Kisscut

Chapter Ten

"Hold on, Sam," Sara coaxed, struggling to hold a wriggling two year old in her lap so that she could l isten to his chest.

"Be still for Dr. Linton, Sammy," his mother said in a singsong voice.

"Sara?" Elliott Felteau, who worked at the clinic for Sara, poked his head into the room. She had hired Elliott right out of his residency to help her out, but so far Sara had spent most of her time holding his hand. It was a trade-off, because an older doctor would have insisted on some kind of partnership, and Sara was not about to relinquish her control. She had worked too hard to get to where she was to start listening to someone else's opinions.

"Sorry," Elliott apologized to the mother, then said to Sara, "Did you tell Tara Collins that Pat could play football this weekend? She needs a medical release before the school will let him back on the team."

Sara stood, taking Sam with her. His legs wrapped around Sara's waist, and she scooted him up on her hip as she lowered her voice, asking Elliott, "Why is this question coming from you?"

"She called and asked for me," he told her. "Said she didn't want to bug you."

Sara tried to unclench Sam's fist as he tugged her hair. "No, he can't play this weekend," she whispered. "I told her that on Friday."

"It's just an exhibition game."

"He has a concussion," Sara countered, the tone of her voice a warning to Elliot.

"Hmm," Elliott said, backing out of the room. "I guess she thought I'd be an easier target."

Sara took a deep, calming breath, then turned back around. "Sorry about that," she said, sitting down in the chair. Thankfully, Sam had stopped fidgeting, and she was able to listen to his chest.

"Pat Collins is their star quarterback," the mother said. "'You're not going to let him play?"

Sara avoided the question. "His lungs seem clear," she told the woman. "Make sure he finishes his antibiotics, though."

She started to hand the child back to his mother, but stopped. Sara lifted up Sam's shirt and checked his chest, then his back.

"Is something wrong?"

Sara shook her head no. "He's fine," she told the woman, and the boy was. There was no reason to suspect abuse. Of course, Sara had thought the same thing with Jenny Weaver.

Sara walked to the pocket door and slid it open. Molly Stoddard, her nurse, was at the nurses' station writing out a lab request. Sara waited until she was finished, then dictated Sam's directions.

"Make sure I follow up," Sara told her.

Molly nodded, still writing. "You doing all right today?"

Sara thought about it, and decided that no, she was not doing all right. She was actually pretty on edge, and had been since her confrontation with Lena yesterday afternoon. She felt guilty, and ashamed of herself for letting her temper get the better of her. Lena had been doing her job, no matter what Sara thought about it. It was unprofessional to question the young detective, especially in front of Jeffrey. On top of that, what Sara had said was not only inexcusable, it was just plain mean. Sara was not the kind of person who liked to be mean. It was not in her nature to attack, and the more Sara thought about it, the more she believed that she had attacked Lena. Of all people, Sara should have known better.

"Hello?" Molly prompted. "Sara?"

"Yes?" Sara said, then, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm just…" She nodded toward her office so that they could get out of the hallway.

Molly let Sara go first, then slid the door closed behind her. Molly Stoddard was a compact woman with what could be called a handsome face. In great contrast to Sara, the nurse was always neatly dressed, her white uniform starched to within an inch of its life. The only jewelry Molly wore was a thin silver necklace that she kept tucked into the collar of her uniform. The smartest thing Sara had ever done was hire Molly as her nurse, but some days Sara felt tempted to snatch off the woman's hat and ruffle her hair, or accidentally spill ink on her perfect uniform.

"You've got about five minutes before your next appointment," Molly told her. "What's wrong?"

Sara leaned her back against the wall, tucking her hands into her white lab coat. "Did we miss something?" she said, then amended, "Did I miss something?"

"Weaver?" Molly asked, though Sara could tell from her reaction that the other woman knew. "I've been asking myself that same question, and the answer is I don't know."

"Who would do that?" Sara asked, then realized Molly had no idea what she was talking about. The physical findings from the autopsy were hardly public, and even though Sara trusted Molly, she did not feel like she was in a position to share the details. Molly probably would not want to hear them.

"Kids are hard to explain," Molly provided.

"I feel responsible," Sara told the nurse. "I feel like I should have been there for her. Or paid more attention."

"We see thirty to forty kids a day, six days a week."

"You make it sound like an assembly line."

Molly shrugged. "Maybe it is," she said. "We do what we can do. We take care of them, we give them their medicine, we listen to their problems. What else is there?"

"Treat 'em and street 'em," Sara mumbled, remembering the phrase from her E.R. days.

Molly said, "It's what we do."

"I didn't come back here to work like this," Sara said. "I wanted to make a difference."

"And you do, Sara," Molly assured her. She stepped closer, putting her hand on Sara's arm. "Listen, honey, I know what you're going through, and I'm telling you that I see you here every day, putting your heart and soul into this job." She waited a beat. "You're forgetting what Dr. Barney was like. Now, there was an assembly line."

"He was always good to me," Sara countered.

"Because he liked you," Molly said. "And for every kid he liked, there were ten he couldn't stand, and toward the end he passed the ones he hated on to you."

Sara shook her head, not accepting this. "He didn't do that."

"Sara," Molly insisted, "ask Nelly. She's been here longer than I have."

"So, that's my standard? That I'm better than Dr. Barney?"

"Your standard is you treat all the kids the same. You don't play favorites." Molly indicated the pictures on the wall. "How many kids did Dr. Barney have on his walls?"

Sara shrugged, though she knew the answer to that. None.

"You're being too hard on yourself," Molly said. "And it's not going to accomplish anything."

"I just want to be more careful from now on," Sara told her. "Maybe we can cut the schedule so I can spend more time with each patient."

Molly snorted a laugh. "We barely have enough time in the day to see the appointments we have now. Between that and the morgue-"

Sara stopped her. "Maybe I should quit the morgue."

"Maybe you should hire another doctor?" Molly suggested.

Sara tapped her head against the wall, thinking. "I don't know."

The door shook as someone knocked on it.

"If that's Elliott…" Sara began, but it was not. Nelly, the office manager at the clinic since before Sara was born, slid open the door.

"Nick Shelton's on the phone," Nelly said. "Want me to take a message?"

Sara shook her head. "I'll take it," she answered, then waited for Molly to leave before picking up the phone.

"Hello, sunshine," Nick said, his south Georgia drawl clear across the line.

Sara allowed a smile. "Hey, Nick."

"I wish I had time to flirt," he told her. "But I gotta meeting in about ten seconds. Real quick, though," he began, and she could hear him shuffling papers. "Nothing current came up on female castration, at least, not in the United States. But I'm sure you're not surprised to hear that."

"No," Sara agreed. Something so volatile would have certainly ended up in the press.

"A few years ago in France, a woman was tried for performing over fifty procedures. I think she was originally from Africa."

Sara shook her head, wondering how a woman could do this to a child.

Nick said, "Hey, what do you already know about this?"

"Infibulation falls under the general heading of F.G.M.," she said, using the acronym for female genital mutilation. "It's sometimes practiced in the Middle East and parts of Africa. It's tied somehow to religion."

"Well, about as much as suicide missions are tied to religion," Nick corrected. "You can make a religious justification for just about anything these days."

Sara made a noise of agreement.

"Mostly, it's a custom passed down from village to village. The more uneducated the group, the more likely they are to do it. There isn't a real good religious argument to justify it, but the men over there like the idea of making sure their women don't stray."

"So they make it impossible for them to enjoy sex. Perfect solution. If this was happening to men over there, Africa and the rest of the Middle East would be an empty crater."

Nick was silent, and Sara felt guilty for painting him with the same brush. "I'm sorry, Nick. It's just-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Sara," he offered in a soft tone.

She waited a beat, then asked, "What else?"

"Well," he began, and she could hear him shuffling through his notes. "After the procedure, they usually bind the legs together to promote healing." He paused as if to catch his breath. "In a lot of cases, they sew them shut, you know, like your girl was, and leave an opening for her time of the month."

"I read about that," Sara confirmed. She also knew that women in the village who weren't mutilated were not considered marriage material.

"The thread you pulled from the area looks common. I've sent samples to the lab, but they're pretty certain you can find it in any Kmart." He made a thinking noise. "You think whoever did this has some kind of medical experience?"

"Are you looking at the photographs?"

"Yep," he answered. "Looks kind of elementary, but not half-assed."

"I agree," she told him, thinking that whoever had sewn the girl up was probably good with a needle and thread.

