon interview; it was an old trick of hers and the only way she could make herself at least appear patient. When she reached fifty, Lena asked, "Ryan was there?"

Julia nodded.

"In the library?"

She nodded again.

Lena reached over, putting her hand on Julia's arm again. She would have held her hand if it had not been wrapped in tight bandages. She kept her tone even, putting in just a little bit of pressure, as she said, "You saw Ryan at the library. Then what happened?"

Julia responded to the pressure. "We talked a little while, then I had to go back to the dorm."

"Were you mad at him?"

Julia's eyes found Lena's. Something passed between them, an unvoiced message. Lena knew then that Ryan had some kind of control over Julia, but that she wanted to break it. Lena also knew that as much of a bastard as Ryan Gordon was, he had not been the man to do this to his girlfriend.

Lena asked, "Did you argue?"

"We kind of made up, though."

"Kind of, but not really?" Lena clarified, sensing what had happened in the library that night. She could see Ryan Gordon trying to push Julia into making some kind of commitment to him. She could also see that Julia's eyes had finally been opened as to what kind of person her ex-boyfriend was. Julia had finally seen him for what he was. But someone else more evil than Ryan Gordon could ever hope to be had been waiting for her.

Lena asked, "So you left the library, then what?"

"There was a man," she said. "On the way to the dorm."

"Which way did you walk?"

"The back way, around the agri-building."

"By the lake?"

She shook her head. "The other side."

Lena waited for her to continue.

"I ran into him, and he dropped his books, and I dropped mine." Her voice trailed off, but her breathing became loud in the small room. She was nearly panting.

"Did you see his face then?"

"I don't remember. He gave me a shot."

Lena felt her eyebrows furrow. "Like a shot with a syringe?"

"I felt it. I didn't see it."

"Where did you feel it?"

She put her hand to her left hip.

"He was behind you when you felt it?" Lena asked, thinking this would make the killer left-handed, just like Sibyl's attacker.

"Yeah."

"So he took you then?" Lena asked. "He ran into you, then you felt the shot, then he took you somewhere?"

"Yes."

"In his car?"

"I don't remember," she said. "The next thing I knew, I was in a basement." She put her hands over her face, crying in earnest. Her body started to shake with grief.

"It's okay," Lena said, putting her hand over the other woman's. "Do you want to stop now? You're in charge of this."

The room was quiet again but for Julia's breathing. When she did speak again, her voice was a hoarse, almost imperceptible whisper. "He raped me."

Lena felt a lump in her throat. She knew this already, of course, but the way Julia said the word stripped Lena of every defense she had. Lena felt raw and exposed. She did not want Jeffrey in the room. For some reason, he seemed to sense this. When she looked up at him, he nodded toward the door. Lena mouthed a yes, and he left without a sound.

"Do you know what happened next?" Lena asked.

Julia moved her head, trying to find Jeffrey.

"He's gone," Lena said, giving her voice an assured tone that she did not feel. "It's just us, Julia. It's just you and me, and we've got all day if you need it. All week, all year." She paused, lest the girl take that as encouragement to stop the interview. "Just keep in mind that the sooner we get the details, the sooner we can stop him. You don't want him to do this to another girl, do you?"

She took the question hard, as Lena expected she would. Lena knew she had to be a little tough or the girl would simply shut up, keeping the details to herself.

Julia sobbed, the noise filling the room, ringing in Lena's ears.

Julia said, "I don't want this to happen to anyone else."

"Me, either," Lena answered. "You have to tell me what he did to you." She paused, then, "Did you see his face at any time?"

"No," she answered. "I mean, I did, but I couldn't tell. I couldn't make the connection. It was so dark all the time. There was no light at all."

"Are you sure it was a basement?"

"It smelled," she said. "Musty, and I could hear water dripping."

"Water?" Lena asked. "Like dripping from a faucet, or maybe from the lake?"

"A faucet," Julia said. "More like a faucet. It sounded…" She closed her eyes, and for a few seconds she seemed to let herself go back to that place. "Like a metallic clinking." She mimicked the sound, "Clink, clink, clink, over and over. It never stopped." She put her hands over her ears, as if to stop the noise.

"Let's go back to the college," Lena said. "You felt the shot in your hip, then what? Do you know what kind of car he was driving?"

Julia shook her head again in an exaggerated sweep left to right. "I don't remember. I was picking up my books, and then the next thing I knew, I was, I was…" Her voice trailed off.

"In the basement?" Lena provided. "Do you remember anything about where you were?"

"It was dark."

"You couldn't make anything out?"

"I couldn't open my eyes. They wouldn't open." Her voice so soft that Lena had to strain to hear. "I was flying."

"Flying?"

