Will shook his head.
“Did you not get any sleep last night?”
“Off and on.”
“You missed a place on your—” She touched the side of her cheek. When Will didn’t respond, she flipped down the visor in front of him.
Will stared at his reflection in the mirror. There was a small strip of beard he’d missed with the razor this morning. He looked at his eyes. They were bloodshot. No wonder people kept telling him he looked bad.
“This Techwood murder,” Faith began. “Donnelly was the first responder.”
Will flipped up the visor. Detective Leo Donnelly had been Faith’s partner when she worked homicide with the APD. He was slightly annoying, but his greater sin was mediocrity. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. Just Amanda.” She paused, as if to give Will the opportunity to ask what Amanda had said. After a few silent seconds, she told him, “I know about your father.”
Will stared out the window. Faith had taken more than the long way. There were better routes to bypass North Avenue on the way to Techwood. She had navigated the back roads to Monroe Drive. They were skirting Piedmont Park and heading toward Ansley. It was six o’clock in the morning. There was no accident on North.
She said, “Mama told me last night. She needed me to make a phone call.”
Will watched the houses and apartment buildings go by. They passed the vet’s office where Betty got her shots.
“There’s a guy I used to date way back when. I think you met him once. Sam Lawson. He’s a reporter for the AJC.”
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Will didn’t want to think about the why behind Evelyn Mitchell’s request. He assumed Amanda was making some kind of Machiavellian move, trying to get ahead of whatever the paper was going to print. Sara read the AJC every morning. She was the only person Will knew who still got the paper delivered. Was this how Sara was going to find out? Will could imagine the phone call. If she called. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe Sara would see this as an easy opportunity to get out of whatever they had started.
Faith said, “That’s how Amanda found out about your father’s parole.” She paused, again anticipating a response. “Sam called her office and asked for a quote. He wanted to know how she felt about him getting out.” Faith stopped at the red light. “He’s not going to run the story. I fed him some details on a biker gang APD busted for running crank out of a charter school. It’s a front-page story. Sam won’t circle back.”
Will stared at the darkened strip of Ansley Mall. The upscale stores weren’t open yet. Their lights glowed in the low dawn. He felt a strange sensation, like he was being driven to the hospital for surgery. Some part of his body would be removed. He would have to recover from that. He would have to find a way to acclimate his senses so they did not feel the gaping hole.
Faith asked, “What did you do to your hands?”
Will tried to bend his fingers. It hurt just flexing them. His ankle throbbed with every beat of his heart. His basement excursion was being felt by every joint in his body.
“Anyway.” Faith swung through the steep curve that took them up Fourteenth Street. “I looked up his case.”
Will was more than familiar with his father’s crimes.
“He dodged a bullet. Furman v. Georgia was in the early seventies.”
“Seventy-two,” Will provided. The landmark Supreme Court case had temporarily suspended the death penalty. A few more years either side and Will’s father would’ve been put to death by the State of Georgia.
He said, “Gary Gilmore was the first man executed after Furman.”
“Spree killer, right? Up in Utah?” Faith loved reading about mass murderers. It was an unfortunate hobby that often came in handy.
Will asked, “Is it a spree if it’s only two people?”
“I think two qualifies so long as the timing is close.”
“I thought that it had to be three.”
“I think that’s just for serial killers.” Faith took out her iPhone. She typed with her thumb as she waited to make an illegal turn onto Peachtree.
Will stared up Fourteenth Street. He couldn’t see the hotel from his vantage point, but he knew that the Four Seasons was two blocks away. That was probably why Faith was making the turn. She knew that his father was staying at the hotel. Will wondered if he was still in bed. The man had been in prison for over thirty years. It was probably impossible for him to sleep late. Maybe he’d already ordered his breakfast from room service. Angie said he used the gym every morning. He was probably running on the treadmill, watching one of the morning shows and planning his day.
“Here we go. Two or more qualifies as a spree.” Faith dropped her iPhone back into the cup holder and turned against the light. “Can we talk about your father now?”
Will said, “Did you know that Peachtree Street is Georgia’s continental divide?” He pointed to the side of the road. “Rain that falls on that side of the road goes to the Atlantic. Rain on this side goes to the Gulf. Maybe I’ve got the sides mixed up, but you get the gist.”
“That’s fascinating, Will.”
“I kissed Angie.”
Faith nearly ran up onto the sidewalk. She jerked the car back into the lane. She was silent for a while before she muttered, “You fucking idiot.”
That felt more like it.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” He stared out the window again. They were heading toward the thick of downtown. “I think I have to tell Sara.”
“No, you most certainly do not,” she countered. “Are you crazy? She’ll kick your ass to the curb.”
She probably should. There was no way that Will could explain to Sara that the oldest cliché in the world happened to be true this one time: the kiss meant nothing. For Will’s part, it had been a reminder that Sara was the only woman he wanted to be with; maybe the first woman he’d ever really wanted to be with. For Angie’s part, the kiss had been tantamount to a dog raising its leg on a fire hydrant.
Faith asked, “Do you want to be with Angie?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No.”
“Was there anything else?”
