“You cut your hair?” Molly says conversationally, pressing the button on her coffeemaker.
“You like it?” Susan gives her head a little shake and her short hair swings.
“I do. You look good. Not just the hair—everything. You look happy.”
“I’ve been making a little extra money,” Susan says, taking a seat at the table and crossing her legs in a relaxed manner.
“Doing what?” Molly says, getting mugs from the cupboard.
“Working as an informant for the FBI,” Susan says proudly.
Molly’s breath catches in her throat. She turns around slowly to face her sister, who has a sly grin and a twinkle in her eyes.
“Susan,” Molly says, trying not to reveal her concern, “do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Susan nods her head with confidence. “Don’t worry about me, sis.” She fills Molly in on the details of Cat Eyes’s arrest and how she’s been trying to find any other information that might help the new FBI agent, Mark Putnam.
“Oh, Susan,” Molly says. “This sounds like it could be dangerous.” She tells her sister she should get a gun, like the snub-nosed .38 Molly always has tucked into her purse, for safety.
“I’m not scared,” Susan says. “Mark won’t let anything bad happen to me.”
Molly listens as Susan recounts how she spends her every free moment getting people to tell her things that might interest Mark. She seems to think that working for the FBI might help her get out of her situation, but Molly isn’t so sure, not if Susan’s spending her money on clothes instead of putting it in a bank account.
“Working for the FBI isn’t the only new thing in my life,” Susan tells her sister with a coy smile.
“What do you mean?” Molly says, fearing the worst.
“He’s going to leave his wife for me,” Susan says.
“The FBI agent?”
“We’re in love. He’s my ticket out of here.”
“You’re having an affair?” Molly asks.
“We screw like rabbits every time we get the chance. In hotel rooms, sometimes out in the woods when the weather’s nice. We used to do it in his house when Kathy was out, but they had a parrot and Mark was always afraid it might say something to give us away.” She imitates a parrot and squawks, “Oh, Susan!”
Susan giggles, but Molly isn’t amused. She takes a deep breath and sits back in her chair, stunned. What is her kid sister getting herself into?
“I know you don’t like taking my advice,” Molly says, “but this is one time I need you to open your ears and really listen to me.”
Susan rolls her eyes as if to say, Here’s the lecture I knew was coming.
“This all sounds like trouble to me,” Molly says. “You’re going to get your heart broke or get yourself killed. Or both. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” Susan says, rising to her feet. “But don’t worry about me, okay? I’m doing great. Better than ever.”
Susan goes into the living room, kneels, hugs her children goodbye, then struts toward the door, practically bouncing on her feet. She walks to Clint’s Nova and fires up the engine just as raindrops are beginning to fall. As Susan drives away, Molly wonders if her sister is actually having an affair with this FBI guy. She loves her little sister, but Susan tends to exaggerate, and everyone knows you can’t believe one hundred percent of what she says.
But one thing Molly is certain of: if Susan isn’t having an affair with Mark Putnam, she sure wants to.
CHAPTER 12
Pikeville, Kentucky. December 1987
IN THE EARLY-MORNING light, Mark stares at his newborn son, Evan, sound asleep in his crib. The boy is tiny, his head no bigger than the palm of Mark’s hand.
He’s perfect.
It seems impossible that such a small and innocent infant could ever grow into a big and cruel adult. Mark deals with criminals all day long, talking to informants guilty of petty crimes so that he can bust major criminals, people who have no regard for the well-being of others, and all of them started as innocent, perfect babies. What a messed-up world this is.
As he stares at his son, Mark vows to be the father his boy deserves.
“Do you have to go in today?” Kathy whispers, coming to join him at the crib.
Mark says he does. It’s three days after Christmas, and the family just got back from spending the holidays in Connecticut. Mark has been feeling antsy about taking so much time off, even if it was for Christmas and the birth of his son.
“The courthouse will be empty,” he says. “I’ll be able to get caught up on all my paperwork.”
He drives to town, looking out at the deserted streets. It snowed at some point recently, but now all that remains are patches here and there and mounds along the road that haven’t melted yet. They look more gray than white.
It’s a Monday, and although it’s not technically a holiday, there are only a few people in the building. Mark works for a while without interruption, organizing information for a new case involving a chop shop hidden in the hills, a place where stolen cars are stripped for parts.
Two hours later, as he’s leaning back and stretching, he hears footsteps coming down the hall. There is a gentle knock on the door, and Susan pokes her head in.
“Hello, stranger,” she says, smiling.
“Hi, Susan,” he says, surprised at how happy he is to see her. He’s missed her. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d swing by.”
She steps into the room carrying a grocery bag. “Merry Christmas,” she says, setting it down on his desk.
“What’s this?” he asks, peering into the bag. He sees new Nike shoes, a pair of running shorts, and a shirt. “Is this a present?” he says, exasperated. “I can’t accept this.”
“I wanted to say thanks,” she says. “You’ve been good to me, Mark. The money’s been welcome, but you’ve also given me something to be proud of. And you’re nice to me.” Her voice begins to crack. “Not many men have been nice to me. I just wanted to show you that I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
Mark feels conflicted. He’s flattered, and the truth is, he’s always liked her. And he’s well aware that he needs her testimony to make his case.
Without giving him another chance to refuse the gift, she rushes out the door, calling, “Happy New Year!”
Mark takes a deep breath after she leaves, staring at the shoes and clothes. He dials the phone, hoping his supervisor, Trent Cavanagh, will be working the Monday after Christmas. When Cavanagh picks up, Mark tells him his informant Susan Smith just gave him a present.
“Is this the same girl who refused the payment that first time?”
