She walked to the tall locker beside the office, assuming Brock still kept his supplies in the same place. “Crap,” she mumbled. The camera and all its pieces were laid out on velvet cloths covering two shelves. She picked up a lens. “I’m not sure I know how this thing goes together.”
“Mind if I try?” Will didn’t wait for her response. He picked up the lens and twisted it onto the camera, then bolted on the lights, the flash, and the metal guide that recorded depth. He pressed several buttons until the LCD display blinked on, then scrolled through all the icons until he found the one he was looking for.
Sara had two degrees and a board certification under her belt, but hell would have frozen over before she would’ve been able to figure out anything to do with the camera. Curiosity broke her earlier resolve. “Have you ever been tested?”
“No.” He stood behind Sara, holding the camera in front so she could see. “Zoom here,” he said, flicking the toggle.
“You could probably—”
“This is macro.”
“Will—”
“Super macro.” He kept talking over her until she gave up. “Here’s where you adjust for color. This is light. Anti-shake. Red-eye.” He clicked through the features like a photography instructor.
Sara finally relented. “Why don’t I point and you shoot?”
“All right.” His back was stiff, and she could tell that he was irritated.
“I’m sorry I—”
“Please don’t apologize.”
Sara held his gaze for a few moments longer, wishing she could fix this. There was nothing to say if he wouldn’t even let her apologize.
She told him, “Let’s start.”
Sara directed him around the table as he photographed Allison Spooner head to toe. The warm-up jacket. The stab wound that went through to her neck. The sliced material where the knife had cut through. The teeth marks on the inside of her lip.
She folded back the torn jeans, exposing the knee. There was a half-moon-shaped tear, the skin hanging on by a flap. A dark bruise outlined the area of impact. “This kind of laceration comes from blunt trauma. She fell very hard on her knee, probably with her full weight, definitely on something hard, like a rock. The impact busted open the skin.”
“Can we look at the wrists?”
The jacket had bunched up around the girl’s hands. Sara pushed up the material.
He took a few photographs. “Ligature marks?”
Sara leaned down for a closer look. She checked the other wrist. The veins were an iridescent blue. Lines of red shot through the skin where clots held the blood in place.
She explained, “Bodies start to float anywhere from two hours to two days after they’re in the water. Decomposition starts quickly—as soon as the heart and lungs stop, the body turns on itself. Bacteria leaks out of the intestines. Gases build up, causing buoyancy. The cinder blocks would have kept her from floating to the surface. The cold water would’ve retarded decomposition. I don’t know what the temperature of the lake was, but we can assume it was close to freezing. She was probably facedown, her hands hanging in front of her. Livor mortis settled into her fingertips, pooled up into her wrists. I suppose you could mistake the discoloration for ligature marks. It would’ve been dark that time of morning.” Sara couldn’t make any more excuses for Frank. “Honestly, I thought Frank was lying to me when he said it the first time.”
“Why lie about that?” Will asked. “The stab wound is evidence enough that something was seriously wrong.”
“You’ll have to ask Frank.”
“I’ve got a lot of questions for him if he ever shows up.”
“He’s probably with Brad. Frank has known him since he was a kid. We all have.”
Will only nodded.
Sara put the ruler by Allison’s wrist so he could take a photograph. When he was finished, she turned the hand over. There was a faint scar along the crease of the wrist. She checked the other hand. “She tried to kill herself before. A razor, maybe a sharp knife. I’d say within the last ten years.”
Will studied the raised white lines. “What was Tommy like?”
She was surprised by the question because her focus was on Allison. Sara hadn’t slept much last night. She’d had a lot of time to think about Tommy. “He was cheerful,” she told Will. “I don’t think there was ever a time I didn’t see him smile. Even when he felt bad.”
“Did you ever see him angry?”
“No.”
“Did he have many broken bones or bruises?”
She shook her head, knowing where this was going. “Gordon was very gentle with him. The only time I saw him angry was when Tommy ate a whole jar of paste.”
Will smiled fondly. “I used to eat paste.” He held the camera at his side. “I wonder if it tastes as good as it used to.”
Sara laughed. “I wouldn’t recommend finding out. Tommy was sick for days.”
“You didn’t tell me Lena was raped.”
The observation came out of nowhere. Sara was taken off guard, which was probably what he had intended. “It was a long time ago.”
“Faith found it on the Internet.”
She busied herself over by the back counter, finding a roll of brown paper under the cabinet so she could lay out the clothes. “Does it matter?”
“I don’t know. It bothers me that you left it out.”
Sara spread out the paper. “A lot of women have been raped.” She looked up when he didn’t respond. “Don’t feel sorry for her, Will. She’s so good at making people feel sorry for her.”
“I think she regrets what happened to Tommy.”
Sara shook her head. “You can’t expect good from her. She’s not a normal person. There’s no kindness in her.”
He spoke carefully, staring his meaning into Sara. “I’ve met a lot of people in my life who were truly unkind.”
“Still—”
“I don’t think Lena’s completely devoid of a soul. I think she’s angry, and self-destructive, and feeling trapped.”
“I used to think that, too. And I felt sorry for her. Right before she got my husband killed.”
