The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

  “Is he affiliated with a gang?”

  “Well, who the hell knows?” she demanded. “Not me, that’s for sure. I ain’t talked to him since they sent him up. Washed my hands of it all.”

  “Was he close to Allison?”

  “Last time they were together was when she was thirteen, fourteen. They were out swimming and he held her head under the water until she threw up. Little shit ain’t no better than his daddy.” She started rummaging around in her purse, but then seemed to remember she couldn’t smoke. She pulled out a pack of gum and shoved two pieces into her mouth.

  “What about Allison’s father?”

  “He’s living in California somewhere. He wouldn’t know her if she passed him on the street.”

  “Was she seeing a counselor here at school?”

  Sheila gave her a sharp look. “How did you know about that? Was it the counselor did it?”

  “We don’t know who did it,” Lena reminded her. “We’re looking into all angles. Do you know her counselor’s name?”

  “Some Jew. A woman.”

  “Jill Rosenburg?” Lena knew the psychiatrist from another case.

  “That sounds like it. Do you think she could’a done it?”

  “It’s not likely, but we’ll talk to her. Why was Allison seeing Dr. Rosenburg?”

  “She said the school made her.”

  Lena knew freshmen were required to see a counselor once a semester, but after that, attendance was left to them. Most students found better ways to spend their time. “Was Allison depressed? Was she ever suicidal?”

  Sheila looked down at her torn fingernails. Lena recognized the shame in her face.

  “Mrs. McGhee, it’s all right to talk about it in here. All of us want to find out who did this to Allison. Even the smallest bit of information might help.”

  She took a deep breath before confirming, “She cut her wrists eight years ago when her mama died.”

  “Was she hospitalized?”

  “They kept her for a few days, gave her some outpatient therapy. We were supposed to keep it up, but there ain’t no money for doctors when you can barely put food on the table.”

  “Did Allison seem better?”

  “She was good off and on. Like me. Probably like you. There are good days and bad days, and as long as there aren’t too many of either, you get along with your life fine.”

  Lena thought that was one of the most depressing ways to live your life that she had ever heard. “Was she taking medication?”

  “She said the doctor gave her something new to try. Far as I could see, it wasn’t helping much.”

  “Did she complain about school? Work?”

  “Never. Like I said, she put on a good face. Life is hard, but you can’t get down about every shitty thing that happens to you.”

  “I found a picture of you in Allison’s wallet. She was with you and Jason. It looked like you were all sitting on a bench in front of the student center.”

  “She kept that in her wallet?” For the first time, Sheila’s features relaxed into something close to a smile. She searched her purse again and found a photograph that was a match for the one in her niece’s wallet. She stared at the image a long while before showing it to Lena. “I didn’t know she kept a copy for herself.”

  “When was it taken?”

  “Two months ago.”

  “September?”

  She nodded, smacking her gum. “The twenty-third. I had a couple of days off and thought I’d drive over and surprise her.”

  “What was Jason like?”

  “Quiet. Arrogant. Too touchy. He kept holding her hand. Stroking her hair. Would’ve drove me up the wall having some boy pawing me like that, but Allison didn’t care. She was in love.” She put enough sarcasm in her voice to make the word sound obscene.

  Lena asked, “How much time did you spend around Jason?”

  “Ten, fifteen minutes? He said he had a class, but I think he was nervous around me.”

  Lena could understand why. Sheila didn’t seem to have a high opinion of men. “What made you think Jason was arrogant?”

  “He just had this look on his face like his shit don’t stink. You know what I’m saying?”

  Lena had a hard time reconciling the chubby grad student she had seen on Jason’s student ID with the arrogant prick Sheila was painting. “Did he say anything specifically?”

  “He’d just bought her this ring. It was cheaper than dirt, and not good for her color, but he was all puffed out like a peacock about it. Said it was a promise ring to buy her a nicer one by Thanksgiving.”

  “Not by Christmas?”