"I kept floating up, like I was on water. I could hear the waves from the ocean."

Lena took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Did he have you on your back?"

Julia's face crumpled at this, and she shook with sobs.

"Honey," Lena prompted. "Was he white? Black? Could you tell?"

She shook her head again. "I couldn't open my eyes. He talked to me. His voice." Her lips were trembling, and her face had turned an alarming shade of red. The tears came in earnest now, marking a continual stream down her face. "He said he loved me." She gasped for air as the panic took hold. "He kept kissing me. His tongue-" She stopped, sobbing.

Lena took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. She was pushing too hard. Lena counted to a slow one hundred, then said, "The holes in your hands. We know he put something in your hands and feet."

Julia looked at the bandages, as if seeing them for the first time. "Yes," she said. "I woke up, and my hands were nailed down. I could see the nail go through, but it didn't hurt."

"You were on the floor?"

"I think so. I felt"-she seemed to look for a word-"I felt suspended. I was flying. How did he make me fly? Was I flying?"

Lena cleared her throat. "No," she answered. Then began, "Julia, can you think of anybody new in your life, maybe someone on campus or in town, who was making you uncomfortable? Maybe you felt like you were being watched?"

"I'm still being watched," she said, looking out the window.

"I'm watching you," Lena said, turning the girl's face back toward her. "I'm watching you, Julia. Nobody is going to hurt you again. Do you understand that? Nobody."

"I don't feel safe," she said, her face crumpling as she started to cry again. "He can see me. I know he can see me."

"It's just you and me here," Lena assured her. When she spoke, it was like talking to Sibyl, assuring Sibyl that she would be taken care of. "When you go to Augusta, I'll be with you. I'm not going to let you out of my sight. Do you understand that?"

Julia seemed to be more frightened despite Lena's words. Her voice was raspy when she asked, "Why am I going to Augusta?"

"I don't know that for sure," Lena answered, reaching for the water pitcher. "Don't worry about that right now."

"Who's going to send me to Augusta?" Julia asked, her lips trembling.

"Drink some more water," Lena told her, holding the cup up to her lips. "Your parents are going to be here soon. Don't worry about anything but taking care of yourself and getting better."

The girl choked, and water spilled down her neck and onto the bed. Her eyes opened wide in panic. "Why are you moving me?" she asked. "What's going to happen?"

"We won't move you if you don't want," Lena said. "I'll talk to your parents."

"My parents?"

"They should be here soon," Lena assured her. "It's okay."

"Do they know?" Julia asked, her voice raised. "Did you tell them what happened to me?"

"I don't know," Lena answered. "I'm not sure if they know any of the details."

"You can't tell my daddy," the girl sobbed. "Nobody can tell my father, okay? He can't know what happened."

"You didn't do anything," Lena said. "Julia, your dad's not going to blame you for this."

Julia was quiet. After a while, she looked back out the window, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It's okay," Lena soothed, taking a tissue out of the box on the table. She reached over the girl, blotting the water off the pillow. The last thing this girl needed to think about was how her father would react to what had happened to her. Lena had worked with rape victims before. She knew how the blame worked. Very seldom did a victim blame anyone but herself.

There was a strange noise Lena found vaguely familiar. Too late she realized it was her gun.

"Move away," Julia whispered. She held the gun awkwardly in her bandaged hands. It tilted toward Lena, then back toward Julia as she tried to get a better grip on the weapon. Lena looked toward the door, thinking to call for Jeffrey, but Julia warned her, "Don't."

Lena held her hands out to her sides, but did not back up. She knew the safety was on, but also knew it would take a matter of seconds for the girl to switch it off.

Lena said, "Give me the gun."

"You don't understand," the girl said, tears welling into her eyes. "You don't understand what he did to me, how he-" She stopped, choking on a sob. She did not have a good grip on the gun, but the barrel was pointed toward Lena and her finger was on the trigger. Lena felt a cold sweat overcome her, and she honestly could not recall if the safety was on or off. What she did know was that a round was already chambered. Once the safety was off, a tap on the trigger would fire the weapon.

Lena tried to keep her voice calm. "What, sweetheart? What don't I understand?"

Julia tilted the gun back toward her own head. She fumbled, almost dropping it, before letting the barrel rest on her chin.

"Don't do that," Lena begged. "Please give me the gun. There's a bullet in the chamber."

"I know about guns."

"Julia, please," Lena said, knowing she needed to keep the girl talking. "Listen to me."

A slight smile came to her lips. "My daddy used to take me hunting with him. He used to let me help him clean the rifles."

"Julia-"

"When I was there." She choked back a sob. "When I was with him."

"The man? The man who abducted you?"

