Criminal

twenty

Present Day

TUESDAY

Will awoke with a start. His neck cracked as he stretched it side to side. He was at home, sitting on his couch. Betty was beside him. The little dog was on her back. Legs up. Nose pointed toward the front door. Will glanced around, looking for Faith. She’d driven him home from the morgue. She’d gone to get him a glass of water and now, judging by the clock on the TiVo, it was almost two hours later.

He listened to the house. It was quiet. Faith had left. Will didn’t know how he felt about that. Should he be relieved? Should he wonder where she had gone? There was no guidebook for this part of his life. No instructions he could follow to put it all back together.

He tried to close his eyes again, to go back to sleep. He wanted to wake up a year from now. He wanted to wake up and have all of this over.

Only, he couldn’t get his eyes to stay closed. Every time he tried, he found himself staring back up at the ceiling. Was that what it had been like for his mother? According to the autopsy report, her eyes had not always been sewn closed. Sometimes, they had been sewn open. The medical examiner posited in the report that Will’s father would have to stay close by during these periods. He would have to use a dropper to keep her eyes from drying out.

Dr. Edward Taylor. That was the name of the medical examiner. The man had died in a car accident fifteen years ago. He’d been the first investigator Will had tried to track down. The first dead end. The first time Will had felt relief that there was no one around to explain to him exactly what had happened to his mother.

“Hey.” Faith came out of his spare bedroom. He could see that the light was still on. His books were in there. All his CDs. Car magazines he’d collected over the years. Albums from way back. It had probably taken Faith less than ten seconds to figure out which items were most out of place. She held the books in her hand. The New Feminist Hegemony. Applied Statistical Models: Theory and Application. A Vindication of the Rights of Women.

He said, “You can go home now.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” She put his mother’s textbooks on the table as she sat in the recliner. The file was on the table, too. Will had left it there this morning. Faith had probably paged through everything while he was sleeping. He should’ve felt angry that she’d been prying, but there was nothing left inside of him. Will was utterly devoid of any emotion. He’d felt it happen when he first saw Sara at the morgue. His initial impulse was to weep at her feet. To tell her everything. To beg her to understand.

And then—nothing.

It was like a stopper being pulled. All of the feeling had just drained out of him.

The rest flashed in his mind like a movie preview that gave away every plot twist: The battered girl. The painted fingernails. The ripped skin. The sound of Sara’s breath catching when Will told her—told everyone—that his father was to blame.

Sara was a verbal woman, outspoken at times, and not usually one to hold back her opinion. But in the end, she’d said nothing. After nearly two weeks of living with that inquisitive look in her eyes, there were no questions she wanted to ask. Nothing she wanted to know. It was all laid out in front of her. Amanda was right about the autopsy. Will shouldn’t have been there. It had been like watching his mother being examined, processed, catalogued.

And Angie was right about Sara. It was too much for her to handle.

Why had he thought for even a second that Angie was wrong? Why had he thought Sara would be different?

Will had just stood there in the morgue, frozen in time and place. Staring at Sara. Waiting for her to speak. Waiting for her to scream or yell or throw something. He would probably still be there but for Amanda ordering Faith to take him home. Even then, Faith had to grab Will’s arm and physically pull him from the room.

Close-up on Sara. Her face pale. Her head shaking. Fade to black.

The end.

“Will?” Faith asked.

He looked up at her.

“How did you get into the GBI?”

He weighed the question, trying to spot her end game. “I was recruited.”

“How?”

“Amanda came to my college.”

Faith gave a tight nod, and he could tell she was chasing a train of thought he couldn’t pin down. “What about the application?”

Will rubbed his eyes. There was still white grit in the corners from tearing apart the basement.

Faith pressed, “The background screening. All the paperwork.”

She knew about his dyslexia. She also knew he could pull his own weight. “It was mostly oral interviews. They let me take the rest home. Same as you, right?”

Faith’s chin tilted up. Finally, she said, “Right.”