There wasn’t much more Sara could say after that. She unbuttoned Allison’s shirt and continued to undress the girl. Will changed out the memory card and took photographs when she asked him to. She didn’t ask for his help when she draped a clean white sheet over Allison’s body. Their companionable silence was a distant memory. The tension was so great that Sara felt herself getting a headache. She was angry with herself that it mattered. Will Trent was not her friend. His dyslexia, his quirky sense of humor, his dirty clothes—none of this was her concern. All she needed for him to do was get his job done and then go back to his wife.
Out in the hall, the metal door slammed shut. Moments later, Frank Wallace came into the room carrying a cardboard box. He was wearing a long trench coat and a pair of leather gloves. His hair was wet from the rain.
Will said, “Chief Wallace. It’s nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
“You wanna tell me why you’ve got half my guys out chasing their tails in the pouring rain?”
“I assume you’ve heard that we found the crime scene where Allison Spooner was stabbed.”
“You test that blood yet? Could be an animal for all I know.”
Will told him, “Yes, I tested it on scene. It’s human blood.”
“All right, so he killed her in the woods.”
“It appears so.”
“I called off the search. You can bring in your own team if you wanna comb through six inches of mud.”
“That’s a very good idea, Chief Wallace. I think I will call in a team.”
Frank was obviously finished with Will. He dropped the box at Sara’s feet. “Here’s all the evidence we’ve got.” She held her breath until he backed away. He smelled rancid, a combination of mouthwash, sweat, and tobacco.
Will said, “I hope you don’t mind, Chief Wallace
. I’ve got Detective Adams re-canvassing the neighborhood and checking with Allison’s teachers from school.”
“Do whatever you want,” Frank grunted. “I’m finished with her.”
“Is there a problem?”
“You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t.” Frank coughed into his gloved hand. Sara winced at the sound. “Lena screwed this whole thing up top to bottom. I’m not covering for her anymore. She’s a bad cop. Her work’s sloppy. She managed to get somebody killed.” He gave Sara a meaningful look. “Somebody else.”
She felt hot and cold at the same time. Frank was saying all the things that she wanted to hear—all the things she knew in her heart—but the words sounded dirty coming from his mouth. He was exploiting Jeffrey’s death, while Sara was trying to avenge it.
Will said, “Lena told me you spoke with Lionel Harris last night?”
Suddenly, Frank seemed nervous. “Lionel doesn’t know anything.”
“Still, he might have some personal information about Allison.”
“Lionel’s daddy raised him right. He knows better than to be sniffing around a little white girl from the college.”
Sara felt her mouth open in surprise.
Frank shrugged off her shock. “You know what I’m saying, Sweetpea. There’s not a lot that a sixty-three-year-old black man has in common with a twenty-one-year-old white girl. At least not if he knows what’s good for him.” He nodded toward Allison. “What did you find?”
Sara couldn’t find her voice to answer him.
Will provided, “Knife wound to the neck. There’s no definitive cause of death yet.”
Will caught Sara’s eye. She nodded her complicity, though she still felt shocked by what Frank had said. He had never talked this way around her parents. Eddie would have shown Frank the door if Cathy hadn’t beaten him to it. Sara wanted to chalk it up to his exhaustion. He certainly looked worse than he had the day before. Every item of clothing he wore, from his cheap suit to his trench coat, was wrinkled as if he had slept in it. His skin sagged off his face. His eyes glistened in the light. And he still hadn’t taken off his leather gloves.
Will broke the moment. “Chief Wallace, have you completed your report yet on the incident in the garage?”
Frank’s jaw clenched tighter. “I’m working on it.”
“Can you run it through for me now? Just the highlights. I’ll get the details when you turn in your report.”
Frank’s voice was gruff, making it clear he didn’t like being questioned. “Tommy was in the garage with a knife in his hand. We told him to put it down. He didn’t.”
Sara waited for more, but it was Will who prompted, “And then?”
Frank gave another sloppy shrug. “The kid panicked. He pushed Lena out of the way. I went to help her. He came toward me with the knife, cut my arm. Next thing I know, Tommy’s tearing down the driveway. Brad went after him. I told Lena to go, too.” He stopped. “She sure took her time.”
“She hesitated?”
“Lena usually runs the other way when there’s a fire.” He glanced at Sara, as if he expected her to agree. In Sara’s experience, the opposite was true. Lena stood as close to the fire as she could. It was the best vantage point from which to watch people burn.
Frank continued. “She trotted after them. Brad ended up being the one to pay for it.”
Will leaned against the counter, one hand resting on the edge. His interview style was certainly unusual. Put a beer in his hand and he could be talking football around a barbecue. “Did anyone discharge their weapon?”
“No.”
Will nodded slowly, drawing out his next question. “When you opened the garage door, did Tommy already have the knife in his hand?”
Frank leaned down and pulled an evidence bag out of the cardboard box. “This knife.”
Will didn’t take the bag, so Sara did. The hunting knife was serrated on one side and sharp on the other. The hilt was large. The blade was at least five inches long and an inch and a half wide. It was a miracle Brad was still alive. Without thinking, she blurted out, “This isn’t the knife that was used on Allison.”
