The Silent Wife: From the No. 1 Sunday Times bestselling author comes a gripping new crime thriller (Will Trent Series, Book 10)

by Karin Slaughter

  “Dew-Lolly bullshit—street fights, shoplifting, truancy. But get this, when Daryl was fifteen, he was babysitting his six-year-old cousin. The girl came home with blood on her panties. Mom filed a complaint, but the family got her to withdraw it.”

  Sex offender. Criminal history. Acquainted with the victims.

  Jeffrey thought about Tommi Humphrey. Had she ever met Daryl Nesbitt? Had he watched her walking across campus and decided that he was going to hurt her?

  “Chief?” Brad pointed to his computer.

  Jeffrey saw the photo of Daryl Eric Nesbitt from his Georgia driver’s license. He looked like a con. His hair was greasy. His eyes were beady. He glared at the camera like he was posing for a mugshot.

  Brad said, “Nesbitt’s got an outstanding fine for driving on an expired license.”

  “Was he in a van?”

  “Truck. 1999 Chevy Silverado. It’s impounded at the county lot.” Brad said, “I found the Avondale house. It’s in Woodland Hills on Bennett Way.”

  Jeffrey walked to the large county-wide map that took up the entire back wall. He knew the section of town, which was exactly where you’d expect to find a car mechanic who didn’t play by the rules. “Number?”

  “Three-four-six-two.”

  Jeffrey traced his fingers along the road. He used a yellow Post-it note to mark the spot. There was one other row of houses behind Nesbitt’s current residence. Beyond that, the woods stretched out for miles, snaking along the back of the lake and leading to the college.

  Proximity to the crime scenes.

  “The house is two stories.” Frank was reading the monitor over Brad’s shoulder. “The tax records have the plat and original blueprints.”

  Brad hit some keys. “I’m sending it to the printer.”

  The first page was still warm when Jeffrey ripped it off the machine. Front elevation. 1950s Cape Cod with a square front porch and two dormers eyebrowed out of the roofline.

  The second page came out. First-floor layout. Jeffrey turned the paper so the front door was facing his chest. The back door lined up straight across from him.

  The entrance led straight into the living room, which took up the left front corner of the house. Dining room on the right. Hall closet and stairs on either side of a short hall. Den left. Kitchen right. Rear exit to the stoop off the back.

  Lena had joined them by the time the third sheet of paper was out of the printer.

  Upstairs. Four bedrooms, one larger than the other three. Two windows each. Small closets. Jeffrey knew the ceilings would be sloped with the line of the roof. One bathroom at the end of the hall. Tub, toilet, sink, small window.

  The third page showed the basement. The stairs leading down were tucked underneath the stairs that led up to the second floor. In the drawing, the space was an open square with a small box to indicate the mechanical room. Support columns and footings were marked with open squares. Any illegal renovations would’ve been off the tax record, so there could be bedrooms down there, a den, laundry room, maybe even a cage with Rosario Lopez trapped inside. Sara had commented that the killer was learning with each new victim. Maybe the lesson from Caterino and Truong was that he needed privacy.

  “Chief?” Marla called from the front of the room. “Matt’s on three.”

  Jeffrey put him on speakerphone. “What’ve you got?”

  “I just saw Nesbitt go into the house,” Matt said. “He was carrying two bags—one from Burger King and one from the hardware store.”

  Jeffrey felt his stomach grip into a fist. The hammer had been left inside of Leslie Truong. The killer would need a replacement.

  Matt said, “Daryl was driving an older model cargo van, a charcoal GMC Savana. License plate 499 XVM.”

  Brad started typing. He said, “It’s registered to Vincent John Abbott.”

  “Axle, the stepfather,” Frank said. “I confirmed he’s been locked up in Wheeler for the last three months.”

  Matt told them, “The basement’s fully underground. No exterior entry, but it looks like it’s got two hoppers on each side.”

  Hoppers were narrow windows that hinged open to circulate fresh air. They were too small for an adult to fit through, even a small woman.

  Matt said, “I’m driving off, but I got a peek inside the garage. The door is open. Looks like there’s a wheeled tool cart inside, maybe five feet by five, stacked with drawers. Green and yellow stripes.”