Will remembered he’d touched her breast. “Not—” He wasn’t going to get into specifics with Faith. “There was no contact between—”
“Okay, I get it.” She turned onto North Avenue. “Jesus, Will.”
He waited for her to continue.
“You can’t tell Sara.”
“I can’t hide things from her.”
She laughed so loud his ears hurt. “Are you kidding me? Does Sara know about your father? Does she know that he—”
“No.”
Faith did not bother to hide her incredulity. “Well then, don’t let this be the one thing you tell her the truth about.”
“It’s different.”
“Do you think Angie will tell her?”
Will shook his head. Angie’s moral code wasn’t easily decipherable, but Will knew she would never tell Sara about the kiss. It was much better to use it to torture Will.
Faith cut straight to the point. “If it’s not going to happen again and it didn’t mean anything, then you’re just going to have to live with the guilt. Or live without Sara.”
Will couldn’t talk about this anymore. He stared out the window again. They were stopped at a red light. The lights were on at the Varsity. In a few hours, the curb men would be out sweeping the lot, slapping numbers on cars and taking orders. Mrs. Flannigan used to bring the older kids to the Varsity once a month. It was a reward for good behavior.
Faith asked, “Have you ever tried to talk to the detectives who worked your mother’s case?”
“One disappeared. Somebody thought he moved to Miami. The other died from AIDS in the early eighties.”
“Did either of them have family?”
“No one I could find.” Honestly, Will hadn’t looked that hard. It was like picking at a scab. There came a point when you start
ed to draw blood.
“I can’t believe how many conversations I’ve had with you over the last two years, and you never told me about this.”
Will left her to wonder why on her own.
Faith crossed the interstate. The athlete dorms that had been built for the Olympics had the Georgia Tech logo on them now. The old stadium was being remodeled. The streets were freshly paved. Brick inlays carpeted the sidewalks. Even this early in the morning, students were out jogging. Faith turned at the next light. She was more than familiar with the area. Her son was currently enrolled at Georgia Tech. Her mother had gotten her doctorate here. Faith had finished her four-year degree at the university so she could qualify for employment with the GBI.
Faith slid a piece of notebook paper out from her visor. Will saw that she’d scribbled directions on it. She slowed the car, mumbling, “Centennial Park North … here we go.” Finally, she turned onto a side street, downshifting as they went up a hill. The area was filled with upscale brick apartment buildings and townhouses. The cars on the street were nice—newer Toyotas and Fords with an occasional BMW thrown in. The grass was trimmed. The eaves and windows were painted a crisp white. Satellite dishes dotted every other balcony. The compound was designed to be mixed income, which meant a handful of poor people lived in the less desirable units and the rest went for top dollar. Will imagined that some of the better-off students lived here rather than the dorms, where Faith’s son resided.
“Zell Miller Center,” Faith read from the sign. “Clark Howell Community Building. Here we go.” She slowed the car to a crawl. The directions weren’t really needed anymore. Two cruisers blocked the street. Police tape cordoned off a group of residents. Most were in pajamas and robes. A few of the joggers had stopped to find out what was happening.
Faith had to drive down several blocks to find a space. She pulled up onto a berm and jerked up the parking brake. She asked Will, “Are you okay?”
He was going to ignore the question, but that didn’t seem fair. “We’ll see,” he managed, then got out of the car before she could say anything else.
The streetlights were still on, supplementing the rising sun. Two newscopters hovered overhead. Their whirring blades chopped the air into white noise. More reporters were camped out down the road. Cameras were set up on tripods. Reporters were checking their makeup, scribbling their notes.
Will didn’t wait for Faith. He headed back toward the crime scene, where he could see Amanda Wagner was waiting.
Her arm was in a sling, the only indication that she’d spent the night in the hospital. She stood on the sidewalk dressed in her usual monochromatic skirt, blouse, and jacket. Two burly patrolmen were looking down at her, nodding as she gave them orders. They looked like football players huddled before a snap.
As Will and Faith approached Amanda, the patrolmen jogged off toward the bystanders, probably to get names and photos so they could run them through the database. Amanda was old school with all her investigations. She didn’t rely on a blood sample or a stray hair to sway a jury. She worked the case until she got a resolution that no logical human being could ever doubt.
She also didn’t bother with small talk. “I don’t want you here.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t stay away.”
Amanda didn’t wait for a response. She turned on her heel, heading toward the community building. Will easily matched her brisk pace. Uncharacteristically, Faith kept her distance, trailing several feet behind.
Amanda said, “We’re covered up in red tape. As you know, this whole area used to be a slum. The state emptied it out for the Olympics. The city got its finger in the pie. Tech got a piece of it. The Parks Department had its say. The Housing Authority. The Historical Register, which is a joke if there ever was one. We’ve got more jurisdictions than news vans. APD is supplementing for now, but it’s our techs and our ME handling the evidence.”
“I want to sit in on the autopsy.”
“It’ll be hours before—”
“I’ll wait.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
Will thought it was a terrible idea, but that wasn’t going to stop him. “You need to bring him in for questioning.”
“Why would I do that?”