Will rested his hand on Betty’s chest. He could feel her heart beat against his palm. She sighed. Her tongue licked out.

Will asked, “Why did the reporter from The Atlanta Journal call Amanda?”

Faith shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I told you I shut down the story.”

Will had been so blind. Amanda had fed him the information this morning but he’d been too exhausted to process it. “My records are sealed. There’s no way a reporter—or anybody—could know who my father is. At least not legally.” He studied Faith. “And even if someone found out, why call Amanda? Why not call me directly? My number is listed. So’s my address.”

Faith chewed her bottom lip. It was her tell. She knew something that Will did not, and she wasn’t going to share it.

Will leaned toward her. “I want you to go to the hotel. He’s on parole. He doesn’t have a legal expectation of privacy.”

Faith didn’t need to ask whose hotel room. “And do what?”

Will clenched his fist. The cuts opened up again. “I want you to toss his room. I want you to interrogate him and sit on him until he can’t take it anymore.”

Faith stared at him. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we have to build a case, not a harassment suit.”

“I don’t care about a case. Make him so miserable he leaves the hotel just to get away from you.”

“And then what?”

She knew what would happen next. Will would shoot him down in the street like a rabid dog.

She said, “I’m not going to do that.”

“I can look up the layout of the hotel. I can go to the courthouse. I can find a way in there and—”

“That sounds like a great way to leave a paper trail.”

Will didn’t care about a paper trail. “How many men are on the hotel?”

“Five times as many as are sitting outside your house right now.”

Will went to the front window. He pushed open the blinds. There was an Atlanta cop car blocking his driveway. A G-ride was in the street. Will slammed his hand against the blinds. Betty barked, jumping up from the couch.

He went to the back of the house. He opened the kitchen door. A man was sitting in the gazebo Will had built last summer. Tan and blue GBI regs. Glock on his hip. He had his feet propped up on the railing. He waved as Will slammed the door.

“She can’t do this,” Will said. “She can’t sit on my house like I’m some kind of criminal.”

Faith asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?”

Will paced across the room. His body was suddenly filled with adrenaline. “So I can be another notch in your serial killer collection?”

“Do you really think I’d turn your life into a game?”

“Where’s my gun?” His keys were on his desk. His phone. The Glock was missing. “Did you take my gun?”

Faith didn’t answer, but he noticed that her thigh holster was gone. She’d locked her gun in the car. She didn’t trust him not to take it.

Several thoughts came into Will’s head. Punching a hole in the wall. Kicking over his desk. Breaking the windows in Faith’s car. Taking a bat to that asshole sitting in his gazebo. In the end, Will could only stand there. It was the same thing that had happened at the morgue. He was too exhausted. Too overwhelmed. Too handled. “Just leave, Faith. I don’t need you babysitting me. I don’t want you here.”

“Too bad.”

“Go home. Go home to your stupid kid and get the hell out of my business.”

“If you think being a dick is going to chase me away, you don’t know me very well.” She sat back in the chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Sara found semen in the girl’s hair.”

Will waited for her to continue.

“There’s enough for a DNA profile. Once it’s in the system, we can match it against his.”

“That’ll take weeks.”

“Four days,” she told him. “Dr. Coolidge put a rush on it.”

“Then arrest him. You can hold him for twenty-four hours.”

“Which means he’ll bail out and disappear before we can pick him up again.” Her voice had the annoying tone of someone trying to be reasonable. “APD put six guys on the hotel. Amanda probably has ten more. He won’t be able to take a shit without us knowing.”

“I want to be there when you arrest him.”

“You know Amanda won’t allow that.”

“When you interrogate him.” Will couldn’t help himself. He started begging. “Please let me see him. Please. I have to see him. I have to look him in the eye. I want to see his face when he realizes that I got away. That he didn’t win.”