  She shook her head.

  Lena sat back in the chair, thinking about what the woman had said. You didn’t give people Thanksgiving Day gifts. “Did either of them say anything about expecting some money to come in?”

  “Ain’t no money coming in for either one of ’em. They were poor as church mice.” Sheila snapped her fingers. “What about that old colored man at the diner?”

  Lena had thought Frank Wallace was the only person who still used that word. “We’ve talked to Mr. Harris. He’s not involved in this.”

  “He was hard on her, but I told her it was good she was learning how to work with the colored. You look around big corporations now and they’re filled with black people.”

  “That’s true,” Lena said, wondering if the woman thought her brown skin was the product of a bad home-tanning experiment. “Did Allison have other friends that she talked about?”

  “No. There was just Jason all the time. Her whole world was wrapped up in him, even though I kept telling her not to put all her eggs in one basket.”

  “Did Allison date anyone in high school?”

  “Nobody. She was always about her grades. All she cared about was getting into college. She thought it would save her from …” She shook her head.

  “Save her from what?”

  A tear finally fell from her eye. “From ending up exactly the way she did.” Her lip started to tremble. “I knew I shouldn’t let myself hope for her. I knew something bad would happen.”

  Lena reached over and took the woman’s bony hand. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  Sheila straightened her spine, making it clear she didn’t need comforting. “Can I see her?”

  “It’d be better if you waited until tomorrow. The people who are with her now are taking care of her for you.”

  She nodded, her chin dipping down once, then jerking back up again. Her eyes were focused somewhere on the wall. Her chest rose and fell, a slight wheeze to her breath from years of smoking.

  Lena looked around the room, giving the woman some time to pull herself together. Until yesterday, she hadn’t been in Jeffrey’s office since his death. All his stuff had been sent to the Linton house after he died, but Lena could still remember what the room had looked like—the shooting trophies and photographs on the walls, the neatly stacked papers on the desk. Jeffrey had always kept a small framed picture of Sara by the phone. It wasn’t the sort of glamour shot you’d expect a husband to have of his wife. Sara was sitting on the bleachers at the high school. Her hands were tucked into a bulky sweatshirt. Her hair was blowing in the wind. Lena supposed the scene had a deeper meaning, just like her picture of Jared at the football stadium. Jeffrey tended to stare at the picture a lot when he was in the middle of a difficult case. You could almost feel his desire to be home with Sara.

  The door cracked open. Frank looked in. He was visibly angry, fists clenched, jaw so tight with fury it looked like his teeth might break. “I need to see you.”

  Lena felt a chill from his tone, like the temperature in the room had dropped twenty degrees. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Now.”

  Sheila scrambled to stand, taking her purse with her. “I’ll be going.”

  “You don’t have to rush.”

  “No.” She glanced nervously at Frank. There was fear in her voice, and Lena suddenly under
stood that Sheila McGhee was a woman who had been on the receiving end of a lot of anger from the men in her life. “I’ve taken up your time when I know you’ve got better things to do.” She took out a piece of paper and handed it to Lena as she rushed toward the door. “This is my cell phone number. I’m staying in the hotel over in Cooperstown.” She turned away from Frank as she left the room.

  Lena asked, “Why did you do that? She was obviously scared.”

  “Sit down.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I said sit!” Frank slammed her into the chair. Lena nearly fell back onto the floor. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  He kicked the door closed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Lena glanced out the window into the empty squad room. Her heart was in her throat, the pounding making it hard for her to talk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You told Gordon Braham that Tommy didn’t mean to stab Brad.”

  She rubbed her elbow. It was bleeding. “So?”

  “Goddamn it!” He pounded his fist on the desk. “We had a deal.”

  “He’s dead, Frank. I was trying to give his father some peace.”

  “What about my peace?” He raised his fists in the air. “We had a fucking deal!”

  Lena held up her hands, afraid he would hit her again. She’d known Frank would be mad, but she had never seen him this furious in her life.