  Frank said, “That’s the colors Brawleigh uses.”

  Brawleigh, the same brand of hammer found inside of Leslie Truong.

  Access to the murder weapon.

  Jeffrey checked the last page on the printer. The plat showed the size of the lot and the position of the house. There were two outbuildings. One was a detached garage on the living room side of the house. The other was a 10x10 shed approximately fifteen feet from the back door.

  He told Matt, “There’s a shed in the back.”

  “I can’t see it from the street.”

  “It’s behind the house.” Jeffrey referenced the street map on the wall. He looked above the yellow Post-it note. “You got your binoculars?”

  On the speakerphone, he could hear Matt moving around. A click. A glovebox slamming closed. “Yep.”

  “There’s a road that goes behind Bennett, Valley Ridge. The lots are short. Maybe you can see the backyard from there.”

  “Driving around now,” Matt said.

  “We’ll stay on the line.”

  They could hear the road noise as Matt drove around the block. His police scanner was turned down low. He cleared his throat. The brakes groaned at the stop sign. His hands rubbed along the steering wheel as he took the turn.

  The tension was almost unbearable. They were all staring at the phone, waiting. Brad had turned in his chair. Lena was leaning forward in a runner’s stance. Frank was sitting with his hands gripped tightly together. There were eight men on patrol right now. Two had been sent to search the woods behind the college. That left Jeffrey with ten bodies to move around the board.

  He checked through the list he’d been cataloging in his head.

  Sex offender. Criminal history. Proximity to the crime scenes. Known to Caterino and Truong. Access to a dark van. Access to the murder weapon. Worked at the U-Store close to the fire road.

  The detail about the van had come from Tommi Humphrey. She hadn’t made an official statement. The U-Store was a loose connection based on a nickname. Daryl’s number being in the phones of two victims could be explained by his weed trafficking.

  Jeffrey had enough probable cause to justify knocking on Daryl Nesbitt’s door, but not enough to bust it down. He couldn’t risk this animal skating on a technicality.

  He added another detail:

  Rosario Lopez. Student. Missing for five hours.

  A drop of sweat rolled down his back. Jeffrey had no connection between Daryl and Rosario Lopez. He had a gut feeling, but there wasn’t a judge in town who would sign off on his gut.

  His eyes went back to the desk phone. Matt had coughed again. This was taking too long. Woodland Hills was three miles from where they stood. Had Jeffrey sent one of his detectives to circle around the neighborhood while Rosario Lopez was being tortured, paralyzed, raped?

  His stomach was clenched so hard that the muscles spasmed.

  Tommi Humphrey had told Jeffrey what the killer was capable of. Leslie Truong’s body illustrated in excruciating detail exactly how sadistic the man could be. How could all these cops be standing around when another young woman might be feeling a metal awl piercing her neck?

  “I’m here,” Matt finally said. “Got my binoculars. I can see the top of the shed. Roof’s sloped like a ski jump and, shit—”

  The brakes squealed over the phone.

  Matt said, “The shed has a window in the back. It’s painted over, but it’s got security bars over the glass and—fuck me. I can see the door on the side. It’s got metal bars, too. There’s a padlock.”

  Jef
frey felt the tension in the room stretch as taut as a noose.

  Rosario Lopez could be locked inside of that shed.

  Matt said, “You want me to go in?”

  “Not yet.” Jeffrey wasn’t going to send him in alone. He returned to the wall map. He traced his finger along the route. “Park on Hollister. If Nesbitt leaves the house, that’s his only route out of the neighborhood. Keep the line open. You need to hear this.”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “Marla,” Jeffrey said. “Cell phones only. I need Landry, Cheshire, Dawson, Lam, Hendricks, and Schoeder. Tell them to stage at Matt’s location. Lights but no sirens.”

  Marla swung around to her phone.

  Jeffrey cleared off the closest desk with a sweep of his arm. Papers and pens scattered onto the floor. Jeffrey laid out the drawings of the house—front elevation, first floor, second floor, plat. He found a pen. “Everybody follow what I’m saying because you’re in charge of your team. Matt?”

  “Still here.”

  “You’re with Hendricks. I want you both backing me up at the front door, keeping an eye on the windows and hoppers on the side of the house. We need some distance. I don’t want Nesbitt to panic.”