"I read this statistic," he said. "A lot of the girls die from shock. They don't exactly anesthetize them, if you know what I mean. Most times they use a piece of broken glass to perform the procedure."

Sara shuddered, but tried to maintain her composure. "Any idea why someone would do this here?"

"You mean someone who's not part of an immigrant population?" he asked, but didn't let her answer. "Over there they do it to make sure a girl stays pure. Usually, the husband opens her up on their wedding night."

"Purity," Sara said, focusing on the word. Jenny Weaver had used it with her mother.

Nick asked, "Was she a virgin?"

"No," Sara answered. "Judging from the size of the vaginal orifice as compared to the urinary meatus, she was sex-ually active well before the castration. Probably with a number of partners."

"You check her for any STDs?"

"Yes," Sara said. "She came back negative."

"Well, it was worth a shot."

"Anything else?"

Nick was quiet for a few beats, then asked, "You talking to Jeffrey this week?"

Sara felt a bit embarrassed, but said, "Yes."

"Tell him that drawing he sent didn't come up on our computers. We faxed it up to the FBI for a run-through, but you know they'll take their time."

"What's the drawing?" Sara asked.

"Some tattoo. I dunno. He said it was on the webbing between the thumb and pointer finger."

"I'll tell him."

"Over dinner?"

Sara laughed. "What are you getting at, Nick?"

"If you're not busy, I'm gonna be down in your neck of the woods this weekend."

Sara smiled. Nick had asked her out several times before, mostly as a courtesy. He was about six inches shorter than Sara and wore more gold jewelry than any man ought to be allowed. She doubted very seriously that he thought he had a chance in hell with her, but Nick was the kind of man who liked to leave no stone unturned.

She told him, "I guess I'm seeing Jeffrey again."

"You guess?"

"I mean," she paused. "Yes, we're dating again."

He took the refusal good-naturedly, as usual. "Can't blame an old boy for trying."

After they said their good-byes, Sara stayed in her chair, thinking about what Nick had told her. There had to be some connection between Jenny's desire for purity and the castration. She was missing something, probably something very obvious. What would make a girl feel unclean, Sara wondered. Unfortunately, the only thing she could come up with was sex. Jenny Weaver had certainly been active. Maybe the guilt from her sexual promiscuity had been too much for Jenny to bear.

Also, there was the greater question of who had performed the mutilation on Jenny. It wasn't as if the girl could do it to herself. She would pass out from the shock or the pain before it was completed. There had to be another person involved, someone who could do the cutting and sewing. Perhaps Jenny had drunk until she passed out, or bought pain killers or muscle relaxers from someone at the school. A veritable pharmacy existed at the high school. Anyone with the right money could practically stock an operating room.

Nelly slid open the door, saying, "The Patterson kid is here." Then added, "Without the mother," in a hushed whisper.

Sara glanced at her watch. Mark was supposed to have been in yesterday morning. His dropping by today would throw her whole schedule out of whack. "Put him in six," she said. "Tell him he'll have to wait."

"Him?" Nelly asked. "It's Lacey, the girl."

Sara sat up in her chair. "Did she say why she's here?"

"Just that she's not feeling well," Nelly answered, then whispered again, "She doesn't look well, if you ask me."

Sara whispered, "Why are you whispering?"

Nelly allowed a smile, walking into the office. She closed the door, saying, "She's acting strange. She's not with her mother."

Sara felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. "How long has she been waiting?"

"Not long," Nelly answered. "Put her in six?"

Sara nodded, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She picked up the phone to dial Jeffrey's number, then changed her mind. Lacey had come to the clinic because she trusted Sara, and Sara would not betray that confidence. At the very least, the girl needed help. Whatever laws she had broken could be dealt with after Sara made sure she was okay.

Exam six was in the back of the building, at the end of the L-shaped hallway. Normally, it was reserved for very sick children or used as a waiting room for parents while Sara talked to their kids about sex, or birth control, or whatever things they felt they needed to talk to their pediatrician about in private. Sara supposed Molly had stuck Lacey back here to win the girl's trust. Kids did not just show up at the clinic without their parents, even the ones who could drive themselves.

Molly was waiting by the closed exam room door when Sara turned the corner.

She handed Lacey Patterson's chart to Sara outside the exam room, saying, "I'll be in two if you need me."

Sara flipped open the chart to review her notes from Lacey's last visit, even though Sara had looked at the chart just a few days ago. Two months ago, the girl had presented with what appeared to be strep throat. Sara had started her on antibiotics, pending the lab results. Sara thumbed through the chart, but the pink sheet the lab usually sent was not in there. She was about to find Molly when she noticed a noise coming from behind the exam door.

"Lacey?" Sara asked, sliding back the door. "Are you-" She stopped midsentence, thinking that the last time she had seen someone so pale was in the morgue. The girl was sitting in the chair by the exam table, her arms wrapped across her stomach. Despite the weather she was wearing a neon-yellow raincoat. She was doubled over, her arms wrapped around her stomach as if in pain.

Sara put her hand on the girl's back, surprised at how clammy it felt through the coat.

Lacey's teeth were chattering, but she managed to say, "I need to talk to you."

"Come here," Sara said, helping her stand. "Let's get you on the table."

Lacey hesitated, and Sara lifted her up onto the exam table.

"I don't…" Lacey began, but she was shaking too hard to continue. Sara put her hand to the girl's forehead, wondering if Lacey was shaking from fear or from fever. As hot as it was outside, Sara could not tell the difference.

"Let's get this coat off," Sara suggested, but Lacey would not unwrap her arms from her waist.

"What happened?" Sara asked, trying to keep her voice steady. There was an electric charge in the room, as if something really bad had happened.

Lacey tilted forward, and Sara caught her before she fell off the table.

"I'm so sleepy," she said.

"Sit up for me a minute," Sara told her. She raised her voice, calling into the hallway, "Molly?"

"I'm not feeling well," the girl said.

Sara held her hands against Lacey's thin shoulders. "Where do you hurt?"

She opened her mouth to speak, vomiting all over Sara. Of course this had happened to Sara before, and she stepped back, but not in time to keep from getting splattered.

After her sickness subsided, Lacey murmured, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, sweetie," Sara told her.

"My stomach hurts."

"You're okay," Sara told her. Holding Lacey up with one hand, she stretched toward the paper towel dispenser and gave the girl some cloths.

"I feel sick."

Sara raised her voice again, this time louder than before. "Molly?" she called, knowing that it was futile. Exam two was on the other side of the building.

"Lie back," Sara told Lacey. "If you get sick, turn to the side."

"Don't leave me!" the girl cried, holding on to Sara's hand. "Please, Dr. Linton, I gotta talk to you. I gotta tell you what happened."

Sara could guess what happened, but there were more important things right now than hearing the girl's confession.

"I gotta tell you," the girl repeated.

"About the baby?" Sara guessed. She could tell from Lacey's expression that her guess was right. Sara felt stupid for not having figured it out before. She said, "I know, sweetie. I know. Just lie down and I'll be right back."

The girl's body tensed. "How do you know?"

"Lie down," Sara told her. Thinking this would soothe her, Sara offered, "I'll go call your mom."

Lacey bolted upright. "You can't tell my mom."

"Don't worry about that now."

"You can't tell her," Lacey insisted, tears streaming down her face. "She's sick. She's real sick."

Sara did not understand what the girl meant, but she soothed her anyway. "It's going to be okay."

"Promise me you won't tell her."

Sara said, "Honey, we'll worry about that later."

"No!" she yelled, gripping Sara's arm. "You can't tell my mom. Please. Please don't tell her."

"Stay right here," Sara ordered. "I'll be right back."

She did not wait for an answer. Sara stepped into the hallway, slipping off her soiled lab coat as she walked toward the nurses' station.

Nelly asked, "What happened?"

"Call an ambulance," Sara said, tossing her coat into the dirty linen bin. She leaned back, looking around the corner to make sure Lacey had not left the room. "Get Molly in six right now, and then call Frank over at the police station."

"Oh, my," Nelly mumbled, picking up the phone.

Elliot came out of one of the exam rooms. "Hey, Sara?" he asked. "I've got a six year old with-"

"Not now," Sara told him, holding up her hand. With a glance down the hallway, she went into her office and dialed Jeffrey's cell phone. She let it ring four times before hanging up. Next, she dialed the station.

Maria Simms answered. "Grant County Police Station. How may I help you?"

"Maria," Sara said. "Find Jeffrey, send him over to the clinic right now."

A banging noise echoed up the hallway, and Sara mumbled a curse as she recognized the sound of the back door popping open.