Will took the weapon from Sara. He gave her a look that Tommy Braham had probably gotten every day of his life. He told Frank, “This looks new.”
Frank gave the knife a cursory glance. “So?”
“Was Tommy a knife enthusiast?”
Frank crossed his arms again. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead. Even with the colder temperature in the basement, he seemed to be burning up in the coat and gloves. “Obviously, he had at least two. Like the doc said. This isn’t the same one that was used on the girl.”
Sara would have melted into the floor if she had the power.
Will asked, “What made you suspect Tommy was involved in Allison’s murder? Other than the knife in his hand?”
“He was in her apartment.”
Will didn’t offer any information to the contrary, but Sara saw that he’d managed to get a question answered. If Lena had talked to Frank, then she hadn’t mentioned that Tommy lived in the garage, not Allison.
Frank’s patience had obviously run out. “Listen, son, I’ve been doing this a long time. There’s two reasons a man does this to a woman: sex and sex. Tommy already confessed. What’s the point of all this?”
Will smiled. “Dr. Linton, I know you haven’t done a full exam on Allison Spooner, but are there any signs of sexual assault?”
Sara was surprised to find herself back in the conversation. “Not that I can see.”
“Were her clothes torn?”
“There was a tear in the knee of her jeans where she fell. Her jacket was cut by the knife.”
“Are there any other significant wounds except for the one in her neck?”
“Not that I’ve found.”
“So, Tommy wanted to have sex with Allison. She told him no. He didn’t tear her clothes. He didn’t try to force her anyway. He puts her on his scooter and takes her out to the lake. He stabs her once in the neck. And then he dumps her in the lake with the chains and cinder blocks, writes a fake suicide note, and goes back to clean up her apartment. Is that about right, Chief Wallace?”
Frank lifted his chin. Hostility radiated off him like heat from a fire.
Will said, “The note is what’s bothering me. Why not just dump her in the lake and leave it at that? It’s doubtful anyone would have found her. The lake is pretty deep, right?” He looked at Sara when Frank did not answer. “Right?”
She nodded. “Right.”
Will seemed to be waiting for an answer from Frank that wasn’t going to come. Sara waited for him to ask about the 911 call, the boyfriend. Will didn’t. He just kept leaning against the counter, waiting for Frank to say something. For his part, Frank seemed to be scrambling for an explanation.
He finally came up with “The kid was retarded. Right, Doc?”
Sara told him, “I wish you wouldn’t use that word. He—”
“It is what it is,” Frank interrupted. “Tommy was stupid. You can’t reason with stupid. He stabbed her once? So what. He left a note? So what. He was retarded.”
Will let Frank’s words hang for a few seconds. “You knew Allison, right? From the diner?”
“I seen her around.”
“Have you found her car yet?”
“No.”
Will smiled. “Did you process Tommy’s car?”
“I hate to break the news to you, Einstein, but the retard confessed. End of story.” He looked at his watch. “I can’t stick around jerking you off for the rest of the day. I just wanted to make sure you had all the evidence.” He nodded to Sara. “You can reach me on my cell if you need me. I gotta get back to Brad.”
Will didn’t protest the abrupt departure. “Thank you, Chief. I appreciate your cooperation.”
Frank couldn’t figure out if he was being sarcastic or not. He ignored the comment, telling Sara, “I’ll let you know about Brad,” before stomping out of the room.
Sara wasn’t sure what to say. Will had let all the important questions go unanswered. Jeffrey’s style of interviewing had been much more aggressive. Once he had Frank on the ropes, he would’ve never let the man walk out of the room. She turned to Will. He was still leaning against the counter.
She wasn’t going to ignore the hundredth elephant that had just walked into the room. “Why didn’t you ask Frank about the boyfriend?”
He shrugged. “An answer doesn’t really matter if it’s a lie.”
“I admit he was being an ass, but he was also being forthcoming.” She snapped off her gloves and tossed them into the trashcan. “Did it occur to you that he has no idea Lena’s been doctoring all this evidence?”
Will scratched his jaw. “I’ve found that people tend to hide things for different reasons. They don’t want someone else to look bad. They think they’re doing the right thing, but they’re really not. They’re actually hindering an investigation.”
Sara had no idea where this was going. “I’ve known Frank for a long time. Despite that stupid, ignorant thing he said about Lionel, he’s not a bad man.”
“Sweetpea.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know it seems like I’m too close—”
“Those were nice gloves he was wearing.”
Sara found herself holding her breath. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Tommy took a beating.”
She sighed. Sara’s instinct had been to protect Frank. She’d never considered that Will would see this for what it was—hiding evidence. “Frank’s hand was cut up pretty badly. They must’ve sutured him at the hospital.”
“I don’t imagine they asked very many questions.”
“Probably not.” Even at Grady, cops were given a free pass on suspicious injuries.
“How dangerous is a gunshot wound if it grazes your hand?”
“Who was shot?”
Will didn’t answer. “Let’s say your hand was grazed. You didn’t get medical attention. You had a first aid kit to clean it out yourself, then you slapped some Band-Aids on it. What are the chances of getting an infection?”
The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle Page 150