Faith put her hand over her heart. “I swear to God, Will. I swear to you on the lives of my children that I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”

“It’s not enough,” Will said. He didn’t just want to look his father in the eye. He wanted to beat him. He wanted to kick out his teeth. To slice off his cock. To sew shut his mouth and eyes and nose and beat him until he drowned in his own vomit. “It’s not enough.”

“I know it’s not,” Faith said. “It’ll never be enough, but it’ll have to do.”

There was a knock on the door. Will didn’t know who he was expecting when Faith opened the door. Amanda. Angie. Some cop telling him that Will’s father had killed again.

Anyone but the person who was actually there.

Sara asked Faith, “Everything okay?”

Faith nodded, picking up her purse by the door. She told Will, “I’ll call you the minute I know anything. I promise.”

Sara shut the door behind her. Her hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders. She was wearing a tight black dress that wrapped around her body. Will had seen her dressed up before, but never like this. She was wearing extremely high heels with a black leopard print. They did something to her calf that sent a tightness into his groin.

She said, “Hi.”

Will swallowed. He could still taste plaster in his throat.

Sara walked around the couch and sat down. She slid off her heels and tucked her legs underneath her. “Come here.”

Will sat down on the couch. Betty was between them. She jumped down. Her toenails clicked across the floor as she headed into the kitchen.

Sara took his hand. She must’ve noticed the cuts and blisters, but she didn’t say anything. Will couldn’t look at her. She was so beautiful that it was almost painful. Instead, he stared at the coffee table. His mother’s file. Her books.

He said, “I guess Amanda told you everything.”

“No, she didn’t.”

Will wasn’t surprised. Amanda loved torturing him. He pointed to his mother’s things. “If you want to—” Will stopped, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “It’s all there. Just go ahead and read it.”

Sara glanced down at the file, but said, “I don’t want to read it.”

Will shook his head. He didn’t understand.

“You tell me about her when you’re ready.”

“It would be easier if—”

She reached out to touch his face. Her fingers stroked his cheek. She moved closer. He felt the heat of her body as she pressed against him. Will put his hand on her leg, felt the firm muscle of her thigh. The tightness came back. He kissed her. Sara’s hands went to his face as she kissed him back. She straddled him. Her hair draped across his face. He could feel her breath on his neck.

Unfortunately, that was the extent of his feelings.

She asked, “Do you want me to—”

“No.” He pulled her back up. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

She put her fingers to his lips. “You know what I really want to do?” She climbed off him, but stayed close. “I want to watch a movie where robots hit each other. Or things blow up. Preferably from robots hitting each other.” She picked up the remote and turned on the set. She tuned in the Speed channel. “Oh, look. This is even better.”

Will could not think of a time in his life when he’d felt more miserable. If Faith had not taken his Glock, he would’ve shot himself in the head. “Sara, it’s not—”

“Shh.” Sara took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest, her hand on his leg. Betty came back. She jumped into Will’s lap and settled in.

He stared at the television. The Ferrari Enzo was being profiled. An Italian man was using a lathe to hollow out a piece of aluminum. Nothing the announcer said would stay in Will’s head. He felt his eyelids getting heavy. He let out a slow breath.

Finally, his eyes stayed closed.

This time, when Will woke up, he wasn’t alone. Sara was lying on the couch in front of him. Her back curved into his body. Her hair tickled his face. The room was dark except for the glow of the television set. The sound was muted. Speed was showing a monster-truck rally. The TiVo read twelve past midnight.

Another day passed. Another night come. Another page turned in the calendar of his father’s life.

Will couldn’t stop the thoughts that came into his head. He wondered if Faith still had his Glock. He wondered whether the patrol car was still blocking his driveway or the asshole was still in his gazebo.

He had a Sig Sauer in the gun safe that was bolted inside his closet. His Colt AR-15 rifle was disassembled beside it. Ammunition for both was stacked in a plastic box. Will worked the rifle in his mind—magazine, bolt catch, trigger guard. Winchester 55-grain full metal jacket.

No. The Sig would be better. Closer. Muzzle to the head. Finger on the trigger. Will would see the terror in his father’s eyes, then the glassy, vacant stare of a dead man.