Maria said, "Sara?"

Sara slammed down the phone and ran out into the hallway, prepared to chase after Lacey. What she saw stopped her cold. Mark Patterson stood at the end of the hall, every muscle in his body tensed. There was a cut across his abdomen that stained his blue shirt to a dark purple, and his jeans were torn at the knee as if he had skidded across asphalt.

"Lacey?" he screamed, sliding open the first door he came to.

Sara heard a shocked gasp from the mother of the patient in the room, followed by the wails of a frightened child.

"Sara?" Nelly asked. She was standing at the nurse's station with the telephone in her hand.

Sara said, "Call the station. Tell them to send whoever they can."

"Lacey?" Mark repeated, his voice vibrating through the hallway. Thankfully, he had not noticed the tail end of the hall and the two exam rooms off to the side.

He came closer, and Sara could see that his clothes were stained and dirty-looking. Flecks of white paint covered everything. His hair looked greasy and was uncombed, as if he had not bathed in a while. Sara had seen Mark many times over the last decade, but she had never seen him looking so unclean.

"Goddamn it!" Mark screamed, throwing his hands into the air. "Where's my fucking sister?"

A couple of doors behind Sara slid open, and she turned, signaling for the parents to stay inside.

Molly stood beside Sara, holding a chart to her chest. It was the first time Sara had ever seen the nurse shocked by anything that happened in the clinic.

"Mark," Sara said, putting some authority into her tone. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's Lacey?" he said, slamming his hand into the next door. The panel shook on its slider, and Sara could hear a child screaming behind it.

Nelly's voice was muffled as she talked to someone on the phone. Sara could not make out the conversation, but she hoped to God they were sending somebody.

"Mark," Sara began, trying to keep her voice calm. "Stop this. She's not here."

"The hell she's not," he countered, taking a step toward her. "Where is that little cunt?" He slammed his hand against the door again, punching an impression into the wood. Nelly screamed and ducked behind the counter.

"Where is she?" he demanded.

Sara purposefully made what she hoped was a nervous glance toward her office. Mark picked up on it immediately.

"Aha," he said. "She in there?"

"No," Sara told him.

He smiled, stepping closer to her. Sara could see that his pupils were as small as pinpricks, and guessed that whatever he was on was not about to dissipate any time soon. Up close, he seemed to be giving off an odor. Sara was not certain, but the smell reminded her of chemicals.

She asked, "What are you on, Mark?"

"I'm about to be on my fucking sister if she doesn't keep her fucking mouth shut."

"She's not here," Sara told him.

"Lace?" Mark said, craning his head around the office door. "You better get the fuck out here right now."

Sara caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She knew from the neon-yellow blur that it was Lacey, trying to make her way out the back door. A cold sweat chilled Sara as she calculated how long it would take for Lacey to make it to the exit. She stared at Mark, willing Lacey to hurry, but the girl was not moving. She was standing stock still as if someone had pinned her to the wall.

"She in there?" Mark asked.

"No," Sara said, looking over his shoulder. "She's behind you."

Lacey's hand went to her mouth as if to stop herself from screaming.

"Right," Mark said, giving Sara a scathing look.

"I want you out of here right now, Mark. You're trespassing."

He ignored her, walking into the office. Sara followed him at a distance, trying to be casual about the fact that she was trapping him in the room. She prayed that Maria had gotten hold of someone, even if it was Brad Stephens.

"Lacey?" Mark said, his voice softer, but in a more menacing way than before. He walked around the desk. "It's only gonna be worse if you don't come out now."

Sara crossed her arms. "What's purity, Mark?"

Mark looked under the desk, cursing when he found it empty. He kicked it, moving the steel desk across the floor a couple of inches.

"Did you make Jenny feel dirty? Is that why she wanted to make herself pure?"

"Get out of my way," he ordered, walking toward Sara.

She put her hand on the door, blocking his exit.

"Get out of the way."

"What's purity?"

He looked like he might answer, but Sara realized too late he was just trying to throw her off guard. The next thing she knew, she was being pushed back, and hard. She fell into the hall, whacking her head on the floor.

"Sara!" Molly said, running around to help her.

"I'm okay," Sara managed, trying to sit up. She looked down the hallway and saw that Lacey was still there about the same time that Mark did.

"Run!" Sara told her. Lacey hesitated, but finally seemed to understand she needed to get out of here. She ran to the door and slammed it open.

"Bitch," Mark yelled, taking after her.

Without thinking, Sara reached out and grabbed at Mark's foot. He tried to yank it away, but she caught the leg of his pants in her fist.

"Stop it," Sara said, trying to hold on.

He reached down, hitting at her hand with his fist. When this did not work, he punched at her face. Sara saw the glint of the red stone in his ring before the first blow caught her on the forehead, and she was so surprised that she let go.

"Oh, my God," Molly breathed, putting her hand to her mouth.

"Crap," Sara hissed, touching her forehead. Mark's ring had caught her right at the temple. She looked at the blood on her fingers, but then thought of Lacey and made herself stand.

Molly began, "Maybe you should-"

Sara took off after Mark and Lacey, shouting, "Where the hell is Jeffrey?" over her shoulder.

Sara stopped outside the back door, trying to get her bearings. The sun was beating down, and Sara shielded her eyes as she tried to spot Lacey in the trees behind the building.

"Did they go around front?" Molly asked, jogging toward the side of the clinic. Sara followed her, bumping into the nurse as she turned the corner.

Molly was pointing to the road. "There she is."

They both took off at the same time, but Sara's stride was longer, and she soon left Molly behind. The road in front of the clinic was hardly a busy thoroughfare, but at lunchtime the professors and students left campus to come into town. Sara watched as Lacey ran into the street, Mark right behind her, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Somehow, they both made it across the road. Lacey ran toward the lake, but Sara watched as another figure, a blur, really, came from the side and tackled Mark to the ground. By the time Sara and Molly crossed the street, Lena Adams was straddling Mark's back like a rodeo rider as she jerked his arms behind him and cuffed his wrists.

"Oh, shit," Lena said, looking up the street.

Lacey was too far away for Sara to recognize her by any other means than the bright yellow raincoat. Sara stood helpless, watching as an old black car stopped beside the girl. The passenger-side door swung open and an arm reached out, grabbing Lacey around the waist and pulling her inside the car.

Sara touched the bandage on her forehead as she got out of the car. Molly had sewn in two sutures, then canceled the rest of Sara's appointments so that she could have some downtime in order to recover from the ordeal at the clinic. Sara's head hurt, and she was hot and irritable. She might as well have stayed at the clinic and seen patients, but Molly had not really given her a choice. Maybe the nurse was right. Every time Sara thought about what had happened at the clinic, she felt as if a band were being tightened around her chest. Knowing another one of her kids was in jeopardy and that there was absolutely nothing she could do made Sara want to put her head on her mother's shoulder and cry.

"Mama?" Sara called, kicking off her shoes as she closed the front door behind her. There was no answer, and Sara walked back to the kitchen, asking, "Mama?" again.

There was still no answer, and Sara felt her heart sink. She filled a glass with water and finished it all in several gulps, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Sara flopped onto the kitchen stool and picked up the phone, dialing Jeffrey's number. Lena had taken Mark off to the station before Sara had thought to ask her where he was.

"Tolliver," he answered, and she could tell from the hollow echo of his voice that he was in his car.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I got caught up in Alabama for a while," he told her. "I talked to Lena. She told me about Lacey. You didn't get a look at who was in the car?"

"No," Sara answered. "Did you talk to her parents?"

"Frank's with them now. They don't know anybody who drives a car like that."

"What has Mark said?"

"He won't talk to anybody," Jeffrey told her. "Not even Lena."

"Who would want to kidnap her?"

"I don't know," Jeffrey said. "We've put out an A.P.B. all over the state. I want to talk to Mark and see if we can find anything out."

"I feel like we're missing something big here," she said. "Something right under our noses."

"Yeah." He was quiet, and she could hear the engine rev in his car as he accelerated. He said, "Tell me what happened today. Beginning to end."

Sara took a deep breath, then told him. The part Jeffrey seemed to focus on most was Mark hitting her, probably because it was the only thing he knew he could take care of.

"What did he hit you with?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"His ring," she said, then amended, "His fist, really, but his ring did most of the damage. He wasn't really hitting hard. He just wanted me to turn him loose." She put her fingers to the bandage. "It's not bad."

" Lena wrote him up on assault?"

"Probably," Sara answered, letting him know he should drop it.