"You don't know what he did," she said, her voice tight in her throat. "The things he did to me. I can't tell you."

"I'm so sorry," Lena said. She wanted to move forward, but there was a look to Julia Matthews's eyes that kept her rooted to the floor. Charging the girl was not an option.

Lena said, "I won't let him hurt you again, Julia. I promise."

"You don't understand," the girl sobbed, sliding the gun up to the cleft of her chin. She could barely grip the weapon, but Lena knew this wouldn't matter at such a close range.

"Honey, please don't," Lena said, her eyes going to the door. Jeffrey was on the other side, maybe she could alert him somehow without letting Julia know.

"Don't," Julia said, as if reading Lena's mind.

"You don't have to do this," Lena said. She tried to make her voice firmer, but the truth was Lena had only read about this kind of situation in procedural manuals. She had never talked someone out of suicide.

Julia said, "The way he touched me. The way he kissed me." Her voice broke. "You just don't know."

"What?" Lena asked, slowly moving her hand toward the gun. "What don't I know?"

"He-" She stopped, a guttural sound coming from her throat. "He made love to me."

"He-"

"He made love to me," she repeated, a whisper that echoed in the room. "Do you know what that means?" she asked. "He kept saying he didn't want to hurt me. He wanted to make love to me. He did."

Lena felt her mouth open, but there was nothing she could say. She couldn't be hearing what she thought she was hearing. "What are you saying?" she asked, aware of the sharpness in her tone. "What do you mean?"

"He made love to me," Julia repeated. "The way he touched me."

Lena shook her head, as if to rid this from her mind. She could not keep the incredulity out of her tone when she asked, "Are you saying you enjoyed it?"

A snapping sound came as Julia disengaged the safety. Lena felt too stunned to move but somehow managed to reach Julia seconds before the girl pulled the trigger. Lena looked down in time to see Julia Matthews's head explode beneath her.

The water from the shower came like needles against Lena's skin. She was aware of the burning, but it was not uncomfortable. She was numb to all sensations, numb from the inside out. Her knees gave, and Lena let herself slide down into the tub. She pulled her knees to her chest, closing her eyes as the water beat down on her breasts and face. She bent her head forward, feeling like a rag doll. The water pummeled the top of her head, bruised the back of her neck, but she did not care. Her body did not belong to her anymore. She was empty. She could not think of one thing that had meaning in her life, not her job, not Jeffrey, not Hank Norton, and certainly not herself.

Julia Matthews was dead, just like Sibyl. Lena had failed them both.

The water started to run cold, the spray pricking against her skin. Lena turned off the shower and dried herself with a towel, feeling as if she was just going through the motions. Her body still felt dirty despite the fact that this was her second shower in the last five hours. There was a strange taste in her mouth, too. Lena wasn't sure if it was her imagination or if something had gone into her mouth when Julia had pulled the trigger.

She shuddered thinking about this.

"Lee?" Hank called from outside the bathroom door.

"I'll be down in a minute," Lena answered, putting paste on her toothbrush. She looked at herself in the mirror as she tried to scrub the taste out of her mouth. The resemblance to Sibyl was gone today. There was nothing left of her sister.

Lena went down to the kitchen in her robe and bedroom slippers. Outside the kitchen door, she put her hand to the wall, feeling lightheaded and sick to her stomach. She was forcing her body to move, otherwise she would go to sleep and never wake up. Her body ached to give in to that, ached to cut off, but Lena knew that as soon as her head hit the pillow she would be wide awake, her mind playing back the sight of Julia Matthews just before she killed herself. The girl had been looking at Lena when she pulled the trigger. Their eyes had locked, and Lena did not need to see the gun to know that death was on the younger woman's mind.

Hank was at the kitchen table, drinking a Coke. He stood when she entered the room. Lena felt a flush of shame and couldn't look him in the eye. She had been strong in the car as Frank drove her back to the house. She had not said a word to her partner, or commented on the fact that despite her efforts to clean herself at the hospital, she had gray matter and blood sticking to her like hot wax. There were pieces of bone in her breast pocket, and she could feel blood dripping down her face and neck, even though she had wiped it all off at the hospital. It was not until she had the front door closed behind her that Lena let herself go. That Hank had been there, that she had let him hold her in his arms while she sobbed, was something that still brought a sense of shame to her. She did not know herself anymore. She did not know who this weak person was.

Lena glanced out the window, noting, "It's dark out."

"You slept awhile," Hank said, going to the stove. "You want some tea?"

"Yeah," Lena said, though she had not slept at all. Closing her eyes only brought her closer to what had happened. If she never slept again, Lena would be fine.

"Your boss called to check on you," Hank said.