  “Stupid.” He paced in front of her, fists still clenched. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

  She told him, “Lookit, calm down. I took the blame for everything. I told Trent that it was all my fault.”

  He stared, slack-jawed. “You did what?”

  “It’s done, Frank. It’s over. Trent’s on to the homicides. That’s where you want him. We both know Tommy didn’t kill that girl.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “That’s not true.”

  “Have you been to the college? Jason Howell was murdered last night. There’s no way—”

  He gripped his fist in his hand like he had to stop himself from punching her. “You said Tommy’s confession was solid.”

  Lena’s voice took on a pleading tone. “Listen to what I’m saying.” She could barely catch her breath to speak. “I’ll take the fall for everything. Dereliction of duty. Negligence. Obstruction. Whatever they come up with, I’ll take it. I already told Trent you didn’t have anything to do with it.” He started shaking his head again, but Lena didn’t stop talking. “It’s just me and you, Frank. We’re the only witnesses and our stories will be exactly the same, because I’ll say whatever you want me to say. Brad didn’t see what happened in the garage. For better or worse, Tommy’s not going to come back from the grave and tell anybody different. It’s all gonna be whatever we tell them.”

  “Tommy—” He put his hand to his chest. “Tommy killed—”

  “Allison was killed by someone else.” Lena didn’t know why he couldn’t accept this. “Trent doesn’t care about Tommy anymore. He’s all excited about a serial killer.”

  Frank’s hand dropped. All the color left his face. “He thinks—”

  “You don’t get it, do you? Listen to what I’m saying. This case just went into the stratosphere. Trent’s got his lab guys down here processing Jason Howell’s dorm top to bottom. He’s going to have them in Allison’s room, the garage, out at the lake. Do you think he’s going to care about some stupid spic cop who let a kid kill himself in her custody?”

  Frank sat heavy in Jeffrey’s chair. The springs squeaked. How many times had she sat in this office with Jeffrey and heard that chair groan as he sat back? Frank didn’t deserve to be here. Then again, neither did Lena.

  She said, “It’s over, Frank. This is the end of the line.”

  “There’s more to it, Lee. You don’t understand.”

  Lena knelt down in front of him. “Trent knows the 911 transcript was changed. He knows Tommy had a phone that’s missing. He probably knows you took that picture from Allison’s wallet. He sure as hell knows Tommy went back into those cells with my pen and used it to cut his wrists.” She put her hand on his knee. “I already told him he can tape my confession. You were at the hospital. No one will blame you.”

  His eyes worked back and forth as he tried to read her face.

  “I’m not working a scam here. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “The truth doesn’t matter.”

  Lena stood up, frustrated. She was handing him everything on a platter and he was shoving it back in her face. “Tell me why not. Tell me where this blows back on anybody but me.”

  “Why couldn’t you just follow my orders for once in your miserable fucking life?”

  “I’m taking the fall!” she yelled. “Why can’t you get that through your head? It’s me, all right? It’s my fault. I didn’t stop Tommy from running out into the street. I didn’t stop him from stabbing Brad. I screwed up the interrogation. I badgered him into writing a false confession. I let him go back into the cells. I knew he was upset. I didn’t frisk him. I didn’t put him on suicide watch. You can fire me or I can resign or whatever you want. Take me in front of the state board. I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles that it was all my fault.”

  He stared at her as if she was the stupidest human being walking the face of the earth. “That easy, huh? You do all that and then you just walk away.”

  “Tell me where I’m wrong.”

  “I told you to stick to the story!” He banged his hand so hard against the wall that the glass rattled in the window. “Goddamn it, Lena.” He stood up. “Where’s that boyfriend of yours, huh? You think you’re gonna squirm out of this so easy? Where’s Jared?”

  “No.” She pointed her finger in his chest. “You don’t talk to him. You don’t ever say anything to him ever. You hear me? That’s the deal. That’s the only thing that keeps my mouth shut.”