He got the hint. "Did it look like Lacey knew the people in the car?"

"It was so far away, Jeffrey. I don't know. I wouldn't have even known it was her except for the bright-yellow coat she was wearing."

" Lena knew the car. Some of the kids from school had seen Jenny Weaver get into it."

Sara played with the cord of the phone as he told her what Lena had learned at the high school. When he was fin-ished, all she could say was, "That doesn't sound like the Jenny I knew."

"I'm beginning to think nobody really knew her."

She said what had been nagging in the back of her mind all along. "Do you think Mark and Lacey are the parents?" she asked. "I mean, I know that's why you wanted the sample on Mark, but it never occurred to me that…"

"I know," he said. She could tell from the quick way he answered her that Jeffrey had been thinking about this for a while. "I think it's possible."

She asked, "What was your reading on Teddy Patterson?"

"Possible there, too."

"I doubt he'll submit to a test without an order."

"You got that right."

Sara sighed, wondering how all of this fit together. "Maybe Jenny found out and was jealous?"

"Could be," he said, and she could tell he was concentrating on something else.

"Jeff…" Sara began, not knowing how to broach the subject without making him angry. "Mark was cut across his abdomen. It wasn't bad, but I think someone probably tried to hurt him."

"Good."

"No," she stopped him. "He's a kid. Promise me you won't forget that."

"A kid who may have raped his sister and pimped out her friend," he said. "A kid who punched you in the face."

"Forget about me," Sara told him. "I mean it, Jeffrey. Don't make it about me."

He said something under his breath.

"Jeff?"

He asked, "You didn't get any more information out of her?"

"She seemed disoriented, and terrified."

"Do you think she's seriously ill?"

"I don't know if it's fear or shock or if she's recovering from giving birth. I didn't get to spend much time with her. I…"

"What?"

"I feel responsible for not looking out for her. She was in my clinic. If I'd been able to keep her there-"

"She ran away, Sara. You did what you could do."

She pressed her lips together. "I wish that made me feel better."

"I wish it did, too," he said. "I wish I could tell you how to get rid of the guilt, because I sure as hell don't know."

Sara felt tears well into her eyes. She put her hand to her mouth so that Jeffrey could not hear her cry.

"Sara?"

She cleared her throat, wiping under her eyes with her free hand. She sniffed, because her nose was running. "Yes?"

Jeffrey said, "Was there anything else Lacey said? Maybe something about Mark, why he was after her?"

Sara bristled, because asking her the same questions over again wouldn't get them any closer to finding Lacey Patterson. "Stop questioning me. I've had a bad enough day without getting the third degree from you."

He was silent, and she could hear the engine accelerate again.

Sara closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, waiting for him to speak.

"I just…" He stopped, then, "I gotta tell you, the idea of somebody hurting you really pisses me off."

She laughed. "Me, too."

"Are you all right?" he asked again.

"Yeah," she said, though she was feeling very unsettled. The clinic had always been a safe place for Sara, and she did not like the fact that her work at the morgue had some-how seeped into her private practice. She felt vulnerable, and she did not like that.

"Nick called," she told Jeffrey, then explained to him what Nick had said.

"Purity?" Jeffrey repeated. "That's what Jenny said."

"Right," Sara agreed. "I think it all goes back to sex. She wanted to be clean again, right?"

"Right."

"So what made her feel unclean?"

"Banging all those guys at the party might have done it."

"She was drunk," Sara reminded him, feeling anger stirring deep inside of her.

"They say she wasn't too drunk to know what she was doing."

"Of course they said that. What else would they say, that they raped her?"

He cleared his throat. "That's a point."

"Why else would she do what she did?" Sara demanded. "Jenny wasn't like that. She was just a little girl, for Christ's sake."

Jeffrey's tone was indulgent. "We don't know exactly what happened, Sara. We probably never will."

Sara changed the subject, knowing she could not have a logical conversation with him about this right now. "Nick sent that tattoo to the FBI. Nothing kicked out on their database."

"That's actually what held me up," Jeffrey told her. "I'll tell you about it tonight."

"No," she said. "Tell me about it tomorrow."

He was silent, then, "I thought you wanted to see me tonight?"

"Yes," Sara assured him. "I do, but not to talk business." She waited a few beats. "I need to not think about this tonight. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "As long as I still get to see you."

"If you can stand it," she said, trying to make light of it. "I've got a big green Band-Aid on my head."

"Does it hurt?"

"Mmm," she mumbled, looking out the window. She saw her mother walking up the steps to Tessa's garage apartment.

"Sara?"

Sara turned back to the conversation. "I'm counting on you to help me take my mind off of it."

He laughed at this, and seemed pleased. "I've got to talk to Mark and do a quick briefing with evening patrol about looking for Lacey. Not that there's much any of us can do tonight. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

"You think it'll be late?"

"Probably," he said. "You want me to let you sleep?"

"No," she told him. "Wake me."

She could almost hear him smiling. "I'll see you then."

"Okay," she answered, then hung up the phone.

Sara got another glass of water before going outside. The pavement was hot as white coals against her bare feet, and she tiptoed the last couple of yards to get to the stairs.

Tessa's apartment was large, with two bedrooms and two baths. She had painted the walls in primary colors and accented these with comfortable chairs and a roomy couch that tended to make the occupant want to take a long nap. Sara had often slept over at Tessa's, especially after the divorce, because she felt safer at the time being here than being in her own home.

"Tessie?" Sara called, trying not to let the screen door slam behind her. Cathy had left the wooden door wide open, which seemed odd since the air was on.

Tessa's voice seemed strained. "Just a minute."

Sara walked back to her sister's bedroom, wondering what was going on. "Tess?" she said, stopping in the doorway.

Tessa was holding a tissue to her nose, and she did not look up when Sara came into the room. Cathy was beside her, arms crossed over her chest.

"What happened?" Sara asked at the same time Cathy did.

"What?" they both said.

Sara pointed to her sister. "What's wrong with you? Why are you crying?"

Cathy walked over to Sara and put her hand to Sara's head. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"It's a long story," Sara said, waving away her mother's hand. "Tessie, what's wrong?"

Tessa shook her head no, and Sara found herself suddenly feeling dizzy. She sat on the bed, asking, "Is it Daddy?"

Cathy frowned. "Don't be silly. He's healthy as a horse."

Sara put her hand to her chest and let out a puff of air. "Then, what's the matter?"

Tessa walked over to her dresser and picked up a long piece of white plastic. Sara recognized the pregnancy test stick before her sister handed it to her.

Sara could not think what to say, so she said, "You're supposed to do these early in the morning."

"I did," Tessa answered. "Then I did it again at lunch, and then again just now."

"All positive," Cathy said. Then, "I guess we can take her into the city next weekend."

"Into the city?" Sara asked, wondering why they would need to go to Atlanta. She figured it out soon enough, and shook her head no, not accepting this. "You're going to get an abortion?"

Tessa took back the test stick. "I don't really have a choice."

"That's not true," Sara snapped, standing. "Of course you have a choice."

"Sara," Cathy chided.

"Mother," Sara began, then, "Jesus Christ, Tess, you're thirty-three years old, you make a great living, you've got Devon so in love with you he can't see straight."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Tessa asked.

"It has everything to do with it," Sara told her.

"I'm not ready."

Sara felt so shocked that for a moment she could not speak. Finally, she asked, "Do you know what they do, Tessa? Do you know what the procedure entails? Do you know how they-?"

Tessa stopped her. "I know what an abortion is."

"How could you even think-?"

"Think what?" Tessa snapped. "Think that I'm not ready to have a baby? I can think that pretty easily, Sara. I'm not ready."

"Nobody's ever ready," Sara countered, trying not to yell. "How can you be so selfish?"

"Selfish?" Tessa asked, incredulous.

"All you're thinking about is yourself."

"I am not," Tessa shot back.

Sara put her hand over her eyes, not believing she was having this conversation. She dropped her hand, asking, "Do you know what they'll do? Do you know what will happen to the baby?"

Tessa turned away. "It's not even a baby yet."

Sara grabbed her sister's arm and turned her back around. "Look at me."

"Why? So you can try to talk me out of this?" Tessa asked. "This is my choice, Sara."

"What about Devon?" Sara asked. "What does he have to say?"

Tessa pursed her lips. "It's not his decision."

Sara knew what Tessa meant, but asked anyway, "What, you're not sure he's the father?"

"Sara," Cathy warned.

Sara kept her back to her mother. "Is he?"

"Of course he is," Tessa said, indignant.