"Oh," Lena answered, sitting at the table, her leg tucked underneath her. She wondered what was going through Jeffrey's mind. He had been out in the hallway, waiting for Lena to call him in, when the gun went off. Lena remembered the expression of absolute shock on his face when he burst through the doorway. Lena had stood there, still leaning over Julia, flesh and bone dripping from her chest and face. Jeffrey had forced her out of this position, patting his hands down Lena's body, checking to make sure she had not been shot in the process.

Lena had stood mute while he did this, unable to take her eyes off what was left of Julia Matthews's face. The young girl had put the gun under her chin, blowing out the back of her head. The wall behind and over the bed was splattered. A bullet hole was three feet down from the ceiling. Jeffrey had forced Lena to stay in that room, drilling her for every bit of information she had gotten from Julia Matthews, questioning every detail of Lena's narrative as Lena stood there, her lip trembling uncontrollably, unable to follow the words coming out of her own mouth.

Lena put her head in her hands. She listened as Hank filled the kettle, heard the click as the electric starter on the gas stove kicked in.

Hank sat in front of her, his hands crossed in front of him. "You okay?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered, her own voice sounding far away. The gun had gone off close to her ear. The ringing had stopped a while ago, but sounds still came like a dull ache.

"You know what I was thinking?" Hank asked, sitting back in his chair. "Remember that time you fell off the front porch?"

Lena stared at him, not understanding where he was going with this. "Yeah?"

"Well." He shrugged, smiling for some reason. "Sibyl pushed you."

Lena wasn't sure she had heard him right. "What?"

He assured Lena, "She pushed you. I saw her."

"She pushed me off the porch?" Lena shook her head. "She was trying to keep me from falling."

"She was blind, Lee, how did she know you were falling?"

Lena's mouth worked. He had a point. "I had to get sixteen stitches in my leg."

"I know."

"She pushed me?" Lena questioned, her voice raised a few octaves. "Why did she push me?"

"I don't know. Maybe she was just kidding." Hank chuckled. "You let out such a holler I thought the neighbors were gonna come."

"I doubt the neighbors would've come if they'd heard a twenty-one-gun salute," Lena commented. Hank Norton's neighbors had learned early on to expect all kinds of commotion coming from his house night and day.

"Remember that time at the beach?" Hank began.

Lena stared at him, trying to figure out why he was bringing this up. "What time?"

"When you couldn't find your kickboard?"

"The red one?" Lena asked. Then, "Don't tell me, she pushed it off the balcony."

He chuckled. "Nope. She lost it in the pool."

"How can you lose a kickboard in the pool?"

He waved this off. "I guess some kid took it. The point was, it was yours. You told her not to take it and she did, and she lost it."

Despite herself, Lena felt some of the weight on her shoulders lifting. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

Again, he gave a small shrug. "I don't know. I was just thinking about her this morning. Remember that shirt she used to wear? The one with the green stripes?"

Lena nodded.

"She still had it."

"No," Lena said, surprised. They had fought over that shirt during high school until Hank had settled it with a coin toss. "Why did she keep it?"

"It was hers," Hank said.

Lena stared at her uncle, not sure what to say.

He stood up, taking a mug from the cabinet. "You want some time to yourself, or do you want me around?"

Lena considered his question. She needed to be alone, to get some sense of herself back, and she could not do that around Hank of all people. "Are you going back to Reece?"

"I thought I'd stay at Nan's tonight and help her sort through some things."

Lena felt a slight panic. "She's not throwing things away, is she?"

"No, of course not. She's just going through things, getting her clothes together." Hank leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. "She shouldn't have to do that alone."

Lena stared at her hands. There was something under her fingernails. She couldn't tell if it was dirt or blood. She put her finger in her mouth, using her bottom teeth to clean it.

Hank watched this. He said, "You could come by later if you felt like it."

Lena shook her head, biting the nail. She would tear it off to the quick before she let the blood stay there. "I have to get up early for work tomorrow," she lied.

"But if you change your mind?"

"Maybe," she mumbled around her finger. She tasted blood, surprised to see that it was her own. The cuticle had come away on the nail. A bright red dot radiated from the spot.

Hank stood, staring, then grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. They had been through this kind of thing before, though admittedly never on this scale. It was an old, familiar dance, and they both knew the moves. Hank took one step forward, Lena took two steps back. Now wasn't the time to change any of this.

He said, "You can call me if you need me. You know that, right?"

"Mm-hm," she mumbled, pressing her lips together. She was going to cry again, and Lena thought that a part of her would die if she broke down in front of Hank again.

He seemed to sense this because he put his hand on her shoulder, then kissed the top of her head.

Lena kept her head down, waiting for the click as the front door closed. She gave a long sigh as Hank's car backed out of the driveway.