  Matt said, “There’s a car parked across the street from his front door. We can take cover behind it.”

  “Good,” Jeffrey said. “Lena, you’re knocking on the door.”

  She looked stunned.

  “I’ll be right behind you.” He took her through it. “You’ll knock on the door. You’ll tell Nesbitt you’re there because of the ticket on the expired license.”

  The shock slightly abated. If there was one thing the county knew about Jeffrey Tolliver, it was that he was an asshole about motor vehicle violations. The fines made up half of the department’s budget.

  He told Lena, “Keep him calm. Tell him it’s routine, nothing to worry about. You’re there to take him down to the station and he can either pay the fine or bond himself out in an hour. If he comes, great. If he refuses, then let him go.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. “Sir?”

  “We need probable cause to enter that house.” Jeffrey chose his words carefully. “Felix just confirmed that Daryl sold pot to Caterino and Truong. Could be, you smell weed on Daryl when he opens the door. Or maybe you hear a noise inside. We need to be able to clearly articulate to the district attorney our reason for going into that house.”

  Lena slowly nodded. Of everyone in the room, she knew what he was asking.

  “Lena, if you believe there’s probable cause to enter the house, then give me the signal and step away. I’m first through the door.” Jeffrey found the drawing of the main floor. He made an X in the center of the hallway. “Lena, this is the chokepoint. If Nesbitt goes down the basement stairs or up the stairs to the second floor, you’ll be able to see them from this spot.”

  Lena pressed together her lips. She nodded.

  “Coat closet.” He drew a circle. “Don’t put your back to it unless you’ve checked inside. Windows, doors and hands, right?”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “Brad,” Jeffrey tapped his pen to the kitchen door. “You’re in charge of the rear of the house. You’ll set up with Landry. Approach from the Valley Ridge side. Keep an eye on the side windows. No one gets out.”

  Brad looked terrified, but he said, “Yes, Chief.”

  “We’ll put Dawson and Cheshire on either end of Bennett Street. Schoeder and Lam will block off Valley Ridge in case he makes it that far. Frank, I want you to secure the shed.”

  Frank’s jaw was set.

  Jeffrey gripped Frank’s shoulder to remind him who was in charge. He didn’t have time for bruised egos, and he wasn’t going to lose Daryl Nesbitt because Frank couldn’t run more than twenty steps without losing his breath. “If Rosario Lopez is in that shed, I don’t want anyone else finding her.”

  Frank wasn’t buying it. “And what if when Lena knocks, Nesbitt opens the front door, sees what’s up, grabs Lena and takes her hostage?”

  “Then I’ll put a bullet in his head before he can shut the door.”

  Jeffrey took his keys out of his pocket as he walked toward the armory. He pulled out two shotguns, shells, cartridges, speed loaders, Kevlar vests, and passed them around.

  Lena slid off her bulky jacket. She swung the vest around her torso. The front plate was wider than her body. The tail hung down past her ass.

  Jeffrey adjusted the plates. He re-aligned the Velcro straps. Lena stood still, her arms out to the side. He’d never dressed a child before, but this was probably what it felt like. He let his gaze meet Lena’s. She looked scared, but so damn eager. This was exactly what she had signed up for. The danger. The action. He saw in her face his own desperate need to prove himself when he’d first put on the uniform. The only other time Jeffrey had seen that man in the mirror was when he was putting on the suit for his wedding.

  “Let’s go.”

  Jeffrey checked his Glock to make sure there was a bullet in the chamber as they followed Lena outside.

  He looked up, wincing in the sunlight. His gaze fell on the children’s clinic, the same way it always did. Sara’s BMW was parked at its usual showroom angle. Jeffrey touched his fingers to his mouth. A trail of blood had dried down from his broken nose.

  Lena’s Kevlar vest nearly swallowed her as she sat in the passenger’s seat. Jeffrey had to force himself not to grip the steering wheel. The car stayed silent until they were turning off Main Street.

  She asked, “Am I knocking on Nesbitt’s door because you think he won’t be intimidated by a woman?”

  “You’re on that door because we need iron-clad probable cause.”