Sara stared at her sister, trying to find something to say that would stop this. When she opened her mouth to speak, what came out surprised them all. She said, "I'll raise it."

Tessa shook her head no. "I couldn't do that."

"Why?"

"Sara," Tessa said, as if she was being obtuse on purpose. "I couldn't let you raise my child."

Sara tucked her hands into her hips, trying to keep her anger down. "That's just about the most immature thing I've ever heard you say. What, if you can't have it, no one will?"

Tessa's mouth opened and closed. "When did you become so self-righteous? I happen to remember a time when you were pretty pro-abortion."

Sara felt her cheeks turn red. She was very conscious that her mother was in the room. "Stop it."

"Oh, you don't want to tell Mama about the time you thought Steve Mann had knocked you up?"

Cathy kept silent, but Sara could feel that her mother was hurt. Cathy had always made it clear that her daughters could come to her with anything. And, except for this one time, Sara always had.

Sara tried to explain to her mother. "It was a false alarm. I was studying for finals. I was stressed out. My period was late."

Cathy held up her hand, telling Sara to stop.

"I was a teenager," Sara added, her voice weak. "My whole life was ahead of me."

Tessa said, "And the first thing you did was call the women's center in Atlanta to see how fast they could get rid of it."

Sara shook her head, knowing this was not true. The first thing she had done was burst into tears and tear up her acceptance letter from Emory. "That's not how it happened."

Tessa was not finished, and her next remark cut to the bone. "This is so easy for you because you know you'll never get pregnant."

"Tessa," Cathy hissed, but it was too late. The damage was done.

Sara's mouth formed an O but the word would not come out. She felt as if she had been slapped.

Cathy started to say something, but it was Sara's turn to hold up her hand.

"I can't do this right now," she said, because she could not. Sara could not ever remember a time when Tessa had hurt her so much, and she felt as if she had lost her best friend.

Without another word, Sara left Tessa's apartment, letting the screen door slam closed behind her.

Chapter Eleven

Maria handed Jeffrey a stack of pink messages before he even had time to take off his jacket. He felt as if he had been gone for three months instead of twenty-four hours.

"This one's important," Maria said, pointing to one of the slips. "And this one, too." She kept going until she had identified all but one of the messages as important. Jeffrey glanced at the unimportant one. There was a man's name he did not recognize, followed by a one-eight hundred number.

"What's this about?"

Maria frowned as she obviously tried to remember. "Either vinyl siding or coffee service. I forget which one." She shrugged apologetically. "He said he'd call back."

Jeffrey balled up the message and tossed it into the trash, asking, "Is Lena around?"

"I'll fetch her," Maria said, backing out of the office.

Jeffrey sat at his desk and the first thing he saw was a missing poster of Lacey Patterson. She was a thin, boyish-looking girl with blonde hair like her mother. The photo was a school picture with an American flag in the background and a globe of the world in front. Her height and weight were under the photo, along with where she was last seen and a number people could call. The flyer had been faxed out to all the precincts in the area and put into the national database that tracked missing children. It would take time for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation to put together a packet to send to law enforcement all around the Southeast. If today was like every other day in America, Lacey Patterson's name had been keyed in along with a hundred other newly missing or abducted children.

Jeffrey picked up the phone and dialed Nick Shelton's number. When Nick answered, Jeffrey was somewhat surprised. The field agent was seldom at his desk.

"Nick? Jeffrey Tolliver."

"Hey, Chief," Nick said, his twangy good-old-boy drawl a bit jarring to Jeffrey's ears. Considering Jeffrey had spent the last twenty-four hours in central Alabama, this said a lot.

Jeffrey asked, "You riding a desk today?"

"Somebody's gotta take care of all this paperwork," Nick told him. "No word yet on your missing girl?"

"No," Jeffrey told him. "Anything on the state-wide alert?"

"Not a peep," Nick said. "It'd help if you had a license plate on that car."

"It was too far away for anyone to see it."

Nick sighed. "Well, I sent it over to the computer lab. Who knows how long it'll take for them to get somebody on it? It's not top priority until something happens one way or the other."

"I know," Jeffrey said. There would need to be a break in the case, some kind of clue to follow or angle to work, before the big guns could be called in. Right now, all they could do was stand around with their hands in their pockets.

Jeffrey asked, "There's no way to move her up on this? Jesus, Nick. Sara and Lena saw the kid being snatched."

"You know how many kids have gone missing in the last twelve hours?"

"Still-"

"Hey, now." Nick lowered his voice. "I made it my business to talk to this old boy used to work in child crimes. He's gonna make a couple of phone calls and see if they can put some kind of priority on it."

"Thanks, Nick."

"Meanwhile, it won't hurt to have some of your boys follow up on those faxes you sent around."

Jeffrey made a note of this, thinking Nick was right. So much trash came through the fax machines at the office that sometimes it took hours before somebody could sort through it.

Nick asked, "Any chance this is just a do-gooder, snatching her up to keep her safe?"

"Hell, Nick," Jeffrey said. "I don't know."

"None of your primaries drives a black Thunderbird?"

"No," Jeffrey said. They'd checked the vehicles of everyone even remotely involved in the case, then spread it out to include all of Grant. No one in the county had an old Ford Thunderbird registered to him.

"In the meantime," Nick said. "What can I do ya for?"

"Purity," Jeffrey said. "Tell me what that means in relation to pedophiles."

"No idea," Nick said. "I can beep it through the computers and let you know."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Your lady was on the phone with me earlier talking about purity," Nick told him. "That castration case, right?"

"Right," Jeffrey said.

"Well, I'll tell you," Nick began, "this castration has a religious angle to it most times. They do it to make sure the girl stays a virgin."

"We know she wasn't that."

"Hell, no," Nick agreed. "From what I heard, she'd been around the block more than a time or two."

Jeffrey tried to let this slide off his back, but Nick's characterization of the child was a little harsh even for him. Law enforcement people tended to be as tough as they could about this kind of thing, and Jeffrey was no exception. Had he not killed the little girl in question, Jeffrey might have laughed. As it was, he could only say, "I've got a name for you to run through the computer."

"Shoot," Nick said.

"Arthur Prynne," Jeffrey said, then spelled out the name of the man he had almost beaten that morning behind Possum's store.

Nick mumbled something, obviously writing down the name. "What is that, Polish, or something?"

"I've got no idea," Jeffrey said. "He's got a tattoo like the one I sent you."

"What am I looking for?"

"He was cruising a day-care center when I happened upon him."

"Can't really arrest him for that," Nick said, though they both knew this was obvious.

"He's got a computer at home. Probably hooks up with other pedophiles that way," Jeffrey said. "Said he was a girl-lover."

"Man," Nick sighed. "I really hate that phrase."

"We could do a search here at the station, but to tell you the truth, Nick, I don't think any of us knows how to find that kind of thing."

"Feds have got a whole squad on it. Having a name makes it a priority. Maybe they can squeeze this guy and get him to flip?"

"Very possible," Jeffrey said. "He didn't have much of a spine when I interviewed him. I can see him turning in some of his friends to save his hide."

"Interviewed him, huh?" Nick chuckled. "He know you were a cop at the time?"

Jeffrey smiled. Nick was a lot of things, but he was not stupid. "Let's say we had a conversation and leave it at that."

Nick laughed again. "How fast you want me to do this?"

"Really fast," Jeffrey said, not wanting the responsibility if Prynne turned out to be less innocent than he seemed.

"I'll put it through to the Alabama boys, pronto," Nick said. Then, "We just caught something over in Augusta that might interest you."

"What's that?"

" Augusta cops busted this guy at his hotel on coke distribution. They kind of stumbled across a bunch of magazines that weren't exactly legal."

"Pornography?" Jeffrey guessed.

"Kiddy porn," Nick confirmed. "There was some freaky shit."

"In Augusta?" Jeffrey asked, surprised that he did not know about this. Augusta was pretty close to Grant, and they tended to swap information with the cops there just to keep everyone in the loop.

"We're sitting on it," Nick said. "Trying to pull down the big guys."

"The perp's turning state's evidence?" Jeffrey asked.

"Flipped faster than a two-dollar whore," Nick told him. "And, before you ask, he doesn't know anything about a black Thunderbird or a missing little girl."

"You sure?"

"Sure as two fists can be."

Jeffrey frowned, though he was hardly in a position to feel superior. "Thanks for checking."

"No offense, Chief, but you better hope she's not with one of these guys. They trade kids like you and me used to trade baseball cards."