The kettle was steaming, but the whistle had not started yet. Lena did not particularly like tea, but she rummaged around in the cabinets anyway, looking for the bags. She found a box of Tummy Mint just as a knock came at the back door.

She expected to see Hank, so Lena was surprised when she opened the door.

"Oh, hi," she said, rubbing her ear as a shrill noise came. She realized the teakettle was whistling and said, "Hold on a second."

She was turning off the burner when she felt a presence behind her, then a sharp sting came to her left thigh.

Chapter Seventeen

SARA stood in front of the body of Julia Matthews with her arms crossed over her chest. She stared at the girl, trying to assess her with a clinical eye, trying to separate the girl whose life Sara had saved from the dead woman on the table. The incision Sara had made to access Julias heart was not yet healed, the black sutures still thick with dried blood. A small hole was at the base of the woman's chin. Burns around the entrance wound revealed the barrel of the gun was pressed into the chin when it was fired. A gaping hole at the back of the girl's head revealed the exit wound. Bone hung from the open skull, like macabre ornaments on a bloody Christmas tree. The smell of gunpowder was in the air.

Julia Matthews's body lay on the porcelain autopsy table much as Sibyl Adams's had a few days ago. At the head of the table was a faucet with a black rubber hose attached. Hanging over this was an organ scale much like the scales grocers use to weigh fruit and vegetables. Beside the table were the tools of autopsy: a scalpel, a sixteen-inch-long surgically sharpened bread knife, a pair of equally sharpened scissors, a pair of forceps, or "pickups," a Stryker saw to cut bone, and a set of long-handled pruning shears one would normally find in a garage by the lawn mower. Cathy Linton had a similar set for herself, and whenever Sara saw her mother pruning azaleas she always thought about using the shears at the morgue to cut away the rib cage.

Sara mindlessly followed the various steps for preparing the body of Julia Matthews for autopsy. Her thoughts were elsewhere, back to the night before, when Julia Matthews was on Sara's car; back to when the girl was alive and had a chance.

Sara had never minded performing autopsies before, never been disturbed by death. Opening a body was like opening a book; there were many things which could be learned from tissue and organ. In death, the body was available for thorough evaluation. Part of the reason Sara had taken the job as medical examiner for Grant County was that she had become bored with her practice at the clinic. The coroner's job presented a challenge, an opportunity to learn a new skill and to help people. Though the thought of cutting up Julia Matthews, exposing her body to more abuse, cut through Sara like a knife.

Again, Sara looked at what was left of Julia Matthews's head. Gunshots to the head were notoriously unpredictable. Most times the victim ended up comatose, a vegetable who, through the miracles of modern science, quietly lived out the rest of the life they did not want in the first place. Julia Matthews had done a better job than most when she put the gun under her chin and pulled the trigger. The bullet had entered her skull at an upward trajectory, breaking the sphenoid, plowing along the lateral cerebral fissure, then busting out through the occipital bone. The back of the head was gone, affording a straight view into the brain case. Unlike in her earlier suicide attempt witnessed by the scarring on her wrists, Julia Matthews had meant to end her life. Unquestionably, the girl had known what she was doing.

Sara felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to shake the girl back to life, to demand she go on living, to ask her how she could have gone through everything that had happened to her in the last few days only to end up taking her life. It seemed that the very horrors Julia Matthews had survived had also ended up killing her.

"You okay?" Jeffrey asked, giving her a concerned look.

"Yeah," Sara managed, wondering if she really was. She felt raw, like a wound that would not scab. Sara knew that if Jeffrey made a pass at her, she would take him up on the offer. All she could think of was how good it would feel to let him take her into his arms, to feel his lips kissing hers, his tongue in her mouth. Her body ached for him now in a way she had not ached for him in years. She did not particularly want sex, she just wanted the assurance of his presence. She wanted to feel protected. She wanted to belong to him. Sara had learned a long time ago that sex was the only way Jeffrey knew how to give her these things.

From across the table, Jeffrey asked, "Sara?"

She opened her mouth, thinking to proposition him, but stopped herself. So much had happened in the last few years. So much had changed. The man she wanted did not really exist anymore. Sara wasn't sure if he ever had.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

"You want to hold off on this?" he asked.

"No," Sara answered in a clipped tone, inwardly berating herself for thinking she needed Jeffrey. The truth was she didn't. She had gotten this far without him. She could certainly go further.

She tapped her foot on the remote for the Dictaphone, stating, "This is the unembalmed body of a thin but well-built, well-nourished young adult white female weighing"-Sara looked at the chalkboard over Jeffrey's shoulder where she had made notations-"one hundred and twelve pounds and having a length of sixty-four inches." She tapped the recorder off, taking a deep breath to clear her mind. Sara was having trouble breathing.