  He slapped away her hand. “I’ll tell him whatever I damn well please.” He started to leave. Lena grabbed him by his arm, too late remembering his injury from the garage.

  “Shit!” he screamed, his knees buckling. He swung his fist around, slamming it into her ear. The inside of Lena’s head clanged like a bell. She saw stars. Her stomach clenched. She tightened her grip on his arm.

  Frank was on all fours, panting. His fingers dug into the skin on the back of her hand. Lena tightened her grip so hard that the muscles screamed in her arm. She leaned down to look at his gnarled old face. “You know what I figured out this morning?” He was breathing too hard to answer. “You have something on me, but I’ve got even more on you.”

  His mouth opened. Saliva sprayed the floor.

  “You know what I’ve got?” He still didn’t answer. His face was so red that she could feel the heat. “I’ve got proof about what happened in that garage.”

  His head jerked around.

  “I got the bullet you shot me with, Frank. I found it in the mud behind the garage. It’s going to match your gun.”

  He cursed again. Sweat poured down his face.

  “Those classes I’ve been taking? The ones you’ve been making fun of?” She took pleasure in telling him, “There’s enough of your blood at the scene for them to get an alcohol level. What do you think they’re going to find? How many swigs did you take from that flask yesterday?”

  “That don’t mean anything.”

  “It means your pension, Frank. Your health insurance. Your good fucking name. You stuck around all these extra years, and it won’t mean a damn thing when they fire you for drinking on the job. You won’t even be able to get hired on at the college.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not gonna work.”

  Lena took some liberties with the truth. “Greta Barnes saw you give Tommy that beat-down. I bet that nurse of hers can tell some stories, too.”

  He gave a strained laugh. “Call them in. Go ahead.”

  “If I were you, I’d be careful.”

  “You don’t see it.”

  Lena stood up
and wiped the grit off her pants. “All I see is a tired old drunk.”

  He struggled to sit up. His breathing was labored. “You were always so sure you were right that you couldn’t see the truth if it was standing there in front of you.”

  She took the badge off her belt and threw it on the floor beside him. The Glock she carried was her own, but the bullets belonged to the county. Lena ejected the magazine and thumbed out each round. The bullets gave off satisfying pings as they hit the tile floor.

  He said, “It’s not over.”

  She pulled back the slide and ejected the last round in the chamber. “It is for me.”

  The door was stuck. She had to yank it open. Carl Phillips stood at the back of the squad room. He tipped his hat at Lena as she walked out of the office.

  Marla swiveled in the chair, her arms crossed over her large chest as she tracked Lena’s progress through the room. She leaned down and pressed the buzzer for the gate. “Good riddance.”

  There should have been some kind of pull, some kind of loyalty, that made Lena look back, but she walked out into the parking lot, inhaling the wet November air, feeling like she had finally freed herself from the worst kind of prison.

  She took a deep breath. Her lungs shook. The weather had cleared up a little, but a strong, cold wind dried the sweat on her face. Her vision was sharp. There was a buzzing in her ears. She could feel her heart rattling in her chest, but she forced herself to keep moving.

  Her Celica was parked at the far end of the lot. She looked up Main Street. The waning sun was making a brief appearance, giving everything a surreal blue cast. Lena wondered how many days of her life had been spent going up and down this same miserable strip. The college. The hardware store. The dry cleaners. The dress shop. It all seemed so small, so meaningless. This town had taken so much from her—her sister, her mentor, and now her badge. There was nothing else that she could give. Nothing left to do but start over.

  Across the street, she saw the Heartsdale Children’s Clinic. Hareton Earnshaw’s billion-dollar Beemer was parked in the lot, taking up two spaces.

  Lena passed her Celica and kept walking across the street. Old man Burgess waved at her from the front window of the dry cleaners. Lena waved back as she climbed the hill to the clinic. Her hand was killing her. She didn’t think she could wait to go to the hospital tomorrow morning.