"I know that," Jeffrey said, but the truth was, he didn't want to. Thinking about Lacey Patterson being trapped with someone like Prynne made Jeffrey sick.

"Anyway," Nick sighed, "there's supposed to be a delivery tonight or tomorrow. Evidently, Augusta is the distribution point for the Southeast."

"I can't believe they're still printing that shit when you can get it for free on the Internet."

"You can trace through the Internet if you know what you're doing," Nick reminded him. "You want me to give you a holler when it's going down?"

"You've got my cell number, right?"

"Yep," Nick said. "You think this Prynne freak is active?'"

"No," Jeffrey said, because his impression had been that Arthur Prynne was the kind of pedophile who was content to look at pictures and not act on his fantasies. "I don't know how long that'll last, though."

Nick asked, "He gonna be expecting a knock on his door?"

"I think he has been all his life," Jeffrey said, looking up to see Lena standing in the doorway. "I've gotta go, Nick. Call me back when you get something on that bust, okay?"

"Will do, Chief."

They hung up, and Jeffrey motioned Lena in, surprised by the way she looked. Her eyes were bloodshot, the way people tend to get when they've been crying for long periods of time. Her nose was red and there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Wanna talk about it?" Jeffrey asked, indicating one of the chairs across from his desk.

She gave him a puzzled look, like she didn't understand. She asked, "Any word on Lacey?"

"Nothing," he said. "Have you set up that appointment we talked about?"

Lena bit her lower lip. "I didn't have time."

"Make time," he told her.

"Yes, sir."

Jeffrey sat back in his chair, staring at her for a few beats. He said, "Tell me what happened when you snatched up Mark. Did he say anything?"

"He's being real tight-lipped all the sudden," she told him. "He won't say anything."

"He lawyer up?"

"Buddy Conford," Lena told him. "Won't that be a conflict of interest?"

Jeffrey considered this. Buddy was the lawyer representing the county if and when Dottie Weaver brought a case against Jeffrey. He asked, "Does Buddy know there's a connection between Mark and what happened with Jenny Weaver?"

"He knows Mark's the one Jenny wanted to shoot. Everybody knows that."

"I mean," Jeffrey said, "does he know we suspect Mark of being the father of the child?"

Lena 's eyebrows went up. "Do we?"

"Tell me why he wouldn't be."

"There could be another boy," she suggested.

"With the mother around?"

"She's been sick a lot," Lena said, shrugging. "I get a vibe from the father. He likes to push people around."

"I'll give you that," Jeffrey said, because Patterson had made a sport out of pushing Lena around in the trailer the other day. Jeffrey had been torn between stepping in and seeing if Lena could take care of it herself.

Lena said, "Maybe he molested Mark, and so Mark molested his sister? Kind of like a cause and effect?"

"That's not how pedophiles work," Jeffrey said.

"I don't follow."

"Not all pedophiles were abused as children. You can't make that assumption."

"We're talking theory here, right?" Lena asked. "I mean, it could have happened that way. I don't see Patterson being into boys, though."

"The vibe again?"

"Yeah," Lena nodded. "I don't get that vibe."

"What about Mark?" Jeffrey asked, remembering how Lena had behaved when they first interviewed the kid. "What kind of vibe do you get off of him?"

Lena had the grace to look down. "Well," she began, "he's hypersexual."

"Go on."

"He really seems to work off his appearance, his sexuality." She looked back up. "I think he probably doesn't know how to communicate any other way."

"That tattoo," Jeffrey began. "I found a guy in Alabama who had the same one."

"The hearts?"

"He was watching a day care," Jeffrey said, feeling the same disgust he had felt at Possum's store. "Looking at the kids there."

"Little kids?" Lena asked. "He's a child molester?"

"More like a pedophile," Jeffrey corrected. Sara had given him a lesson on the difference between these two a long time ago during another case, and he told Lena about it now. "Child molesters tend to hate children, and don't want to be around them except to abuse them. Pedophiles think they're doing the kid some good. They think they love them."

"Uh-huh," Lena said, skeptical.

"Pedophilia is considered a mental illness."

"So was homosexuality until the early sixties. I still don't see the difference."

Jeffrey knew that Lena 's sister had been gay, so he was surprised to hear her say this. "I suppose the big difference would be that adult-to-adult sexual contact is healthy. Children aren't prepared for that kind of thing." She did not respond, so he continued, "With a child-adult relationship, the balance of power is always going to be on the adult's side. It's not a level playing field. The adult is always going to be the one in control of the kid."

Lena gave him an incredulous look. "It sounds like you're justifying it."

"I'm not doing that at all," Jeffrey said, feeling prickly at her accusation. "I'm just telling you what the mindset is."

"The mindset is pretty fucking perverted."

"I agree with that," Jeffrey told her. "But you can't let your disgust color how you approach this, Lena. If Mark has that tattoo because he's a pedophile or a child molester, you can't let him know that you disapprove. He'll never open up to you." Then, because he had taught her this before, he added, "You know that."

"Well," Lena said. "Which one do you think he is? He's barely older than Lacey."

"Three years at least."

"That's not a huge difference."

"Maybe from thirty to thirty-three it's not, but with kids, that's a pretty big jump when you think about it. That's the difference between being a child and being a young adult."

She was silent, obviously thinking this through.

Jeffrey said, "Look at it this way: A pedophile is more comfortable around children because he's scared of adult relationships. Adults scare him."

"What about Jenny? How did she get sewn up like that? What's the story?"

"That I don't know," Jeffrey said. "Maybe Mark will give it up?"

"He's not talking," Lena told him. "Frank was in with him, and he just stared off into space."

"Is he high?"

She shook her head no. "He was before, but it's worn off by now."

"Is he looking for a fix?"

"He seems okay," she said. "He's not twitching, if that's what you're getting at."

"What about his physical state? Sara said he looked like someone had worked him over."

"Yeah," Lena said. She took some Polaroids out of her breast pocket. "We took some pictures to document it. Dr. Linton said the cut on his belly looks like it was done with a sharp knife. It wasn't deep enough for stitches, though. He's got a bruise coming out on his eye."

Jeffrey looked at the pictures one by one. Mark stared at the camera with a dead look in his eyes. There was one shot where he had his shirt off, and there were grass stains on the waist of his jeans as well as superficial scrapes on his lower abdomen.

"We didn't do any of this?" Jeffrey asked, just to make certain.

"Of course not," Lena said, which was odd, because he had asked her this question on other cases and gotten a straightforward answer with none of the attitude. As if to get a jab in, she said, "Ask your girlfriend. She saw him before I did."

"Someone chased him?" Jeffrey asked, moving along. "Or was he chasing someone else?"

"One or the other," she said. "Defensive wounds on his arms, too."

Jeffrey thought about Arthur Prynne, and how he had covered himself with his arms to keep Jeffrey from hitting his face.

Lena said, "We bagged his clothes. I think Dr. Linton's gonna run the blood on his shirt for the DNA match."

"Did you ask him about his sister?"

"If he cares, he's not showing it. Like I said, he's not talking about anything."

Jeffrey's phone beeped, and he pressed the intercom button.

Maria said, "Pastor Fine is here to see Mark."

Jeffrey and Lena exchanged a look. "In what capacity?"

"He says the parents asked him to act as proxy during your interview." Maria lowered her voice. "Buddy Conford is here with him."

"Thanks," Jeffrey said, pressing the button again. He sat back in his chair, staring at Lena.

She finally asked, "What?"

"You've got this connection with Mark. I don't know what it is, but you need to be careful in there."

"I don't have a connection with him," Lena said, obviously uncomfortable with the thought.

"Maybe he's transferring some emotions on to you because his mother's sick."

Lena gave a half-assed shrug. "Whatever," she said. "Can we just get this over with?"

Buddy Conford had lived a hell of a life. At seventeen, he had lost his right leg from the knee down in a car accident. Later, he lost his left eye to cancer and a kidney to a dissat-isfied client with a gun. These losses seemed to have made Buddy stronger rather than weaker. He could fight like a dog with a bone when he put his mind to it. On the other side of that, Buddy was a logical man, and, unlike most lawyers, he was able to recognize right from wrong. He had helped Jeffrey on more than one occasion. Jeffrey approached Mark Patterson's interview hoping this would be such an occasion.

"Chief," Dave Fine said, "I wanted to thank you for letting me be present during this. Mark's mother has taken a turn for the worse, and they wanted me to be here in their stead."

Jeffrey nodded, trying not to point out that he did not really have a choice. Whatever crimes he had committed, Mark was technically still a child. It would be up to the courts to change that designation, if it ever came to that.