"Sara?"

She tapped the recorder back on, shaking her head at him. The sympathy she had so wanted a few minutes ago now irritated her. She felt exposed.

She dictated, "The appearance of the decedent is consistent with the stated age of twenty-two. The body has been refrigerated for a period of no less than three hours and is cool to the touch." Sara stopped, clearing her throat. "Rigor mortis is formed and fixed in the upper and lower extremities, and patches of livor mortis are seen posteriorly on the trunk and extremities, except in areas of pressure."

And on it went, this clinical description of a woman who only hours ago had been battered but alive, who weeks ago had been content if not happy. Sara cataloged the exterior appearance of Julia Matthews, imagining in her mind what the woman must have gone through. Was she awake when her teeth were pulled out so that her attacker could rape her face? Was she conscious when her rectum was being ripped open? Did the drugs block the sensations when she was nailed to the floor? An autopsy could only reveal the physical damage; the girls state of mind, her level of consciousness, would remain a mystery. No one would know what was going through her mind as she was assaulted. No one would ever see exactly what this girl had seen. Sara could only guess, and she did not like the images such guessing brought to mind. Again, she saw herself on the hospital gurney. Again, she saw herself being examined.

Sara forced herself to look up from the body, feeling shaky and out of place. Jeffrey was staring at her, a strange look on his face. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head, still keeping his eyes on her.

"I wish," Sara began, then stopped, clearing the lump in her throat. "I wish you wouldn't look at me like that, okay?" She waited, but he did not acknowledge her request.

He asked, "How am I looking at you?"

"Predatorily," she answered, but that wasn't quite right. He was looking at her the way she wanted him to look at her. There was a sense of responsibility to his expression, like he wanted nothing more than to take charge of things, to make things better. She hated herself for wanting this.

"It's unintentional," he said.

She snapped off her gloves. "Okay."

"I'm worried about you, Sara. I want you to talk to me about what's going on."

Sara walked toward the supply cabinet, not wanting to have this conversation over the body of Julia Matthews. "You don't get to do that anymore. Remember why?"

If she had slapped him, his expression would have been the same. "I never stopped caring about you."

She swallowed hard, trying not to let this get to her. "Thanks."

"Sometimes," he began, "when I wake up in the morning, I forget that you're not there. I forget that I lost you."

"Kind of like when you forgot you were married to me?"

He walked toward her, but she stepped back until she was a few inches from the cabinet. He stood in front of her, his hands on her arms. "I still love you."

"That's not enough."

He stepped closer to her. "What is?"

"Jeffrey," she said. "Please."

He finally backed away, his tone sharp as he asked, "What do you think?" He was referring to the body. "Do you think you'll find anything?"

Sara crossed her arms, feeling the need to protect herself. "I think she died with her secrets."

Jeffrey gave her a strange look, probably because Sara wasn't one to buy into melodrama. She made a conscious effort to act more like herself, to be more clinical about the situation, but even the thought of doing this was too emotionally taxing.

Sara kept her hand steady as she made the standard Y-incision across the chest. The sound as she skinned back the flesh cut through her thoughts. She tried to talk over them. "How are her parents holding up?"

Jeffrey said, "You can't imagine how horrible it was telling them she'd been raped. And then, this." He indicated the body. "You can't imagine."

Sara's mind wandered again. She saw her own father standing over a hospital bed, her mother embracing him from behind. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, willing this image from her mind. She would not be able to do this if she kept putting herself in Julia Matthews's place.

"Sara?" Jeffrey asked.

Sara looked up, surprised to realize that she had stopped the autopsy. She was standing in front of the body, arms crossed in front of her. Jeffrey waited patiently, not asking her the obvious question.

Sara picked up the scalpel and went to work, dictating, "The body is opened with the usual Y-incision and the organs of the thoracic and abdominal cavities are in their normal anatomic positions."

Jeffrey started talking again as soon as she stopped. Thankfully, he chose a different topic this time. He said, "I don't know what I'm going to do about Lena."

"What's that?" Sara asked, glad for the sound of his voice.

"She's not holding up well," he said. "I told her to take a couple of days off."

"Do you think she will?"

"I think she actually might."

Sara picked up the scissors, cutting the pericardial sac with quick snips. "So, then, what's the problem?"

"She's at the edge. I can sense that. I just don't know what to do." He indicated Julia Matthews. "I don't want her to end up doing something like this."

Sara scrutinized him over the rim of her glasses. She did not know whether or not he was using dime store psychology, hiding his concern for Sara by pretending a concern for Lena, or if he really was looking for advice on how to handle Lena.