  Lena nodded once. She understood that he was counting on her to lie.

  She fed his earlier words back to him, “He’s a pot dealer. I smelled weed on him.”

  “Good.”

  Jeffrey swung the car around the sharp curve that marked the Heartsdale/Avondale line. He felt pain shooting through his jaw from clenching his teeth. Every second that went by gave Nesbitt the opportunity to run. To go out to the shed. To walk down the street. To head into the woods with a hammer.

  Three women. Three days.

  Nesbitt could not be free for a fourth one.

  He counted six Grant County squad cars at the mouth of Hollister Road. Matt was giving Landry, Cheshire, Dawson, Lam, Hendricks, and Schoeder their orders. His BlackBerry was out. He was showing them Nesbitt’s driver’s license photo. They were all wearing Kevlar vests. Guns were being checked. Shotguns were being loaded. Their shared anxiety came out in the usual ways—pushing each other around, bouncing on the balls of their feet, while inside, their guts coiled like springs.

  Frank and Brad swerved around Jeffrey’s car. They stopped to pick up Landry, then headed to Valley Ridge. Three men on the back of the house. Four on the front. Four squad cars securing the perimeter.

  Was it enough?

  Jeffrey slowed his car to a stop. He wanted to look each man in the eye.

  He said, “We’re radio silent. You’ve got three minutes to get into position.”

  “Yes, Chief.” They sounded like a platoon, but they were husbands, sons, boyfriends, fathers, brothers. And they were Jeffrey’s responsibility because he was the one sending them into the line of fire.

  He watched them split into groups. The four squad cars peeled off. Matt and Hendricks jogged toward Daryl’s house, hands holding down their holsters so their Glocks didn’t slap at their sides.

  Jeffrey looked at his watch. He wanted to give them every second of those three minutes to set up. He needed them to do what they were trained to do. Take their position, take a breath, and give themselves a moment to adjust to the adrenaline shooting like amphetamines through their bloodstream.

  He saw Lena’s mouth open as she drew in air.

  He asked, “You okay in that vest?”

  She nodded. Her chin hit the collar.

  “We’re going to look at supply
catalogs tomorrow morning,” he said. “I bet those vests come in pink.”

  She was angry until she realized he was joking. She took another breath. She smiled back. Her cheek twitched from the effort.

  He said, “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that you can do this.”

  Her throat worked again. She nodded again. She stared out the window, waiting.

  Jeffrey watched the second hand rotate around his watch. “We’re on.”

  He kept his speed under thirty as he drove down Bennett Street. He spotted Matt and Hendricks kneeling behind an old Chevy Malibu that was parked across from Nesbitt’s front door. Jeffrey stopped his Town Car a foot from the charcoal van, making sure it was blocked in.

  He looked up at the house. The blinds on the front windows were open. The porch light was on. No faces appeared in the glass.

  He told himself this was going to go easy. Nesbitt would open the door. Lena would tell him to step outside. The handcuffs would come out. They would find Rosario Lopez. They would put Daryl Nesbitt in a hole that he would never be able to crawl out of.

  He told Lena, “You’re in the lead.”

  Her hand went to the door handle. She took another breath and held it.

  Jeffrey followed Lena as she got out of the car. She adjusted her vest, put her game face on. She had obviously decided to treat this like any other arrest. Nothing was ever routine, but some things were less difficult than others. A guy with an outstanding ticket and his truck stuck in impound. Another $600 added to the police budget. One more mark on the quota that Jeffrey denied even existed.

  Lena tapped her fingers on the rear quarter panel of the charcoal van as she walked by.

  Jeffrey did the same. He glanced into the garage. The green and yellow rolling tool cart was padlocked. He could see a tool placed on top. Green and yellow stripes. The 1.5-pound mallet was filled with sand and coated in polyurethane. It was one of three hammers in the Brawleigh Dead Blow set.

  Jeffrey unsnapped his holster. Lena stood on the porch. He stopped in front of the steps, taking a wide stance. There was twelve feet between him and the door. Enough space for Daryl Nesbitt to try to run. Enough space for Jeffrey to stop him.

  Lena didn’t look to Jeffrey for his go-ahead. She raised her arm, banged her fist on the door. She stepped back. She waited.