Sara stirred. Her hand snaked back and stroked the side of his face. Her fingernails lightly scratched the skin. She breathed a contented sigh.

Just like that, Will felt the anger start to drain away. Again, it was similar to what had happened at the morgue, but instead of feeling empty, he felt full. A calmness took over. The clamp around his chest started to loosen.

Sara leaned back into him. Her hand pulled him closer. Will’s body was much more responsive this time. He pressed his mouth to her neck. The fine hairs stood at attention. He could feel her flesh prickle under his tongue.

Sara turned her head to look at him. She gave a sleepy smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I was hoping that was you.”

He kissed her mouth. She turned to face him. She was still smiling. Will could feel the curve of her lips against his mouth. Her hair was tangled underneath her. He shifted and felt a sharp pain in his leg. It wasn’t a pulled muscle. It was Angie’s ring. He still had it in his pocket.

Sara mistook his reaction for a recurrence of his earlier problem. She said, “Let’s play a game.”

Will didn’t need a game. He needed to get Angie out of his head, but that wasn’t exactly news he could share.

She held out her hand. “I’m Sara.”

“I know.”

“No.” She still had her hand out. “I’m Sara Linton.”

And apparently, Will was a moron. He shook her hand. “Will Trent.”

“What do you do for a living, Will Trent?”

“I’m a …” He glanced around for an idea. “I’m a monster-truck driver.”

She looked at the TV and laughed. “That’s creative.”

“What are you?”

“A stripper.” She laughed again, as if she’d shocked herself. “I’m only doing it to pay my way through college.”

If Will’s stupid wedding ring wasn’t in his front pocket, he could’ve invited Sara to slip her hand inside to get some money for a lap dance. Instead, he had to settle on telling her, “That’s commendable.” He shifted onto his side, freeing up his hand. “What are you studying?”

“Umm …” She grinned. “Monster-truck repair.”

He trailed his finger between her breasts. The dress was low-cut, designed in such a way that it opened with little effort. Will realized she had worn it for him. Just like she’d let her hair down. Just like she’d squeezed her feet into a pair of high-heel shoes that could probably break her toes.

Just like she’d been at the autopsy. Just like she was here now.

He said, “I’m actually not a monster-truck driver.”

“No?” Her breath caught as he tickled his fingers down her bare stomach. “What are you?”

“I’m an ex-con.”

“Oh, I like that,” she said. “Jewel thief or bank robber?”

“Petty theft. Destruction of private property. Four-year suspended sentence.”

Her laughter stopped. She could tell he wasn’t playing anymore.

Will took in a deep breath and slowly let it go. He was doing this now. There was no going back. “I was arrested for stealing food.” He had to clear his throat so the words could get out. “It happened when I was eighteen.”

She put her hand over his.

“I aged out of the system.” Mrs. Flannigan had died the summer Will’s eighteenth birthday rolled around. The new guy who ran the home had given Will a hundred dollars and a map to the homeless shelter. “I ended up at the downtown mission. Some of the guys there were all right. Most of them were older and—” He didn’t finish the sentence. Sara could easily guess why a teenager didn’t feel safe there. “I lived on the streets …” Again, he let his voice trail off. “I hung out at the hardware store on Highland. Contractors used to go there in the mornings to pick up day workers.”

She used her thumb to stroke the back of his hand. “Is that where you learned how to fix things?”

“Yeah.” He’d never really thought about it, but it was true. “I made good money, but I didn’t know how to spend it. I should’ve saved up for an apartment. Or a car. Or something. But I spent it on candy and a Walkman and tapes.” Will had never had money in his pocket before. There was no such thing as an allowance when he was growing up. “I was sleeping on Peachtree where the library used to be. This group of older guys rolled me. They beat me down. Broke my nose, some of my fingers. Took everything I had. I guess I’m lucky that’s all they did.”

Sara’s grip tightened around his hand.