She gave him an answer that would suit either scenario. "Lena Adams?" She shook her head no, certain of this one thing. "She's a fighter. People like Lena don't kill themselves. They kill other people, but they don't kill themselves."

"I know," Jeffrey answered. He was quiet then as Sara clamped off and removed the stomach.

"This won't be pleasant," she warned, placing the stomach in a stainless steel bowl. Jeffrey had been through plenty of autopsies before, but there was nothing so pungent as the odors of the digestive tract.

"Hey." Sara stopped, surprised at what she saw. "Look at this."

"What is it?"

She stood to the side so that he could see the contents of the stomach. The digestive juices were black and soupy, so she used a strainer to scoop out the contents.

"What is it?" he repeated.

"I don't know. Maybe seeds of some sort," Sara told him, using a pair of pickups to remove one. "I think we should call Mark Webster."

"Here," he offered, holding out an evidence bag.

She dropped the seed into the bag, asking, "You think he wants to get caught?"

"They all want to get caught, don't they?" he countered. "Look at where he left them. Both in semipublic places, both displayed. He's getting off on the risk as much as anything else."

"Yeah," she agreed, willing herself not to say more. She did not want to go into the gritty details of the case. She wanted to do her job and get out of here, away from Jeffrey.

Jeffrey didn't seem to want to comply. He asked, "The seeds are potent, right?"

Sara nodded.

"So, you think he kept her out of it while he was raping her?"

"I couldn't begin to guess," she answered truthfully.

He paused, as if he did not know how to phrase his next sentence.

"What?" she prompted.

" Lena," he said. "I mean, Julia told Lena that she enjoyed it."

Sara felt her brow furrow. "What?"

"Not exactly that she enjoyed it, but that he made love to her."

"He pulled her teeth out and ripped her rectum open. How could anyone call what he did to her making love?"

He shrugged, as if the answer was lost on him, but said, "Maybe he kept her so drugged up that she didn't feel it. Maybe she didn't know what was going on until after."

Sara considered this. "It's possible," she said, uncomfortable with the scenario.

"It's what she said, anyway," he answered.

The room was quiet but for the compressor on the freezer cycling down. Sara went back to the autopsy, using clamps to section off the small and large intestines. They were limp in her hands, like wet spaghetti, as she lifted them out of the body. Julia Matthews had not eaten anything of substance during the last few days of her life. Her digestive system was relatively empty.

"Let's see," Sara said, placing the intestines on the grocer's scale to weigh them. A metallic clink came, like a penny being dropped into a tin cup.

"What's that?" Jeffrey asked.

Sara did not answer him. She picked the intestines back up, then dropped them again. The same noise came, a tinny vibration through the scale. "Something's in there," Sara mumbled, walking over to the light box mounted on the wall. She used her elbow to turn on the light, illuminating Julia Matthews's X rays. Her pelvic series was in the center.

"See anything?" Jeffrey asked.

"Whatever it is, it's in the large intestines," Sara answered, staring at what looked like a splinter in the bottom half of the rectum. She had not noticed the sliver before or had assumed it was a problem with the film. The portable X ray in the morgue was old and not known for its reliability.

Sara studied the film for another few seconds, then walked back to the scale. She separated the terminal ileum at the ileocecal valve and carried the large intestines to the foot of the table. After using the faucet to clean off the blood, she squeezed her fingers down from the base of the sigmoid colon, searching for the object that had made the noise. She found a hard lump about five inches into the rectum.

"Hand me the scalpel," she ordered, holding out her hand. Jeffrey did as he was told, watching her work.

Sara made a small incision, releasing a foul odor into the room. Jeffrey stepped back, but Sara did not have that luxury. She used the pickups to remove an object that was approximately a half inch long. A rinse under the faucet revealed that it was a small key.

"A handcuff key?" Jeffrey asked, leaning over for a better look.

"Yes," Sara answered, feeling a little light-headed. "It was forced up into the rectum from the anus."

"Why?"

"I guess so that we would find it," Sara answered. "Could you get an evidence bag?"

Jeffrey did as he was told, opening the bag so that she could drop the key in. "Do you think we'll find anything on it?"

"Bacteria," she answered. "If you mean fingerprints, I seriously doubt it." She pressed her lips together, thinking this through. "Turn the lights off for a second."

"What are you thinking?"

Sara walked toward the light box, using her elbow to turn it off. "I'm thinking he put the key up there relatively early in the game. I'm thinking the edge is sharp. Maybe it tore the condom."

Jeffrey walked over to the light switch as Sara peeled off her gloves. She picked up the black light, which would highlight traces of seminal fluid.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, and the lights went out.