Fine asked, "Is there any word on his sister?"

"No," Jeffrey said, staring at Mark, trying to figure out what was going on with the sixteen year old. He looked horrible, and the bruise on his eye was turning blacker by the minute. His lip was cut down the center and his eyes were as bloodshot as Lena 's. The orange prison jumpsuit they had given him made the boy look even more pale than he already was. He seemed smaller, too, somehow reduced by his circumstances. His shoulders slouched and he looked slight, even compared to Buddy Conford, who was not exactly tall.

"Mark?" Jeffrey asked.

Mark's lips moved silently, and he kept his gaze on the table, as if he did not want to look up and recognize the situation he was in. There was something pathetic about the boy that made Jeffrey feel something like compassion. Sara was right. No matter what Mark had done, he was still just a kid.

Buddy shuffled through Mark's paperwork. "What are the charges here, Chief?"

"Assault," Jeffrey told him, still staring at Mark. "He hit Sara in the face."

Buddy frowned at his client. "Sara Linton?" he asked, surprise making his voice go up. Buddy had grown up in Grant, and like most natives he considered Sara sort of sacred for the work she did at the clinic.

A jangling noise came from under the table. Mark was handcuffed, and Jeffrey guessed the sound was the cuffs bouncing up and down on his thigh. Jeffrey had heard this sound before in several interviews.

"In front of about ten witnesses," Jeffrey said, talking over the noise. "He was also threatening his sister with bodily harm."

"Uh-huh," Buddy said, stacking the papers. "He get those bruises on his face before or after he was arrested?"

Lena snapped, "Before," with a silent but understood, "… you idiot."

Buddy gave her a chastising look. "Witnesses back that up?"

"We took photos," Jeffrey said, pulling the Polaroids Lena had given him out of a folder. He slid them across the table to Buddy. Mark flinched a bit at the movement, and again Jeffrey was struck at how fragile the boy seemed.

Buddy thumbed through them, not looking at Mark until he was finished. "Who did this to him?" he asked Jeffrey.

"You tell us," Jeffrey said.

Mark kept staring down, the cuffs jangling like a metronome.

Buddy slid the photos back to Jeffrey. "Don't look like he wants to talk."

Lena said, "What's going on, Mark?"

Mark looked up, seemingly surprised that Lena was speaking to him. The noise stopped, and he appeared frozen in time, waiting for Lena to say more.

Lena's voice was softer than Jeffrey had ever heard it, and it felt like Lena and Mark were the only two people in the room when she said, "Tell me what's wrong, Mark."

He continued to stare, and his breathing became more pronounced.

"Who hit you?" she asked, using the same concerned tone. She reached across the table to him, and Mark lifted his hands so that she could touch him. A small sob escaped from his lips when her hand covered his.

Buddy shot Jeffrey a look, and Jeffrey shook his head once, willing the lawyer to stay silent. Dave Fine was silent without prompting, staring at Mark and Lena 's hands.

Lena used her thumb to smooth Mark's tattoo. Jeffrey did not need to look at the other men in the room to know that they were a bit uncomfortable with the gesture. The air seemed charged with something unspeakable.

Lena said, "What's going on, Mark? Tell me."

Tears came to his eyes. "You've got to find Lacey."

"We will," Lena told him.

"You've got to find her before something bad happens to her."

"What will happen to her, Mark?"

He shook his head, sobbing, "It's too late. No one can help her now."

"Do you know who could have taken her? Did you recognize the car?"

He shook his head again. "I want to see my mama."

Lena swallowed visibly, and Jeffrey could see that Mark's frailty was getting to her, too.

"I just want to see my mama," Mark repeated, his voice soft.

Dave Fine reached out to the boy, and Mark jerked away so hard that Buddy had to hold his chair to keep Mark from toppling over.

"Don't touch me!" Mark screamed, standing.

Lena stood, too, and half ran around to the other side of the table. She tried to touch Mark's arm, but he jumped away, nearly slamming into the wall. He backed into the corner of the room, putting his head into the angle of the walls. Lena put her hand on his shoulder, whispering something to him.

"Mark," Dave Fine said, holding up his hands. "Settle down, son."

"Why aren't you with my mother?" Mark demanded. "Where's your fucking God when my mother's dying?"

"I'll see her later tonight," Fine said, his voice shaking. "She wanted me to be here for you."

"Who was there for Lacey?" Mark demanded. "Who was there when some freak snatched her off the street?"

Fine looked down, and Jeffrey guessed the man was feeling the same guilt they all did about Lacey Patterson.

"I don't need you," Mark screamed. "Mama does. She needs you, and you're here with me like you can do something."

"Mark-"

"Go help my mother!" Mark screamed.

Fine opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to change his mind.

Mark shook his head, looking away. Lena put her hands on his shoulders and led him back to his chair.

Buddy rapped his knuckles on the table to get Jeffrey's attention, then indicated the door.

Jeffrey stood, indicating that Fine should stand as well. The preacher hesitated, then did as he was told, following Buddy out into the hallway.

"Goddamn," Buddy said, then apologized. "Sorry, Preacher."

Fine nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets. He looked through the small window in the door, watching Lena talk to Mark. He mumbled, "I'll pray for his soul."

Buddy leaned heavily onto his crutch, asking Jeffrey, "What the hell is going on here, Chief?"

Jeffrey did not know how to answer. He asked, "Dave, can you make any sense of this?"

"Me?" Fine asked, surprised. "I have no idea. The last time I saw Mark, he seemed okay. Upset about his mama, but okay."

"When was this?" Jeffrey asked.

"The other night at the hospital. I was praying with Grace."

Jeffrey said, "What happened between you and Jenny Weaver?"

"Jenny Weaver?" Fine asked, genuinely puzzled.

Jeffrey reminded him, "You said you dropped by a couple of times to see her around Christmas."

"Oh, right," Fine agreed. "Brad asked me to see her. She had stopped coming to church and he was worried something was wrong."

"Was there?"

"Yes. At least I think so," Fine answered, frowning. "She wouldn't talk to me. None of them would talk to me about anything."

"None of them meaning who?" Jeffrey asked.

Fine indicated the door. "Mark and Lacey. I talked to Grace about it, but she couldn't do anything with them at that point. Put it down to teenage rebellion, I guess." He shook his head sadly. "A lot of kids drop out of church at that age, but they usually come back when they get older. Grace was worried, though, so I talked to him."

"What did he say?" Jeffrey asked.

Fine colored. "Let's just say he used some words I wouldn't want his mama to hear and leave it at that."

Jeffrey nodded, letting it go. He had heard Mark enough times to know what the boy was capable of. He asked, "What about Grace? How is she doing?"

"She's very sick. I don't think she'll make it to the weekend."

Jeffrey thought about Mark wanting to see his mother. "It's that bad?" he asked.

"Yes," Fine answered. "There's nothing more that they can do for her at this point except try to make her comfortable." He glanced back through the window. "I don't know what this family is going to do without her. It's tearing them apart."

"You weren't on the youth retreat last Christmas, is that right?"

Fine shook his head. "I stayed here. I'm not really involved in the retreats; that's more the youth minister's job. Brad Stephens."

"I've talked to him already."

"He's a fine young man," Fine told them. "I hoped he'd serve as an example for some of the boys."

Jeffrey said, "You counseled Mark some, is that right?"

"A bit," Fine answered. "He didn't really open up. I can look over my notes and let you know if anything came up."

"Do that," Jeffrey told the pastor. "Where will you be tomorrow morning?"

"I suppose at the hospital," Fine told him, glancing at his watch. "As a matter of fact, I'd like to get back over there tonight, unless you have any more questions for me."

"You can go," Jeffrey said. "I'll be at the hospital around ten tomorrow morning. Have your notes."

"I'm sorry I haven't been much help," Fine apologized. He shook Jeffrey's hand, then Buddy's, before leaving.

Buddy watched the preacher go, then turned back to Jeffrey. "I don't much like whatever is going on between your detective and my client."

Jeffrey thought about feigning ignorance, but decided they were past that. "I'll put him on suicide watch tonight."

Buddy didn't buy it. "You still haven't addressed my concern."

Jeffrey looked back into the room. Lena had managed to get Mark to sit down, and she rubbed his back as he cried.

Jeffrey said, "This is connected somehow to the Weaver shooting."

"Aw, shit," Buddy cursed, stamping the floor with his crutch. "Thanks a lot for telling me that, Chief."