“I couldn’t work. My clothes were filthy. I didn’t have anywhere to bathe. I tried to beg for money but people were scared of me. I guess I looked like a junkie.” He told Sara, “I wasn’t, though. I never did drugs. I never did any of those things.”

She nodded.

“But I was so hungry. My stomach hurt all the time. I was dizzy from it. Sick. Afraid to go to sleep. Afraid I’d get rolled again. I went into this all-night pharmacy that used to be on Ponce de Leon. Plaza Drugs, right beside the movie theater?” Sara nodded. “I walked straight in and started taking food off the shelves. Little Debbies. Moon Pies. Anything with a wrapper. I tore it open with my teeth and shoved it into my mouth.” He swallowed, his throat feeling raw. “They called the cops.”

“They arrested you?”

“They tried.” He felt shame welling up in his throat. “I started swinging my fists, trying to hit anything. They stopped me real fast.”

Sara stroked back his hair with her fingers.

“They handcuffed me. Took me to jail. And then—” He shook his head. “My caseworker came in. I hadn’t seen her in six, maybe seven months. She said she’d been looking for me.”

“Why?”

“Because Mrs. Flannigan left me some money.” Will still remembered his shock when he heard the news. “I was only allowed to use it for college. So—” He shrugged. “I went to the first college that would take me. Lived in the dorm. Ate in the cafeteria. Worked a part-time job on the grounds. And then I got recruited into the GBI, and that was it.”

Sara was quiet, probably trying to absorb it all. “How did you pass the background check?”

“The judge said she would expunge my record if I graduated from college.” Fortunately, the woman hadn’t specified anything about his grades. “So I did and she did.”

Sara was quiet again.

“I know it’s bad.” He laughed at the irony. “I guess in the scheme of things, it’s not the worst thing you’ve heard about me today.”

“You were lucky you got arrested.”

“I guess.”

“And I’m lucky that you got into the GBI, because I never would’ve met you otherwise.”

“I’m sorry, Sara. I’m sorry I brought all this down on you. I don’t—” He felt the words getting jumbled up in his mouth. “I don’t want you to be scared of me. I don’t want you to think that I’m anything like him.”

“Of course you’re not.” She wrapped her hand around his. “Don’t you know that I’m in awe of you?”

Will could only look at her.

“What you’ve been through. What you’ve endured. The man you’ve become.” She placed his hand over her heart. “You chose to be a good person. You chose to help other people. It would’ve been so easy to go down the wrong path, but at every step, you chose to do the right thing.”

“Not always.”

“Often enough,” she said. “Often enough so that when I look at you, all I can think about is how good you are. How much I want you—need you—in my life.”

Her eyes were a clear green in the glow of the television. Will couldn’t believe that she was still there beside him. Still wanted to be with him. Angie had been so wrong. There was no guile inside of Sara. No meanness. No spite.

If he were truly a good man, he would’ve told Sara about Angie. He would’ve confessed and gotten it over with. Instead, Will kissed her. He kissed her eyelids and her nose and her mouth. Their tongues touched. Will moved on top of her. Sara’s leg wrapped around his. She deepened the kiss. Will felt the guilt slip away easily—too easily. All that he could think about was his desire, his need to be inside of her. He felt almost frantic as he started to undress her.

Sara helped him with her clothes. He ended up tearing the dress. She was wearing a lacy black bra that easily unclasped. Will kissed her breasts, used his tongue and teeth until she let out a deep moan. He traced his tongue down, biting and kissing the smooth skin. Sara gasped when he pulled down her underwear and pushed apart her legs. She tasted like honey and copper pennies. Her thigh rubbed against his face. Her fingernails dug into his scalp. She pulled him back up and started kissing him again. Sucking his tongue. Doing things with her mouth that made him start to shake. Will pushed himself inside of her. She moaned again. She gripped his back. Will forced himself to go slow. Sara took him in deeper with each thrust.

Her lips brushed his ear. “My love,” she breathed. “My love.”