Sara blinked several times, letting her eyes adjust to the unnatural light. Slowly, she cast the black light along the incision she had made in the rectum. "Hold this," she said, giving Jeffrey the light. She slipped on a fresh pair of gloves and with the scalpel opened the incision farther. A small pocket of purple showed in the opening.

Jeffrey gave a small sigh, as if he had been holding his breath. "Is it enough for a DNA comparison?"

Sara stared at the purplish glowing matter. "I think so."

Sara tiptoed through her sister's apartment, peeking around the bedroom door to make sure Tessa was still alone.

"Tessie?" she whispered, shaking her slightly.

"What?" Tessa grumbled, rolling over. "What time is it?"

Sara looked at the clock on the bedside table. "About two in the morning."

"What?" Tessa repeated, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Sara said, "Scoot over."

Tessa did as she was told, holding up the sheet for Sara. "What's wrong?"

Sara did not answer. She pulled the comforter up under her chin.

"Is something wrong?" Tessa repeated.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Is that girl really dead?"

Sara closed her eyes. "Yes."

Tessa sat up in bed, turning on the light. "We've got to talk, Sara."

Sara rolled over, her back to her sister. "I don't want to talk."

"I don't care," Tessa answered, pulling the covers away from Sara. "Sit up."

"Don't order me around," Sara countered, feeling annoyed. She had come here to feel safe so that she could sleep, not to be pushed around by her kid sister.

"Sara," Tessa began. "You have got to tell Jeffrey what happened."

Sara sat up, angry that this was starting again. "No," she answered, her lips a tight line.

"Sara," Tessa said, her voice firm. "Hare told me about that girl. He told me about the tape on her mouth and about the way she was put on your car."

"He shouldn't talk about that kind of stuff with you."

"He wasn't telling it as a point of interest," Tessa said. She got out of bed, obviously angry.

"What are you so pissed at me about?" Sara demanded, standing, too. They faced each other on opposite sides of the room, the bed between them.

Sara put her hands on her hips. "It's not my fault, okay? I did everything I could do to help that girl, and if she couldn't live with it, then that's her choice."

"Great choice, huh? I guess it's better to put a bullet in your brain than to keep it in all the time."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"You know what it means," Tessa snapped back. "You need to tell Jeffrey, Sara."

"I won't."

Tessa seemed to size her up. She crossed her arms over her chest, threatening, "If you don't, I will."

"What?" Sara gasped. If Tessa had punched her, Sara would have felt less shock. Her mouth opened in surprise. "You wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," Tessa answered, her mind obviously made up. "If I don't, then Mom will."

"You and Mom hatched this little plan together?" Sara gave a humorless laugh. "I suppose Dad's in on it, too?" She threw her hands up into the air. "My whole family's ganging up on me."

"We're not ganging up on you," Tessa countered. "We're trying to help you."

"What happened to me," Sara began, her words clipped and precise, "has nothing to do with what happened to Sibyl Adams and Julia Matthews." She leaned across the bed, giving Tessa a look of warning. They could both play at this game.

"That's not your decision to make," Tessa countered.

Sara felt her anger boiling over at the threat. "You want me to tell you how they're different, Tessie? You want to know the things I know about these cases?" She did not give her sister time to answer. "For one, nobody carved a cross on my chest and left me to bleed out in the toilet." She paused, knowing the impact her words would have. If Tessa wanted to push Sara, Sara knew how to push back.

Sara continued, "For another, no one knocked out my front teeth so they could sodomize my face."

Tessa's hand went to her mouth. "Oh, God."

"Nobody nailed my hands and feet to the floor so he could fuck me."

"No," Tessa breathed, tears coming to her eyes.

Sara could not stop herself, even though her words were obviously acid in Tessas ears. "Nobody scrubbed out my mouth with Clorox. Nobody shaved my pubic hair so there wouldn't be any trace evidence." She paused for breath. "Nobody stabbed a hole in my gut so he could-" Sara forced herself to stop, knowing she was going too far. Still, a small sob escaped from Tessa's mouth as she made the connection. Her eyes had been on Sara's the entire time, and the look of horror on her face sent waves of guilt through Sara.

Sara whispered, "I'm sorry, Tessie. I'm so sorry."

Tessa's hand slowly fell from her mouth. She said, "Jeffrey is a policeman."

Sara put her hand to her chest. "I know that."

"You're so beautiful," Tessa said. "And you're smart and you're funny and you're tall."

Sara laughed so that she wouldn't cry.

"And this time twelve years ago, you were raped," Tessa finished.

"I know that."

"He sends you postcards every year, Sara. He knows where you live."

"I know that."

"Sara," Tessa began, a begging quality to her voice. "You have to tell Jeffrey."

"I can't."

Tessa stood firm. "You don't have a choice."