"I wasn't sure," Jeffrey lied. "You know he's the kid Weaver wanted to shoot."

"This seemed like a simple assault."

"It is," Jeffrey said. "I mean, it was."

"Wanna speak English with me here?"

Jeffrey looked back into the room. Lena still had her hand on Mark's back, comforting him.

"Honestly, Buddy, I've got no idea what's going on."

"Start from the beginning."

Jeffrey tucked his hands into his pockets. "The baby we found at the skating rink," he said, and Buddy nodded. "We think Mark is the father."

Buddy kept nodding. "Makes sense."

"We think his sister might be the mother."

"One that's been taken?"

Jeffrey nodded. His gut clenched as he thought about Lacey Patterson and what might be happening to her.

Buddy said, "I thought Weaver was the mother."

"No," Jeffrey said. "Sara did the autopsy. Jenny wasn't the mother." He left out what else Sara had found.

"I still haven't heard from Dottie Weaver," Buddy told him. "The mayor's sweating like a whore in church."

"She'll probably wait until the funeral's over," Jeffrey said, wondering when the funeral would be held. He doubted seriously that Sara would be invited, and she had not mentioned anything about it.

"I need to get your deposition in the next day or so, regardless," Buddy ordered. "We need to get it down on paper while it's fresh in your mind."

"I don't think it'll ever not be fresh in my mind, Buddy," Jeffrey said, thinking that he would carry Jenny Weaver's death around with him for the rest of his life.

"What else is going on here?" Buddy asked. "Don't hold back on me."

Jeffrey tucked his hands into his pockets. "Mark has this tattoo on his hand."

"The heart thing?" Buddy asked.

"Yeah," Jeffrey confirmed. "It's a symbol for something."

"Kiddy porn," Buddy supplied, much to Jeffrey's shock.

"How do you know that?"

"I've got another client who has the same tattoo," Buddy said. "Some guy a couple of weeks ago over in Augusta. I took the case as a favor to a friend."

"What was the case?"

Buddy glanced around, obviously debating whether or not to answer the question.

Jeffrey pointed out, "I've been more than forthcoming here, Buddy."

Buddy agreed. "Yeah, okay," he said. "He got nailed for coke. Not a lot, but enough to push distribution. He had some information to make the charge go away."

"I've heard this already," Jeffrey said. "He's a distributor, right? For the porn?"

Buddy nodded.

"And he turned state's evidence to keep his ass out of jail."

"Bingo," Buddy said. "How'd you hear about it?"

"The usual way," Jeffrey said, not wanting to give any more information.

"What usual way?" Buddy asked.

Jeffrey tried to divert him. "Where's your leg?" he said, indicating the empty space below Buddy's right knee.

"Shit," Buddy sighed. "My girlfriend took it. Won't give it back."

"What'd you do?"

"That's a cop for you," Buddy said, leaning on his crutch. "Always blame the victim."

Jeffrey laughed. "You want me to talk to her?"

Buddy furrowed his eyebrows. "I'll handle it," he said. "You gonna answer my question about how you know?"

"Nope," Jeffrey said. He looked back into the room. Mark had his head on the table, and Lena sat beside him, holding his hand.

Jeffrey opened the door. " Lena," he said, indicating she should come out into the hall.

Lena opened her mouth, probably to ask him to let her stay, but seemed to think better of it. She stood, not looking at Mark, not touching him, and walked out of the room.

"What did he say?" Jeffrey asked her.

"Nothing," Lena answered. "He wants to go to the hospital and see his mother."

"Go home," Jeffrey told her, and without waiting for her to acknowledge him, he stepped back into the room with Buddy right behind him.

"Mark," Jeffrey began, sitting in the chair Lena had vacated. "We know about the tattoo."

Mark kept his head down. The table shook as he cried.

"We know what it means."

Buddy leaned against the table on the other side of Mark. "Son, it's in your best interest to tell us what's going on here."

Jeffrey said, "Mark, do you have any idea who might have taken your sister?" When there was no answer, he tried, "Mark, we think some bad people have got her. Some people who might hurt her. You need to help us here."

Still, he did not answer.

"Mark," Jeffrey tried again. "Dr. Linton said Lacey seemed sick when she saw her."

Mark sat up, wiping his eyes with his hands. He stared straight ahead at the wall, his body rocking back and forth.

Jeffrey asked, "Was Lacey pregnant? Was that the baby in the skating rink?"

Mark kept rocking back and forth, almost like he was being hypnotized by the wall.

Jeffrey asked, "Were you the father of that baby, Mark?"

Mark continued to stare. Jeffrey waved his hand in front of the boy's eyes, but Mark did not move.

"Mark?" Jeffrey asked, then louder, "Mark?"

Mark did not flinch.

"Mark?" Jeffrey repeated, snapping his fingers.

Buddy put his hand on Mark's shoulder, but the boy did not acknowledge him. Buddy said, "I think we should get him a doctor."

"Sara can-"

"No," Buddy interrupted. "I think he's seen enough of Sara for one day."

It was ten o'clock by the time Jeffrey left the station. Nearly two hours of his time had been spent calling around the state, making sure other police departments had gotten the flyer on Lacey and knew to be on the lookout for the black Thunderbird. A lot of the cops he spoke with wanted to give him details on open cases they were working. While Jeffrey didn't think he could help some of them, he made all the right noises, hoping the cops on the other end didn't feel like he was giving them lip service. It was more likely some patrol car in Griffin would run across the black Thunder-bird than it was for Jeffrey to find a missing wide-screen television that had been stolen out of a police sergeant's mother's house, but he wrote down and repeated back the serial number anyway.

Despite what he had told Nick, Jeffrey wanted to see what he could find on the Internet on his own. With Brad's help, they had found thousands of sites under the general heading of "girl-lovers." Brad's face had turned completely white by the third site they visited, and Jeffrey had dismissed the young patrolman and tried to navigate the Web on his own.

Even with Jeffrey's rudimentary knowledge of the Internet, he was able to find links to site after site containing images of children posed in various compromising positions. By the time he signed off, Jeffrey had felt the need to take a shower just to clean some of the images from his mind. Sara was right. Maybe some distance from the case would give him some perspective. As it stood, Jeffrey did not know where to look next.

Jeffrey tried not to think about what he had seen on the computer as he drove to Sara's house. He had called Sara before he'd left the station to tell her there was still no word on Lacey and that he was on his way over if she still wanted to see him. Thankfully, she did. He pulled into the driveway, noticing that she had left the lights on for him. When he got out of the car he could hear a soft, jazzy song playing in the house. Sara must have been looking out for him, because she opened the door before he had a chance to knock. Everything that had been troubling him for the last few days left his mind when he saw her standing there.

"Hi," Sara said, a sly smile at her lips.

Jeffrey was speechless, and all he could do was look at her. Sara's hair was down around her shoulders, the curls softer than usual. She was wearing a silky black dress that wrapped around her body, showing her curves to their best advantage. A long slit up the side showed a hint of leg. She was wearing high heels, and they flexed her calf in a way that made him want to lick it.

She took his hand and led him inside. Jeffrey stopped her in the hallway, and pulled her close to him. The high heels added about three inches to her height, and Sara leaned her hand on his shoulder while she slipped off the shoes so that she would be back at eye level.

"Better?" she asked. When he did not answer, she leaned in, brushing her lips across his. He kept his eyes open as long as he could, watching her kiss him. Her mouth was sweet, and he tasted wine and a bit of chocolate on her tongue.

Jeffrey closed the door behind him still watching her. He could not remember a time when she looked more beautiful, even with the Band-Aid on her forehead.

She said, "I don't want to talk about my day, or your day, or what's going on."

All he could do was nod.

Sara leaned her arm against the wall, giving him a quizzical look. "Cat got your tongue?"

Jeffrey put his hand to his chest, trying to articulate how he felt. "Sometimes," he began, "I forget how beautiful you are, and then I see you…" He let his voice trail off, trying to find the right words. "It just takes my breath away."

She raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if he was feeding her some kind of line or not.

"I love you, Sara," he said, taking a step closer to her. "I love you so much."

She seemed to be fighting a smile, and he loved her even more for that. As long as Jeffrey had known her, Sara had never been able to take a compliment.

She said, "I guess this means you like the dress."

"I'd like it even better on the floor."

She stood away from the wall, and he watched as she reached behind her and did something with her hands. She wasn't wearing anything under the dress, so when it fell to the floor she stood completely nude in front of him.

Jeffrey drank her in, craving her in a way that frightened him. He went down on his knees and kissed her until she could not stand anymore.