The fact that her voice sounded so reasonable made Will want to punch her. “You read my father’s file.”
She stopped, looking up at him. “Yes.”
“You think it’s a coincidence that he got out of prison and a dead student was found dumped at Techwood?”
“Coincidences happen all the time.” Her usual certainty was showing some cracks. “I can’t bring him in without probable cause, Will. Due process? The Fourth Amendment? Any of these inalienable rights ringing a bell?”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“I’ve found it’s within the purview of rich white men to avoid such unpleasantries.”
Will realized that she’d backed him into a corner. “Still—”
“There’s nothing more to say.” Amanda continued walking. “We have a tentative ID on Ashleigh Snyder. They found her purse in the Dumpster. Her credit cards were there but her license was missing. So was her cash.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“Bless the Sunshine Laws.” Georgia’s freedom of information act was one of the most liberal in the country. Inmates were especially fond of the law.
Will said, “He’s staying at the Four Seasons Hotel.”
“I’m aware of that,” she acknowledged. “We lost track of him for two hours yesterday afternoon, but I’ve made certain that won’t happen again.”
“He’s been out almost two months.”
Amanda didn’t immediately answer. “I’ve never understood time off for good behavior. It’s prison. Shouldn’t you be on your best behavior at all times?”
“No one told me when he got out.”
“That’s the thing about having a sealed juvenile record, Will. They aren’t allowed to notify you unless you ask them to.”
“He was supposed to die in there.”
“I know.”
One of the patrolmen called out, “Dr. Wagner?”
Amanda said, “You two go on.” She waited for the cop to join her.
Will kept walking. Faith had to jog to keep up. She asked, “What was that about?”
He could only shake his head as they entered the mouth of the parking lot. The ground sloped downward. In the back of the lot, a group of detectives formed a half circle around the body. The woman was in front of a large Dumpster area. Brick walls horseshoed the metal container. The tall metal doors stood open. The lock was hanging off the latch, the ring broken. Someone had already marked it with a yellow tag so it could be catalogued as evidence.
Will glanced around, feeling watched. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He scanned the area. The community center was on the opposite side of the parking lot. More apartments edged the perimeter. Their white garage doors were like teeth against the gum of the red brick. There was a playground in the distance, with brightly colored tunnels and swings. The Coca-Cola building loomed on the horizon.
If he squinted at the view back across the interstate, he could pick out the familiar salmon-colored façade of the Four Seasons Hotel.
“Another case solved by the glorious GBI.” Leo Donnelly laughed around the cigarette in his mouth. As usual, the homicide detective was dressed in a tan suit that was probably already wrinkled when he picked it up off the floor this morning. His new partner, a young guy named Jamal Hodge, nodded at Faith.
Leo winked at her. “Lookin’ good across the chest, Mitchell. I guess you’re still nursing?”
“Fuck off, Leo.” Faith took her notebook out of her purse. “When’d the call come in?”
Leo pulled out his own notebook. “Four thirty-eight in the cheery a.m. Janitor comes on shift, sees her and freaks. His name’s Otay Keehole.”
“Utay K
eo,” Jamal corrected.
“Lookit Poindexter here.” Leo shot him a nasty look. “Ooo-Tay is a student at Tech. Twenty-four years old. Lives with his baby mama. No priors.”
Faith asked, “How’s he look for this?”
Jamal supplied, “Not likely.”
Leo made a show of closing his notebook. He took a drag on his cigarette, staring at Jamal. “Janitor’s two years out of Cambodia. Works off his student visa. Voluntarily submitted to fingerprinting and DNA. No record. No motive. I’m sure he’s popped a few whores in his day—who hasn’t?—but he doesn’t even have a car. Took the bus here.”
Will asked, “You ID’d the victim off her credit cards?”
Jamal held out his hands, indicating Leo should answer.
“We’re pretty sure it’s Snyder,” Leo said. “Face is a mess, but the blonde hair is a giveaway.”
Will asked, “Have you notified the family?”
“Mom’s dead. Daddy’s flying back from a business trip in Salt Lake. Should be here this afternoon.”
Jamal added, “We asked for dental records.”
“Great, thanks,” Faith mumbled. She was probably thinking about the father’s long flight home, the moment at the morgue when his life would forever be changed.
They all turned back to the Dumpster. The crowd had dispersed so the crime scene techs could begin the arduous process of cataloguing the scene.
Will looked down at the woman’s twisted body. Long blonde hair draped across her face. She was on her back. Her arms were turned, wrists open to the sky. Her face was a bloody pulp, probably unrecognizable to even her closest friends. Her fingernails were painted bright red. Blood glued her clothes to her skin. Will could guess what was underneath the tight T-shirt and flowered skirt.
Leo said, “Here’s something you don’t see every day: guy pummeled her gut until her intestines shit out. You can’t find that kind of thing on YouTube.” He chuckled to himself. “At least, not until I figure out how to work the camera on my phone.”
“Lord help us,” Jamal muttered. He headed toward Charlie Reed, the GBI crime scene investigator.
“Come on, Hodge,” Leo called to his back. “It’s funny.”
The Will Trent Series 7-Book Bundle Page 225