“Yes.”
“No big deal,” Cavanagh says. “Make a note of it and put the stuff in the safe. Just don’t take it home and go running in it, for God’s sake.” After a pause, he adds, “You’re not having any problems with her, are you?”
Mark wonders how forthcoming he should be and decides honesty is the best policy here. “She’s pretty flirty,” Mark admits. “I think she’s got a crush on me.”
Mark doesn’t mention that he’s got a bit of a crush on her too.
Cavanagh sighs. “Well, maintain a professional distance. But a good informant is hard to find. Do your best to keep her happy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know you’ve been in that office alone for a while,” Cavanagh adds, “and I’m sorry about that. But we’re going to have some relief for you come January. You’ll be getting a new partner.”
“Really?” says Mark. He’s been on his own for almost a year and had forgotten someone was supposed to be using the other desk in the office.
“This guy’s a pro,” Trent says. “He’s a veteran agent. He’s done lots of undercover work, breaking some big drug cases.”
This is music to Mark’s ears. Aside from what Susan told him about Cat Eyes, most of her information has been about dru
gs. And with the chop-shop case looming, Mark just doesn’t have time to deal with that.
Maybe he can pawn Susan off on the new guy.
CHAPTER 13
January 1988
DO YOU SOLEMNLY SWEAR to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Susan’s hand trembles as she lays it on the Bible. “I do,” she says, trying to sound more confident than she feels.
She steps up into the witness box and looks out at the courtroom. She’s been in courtrooms before but always sitting in the audience, looking up at the witnesses. Now she’s sitting close to the judge, practically as high up as him, and the whole courtroom looks different.
Cat Eyes looks at her from the defendant’s table. He has a confident expression—he doesn’t think she’s actually going to tell the truth. But almost everyone else in the packed courtroom is burning holes in her with their glares. Her ex, Clint, is staring at her with a hateful, intimidating expression. Cat Eyes’s girlfriend, Crystal Black, sits a few feet away, looking ready to jump the barrier and claw Susan’s eyes out. Other friends and family are present, all giving her the same menacing stares. What she’s about to do is absolutely unheard of—she’s going to publicly rat out one of their own.
To the Feds, no less.
Susan finds Mark’s eyes in the courtroom. He gives her a slight nod of encouragement. But he has a worried expression. He thinks she’s going to buckle under the pressure, Susan realizes.
Don’t worry, Mark. I can do this, she thinks. For you.
“Mrs. Smith,” the commonwealth attorney says. “Please state your name and spell it for the record.”
Susan does.
“Do you know a man named Paul Collins, sometimes called Cat Eyes?”
“I do,” she answers.
He asks her to identify Cat Eyes in the courtroom and then goes on to question her about statements he’s made regarding robbing banks. As Susan answers, he reaches into an evidence box and pulls out the sawed-off shotgun. The commonwealth attorney breaks the gun to reveal that it’s unloaded. After showing the judge, the jury, and the audience that it’s empty, he snaps it closed and holds it high in the air.
“And is this the shotgun that you saw Cat Eyes holding that day when he was talking about robbing banks?”
“Yes,” Susan says.
Cat Eyes’s expression has changed, and now he looks wounded. How could you do this? those feline eyes say.
Mark’s expression has changed too. He looks relieved, but more than that—he looks proud of her. It gives her the confidence to sit up a little straighter.
“How do you know this is the same shotgun?” the defense attorney asks on cross-examination.
“If it ain’t,” Susan says, “it’s one just like it, with the barrel sawed off like that. And the handle too, giving it that pistol grip.”
Cat Eyes’s lawyer hesitates, not sure what to ask next. He hasn’t been able to rattle her yet.
“As far as I can tell,” Susan offers, “there’s only one difference between that gun and the one that Cat Eyes had in my house, where my kids were just a few feet away.”
The lawyer perks up, hopeful that she’s going to introduce some kind of reasonable doubt into the case. “So there’s a difference?” he asks.
The room seems to hold its breath.
“Yeah,” she says, then delivers the sucker punch. “The gun’s empty now. But the one he kept in my house, where my kids sleep and play, was loaded and could have gone off at any moment.”
Murmurs of surprise come from the jury box, and the lawyer looks chagrined. He walked right into her trap.
“No more questions, Your Honor,” he says.
The judge calls for a recess, and as Susan is escorted out of the courtroom by the bailiff, Mark rises and follows them out into the hall.
“That couldn’t have gone better,” he says to Susan. “Good work.”
He looks like he wants to hug her, but that wouldn’t be appropriate, especially with people filing out into the hall.
“I want you to meet someone,” Mark says, taking her by the elbow and leading her to a man leaning against the wall.
The man, who’s wearing a flannel shirt and a Carhartt jacket, is probably three hundred pounds. His hair is shaggy and badly in need of a trim, and his jaw is peppered with graying stubble. Susan wonders if this is a new informant.
“This is my new partner, Glen Bell,” Mark tells her.
Susan feels confused for a moment. Partner? “You’re an FBI agent?” Susan says to the man.
Glen laughs. “We don’t all look like Yankee frat boys,” he says, smacking Mark in the arm.
Mark offers no response, but something in his expression tells Susan that he doesn’t much like Glen Bell. She’s certain of it. Reluctantly, Susan takes the new guy’s hand, which feels like a raw hamburger patty with five bratwursts sticking out of it. When she pulls her hand away, she resists the urge to wipe it on her skirt.
“I saw you up there on the stand,” he says. “Very poised. Very professional. I look forward to working with you. I think we’ll make a good team.”
As he says this, his eyes drift down and appraise her. She’s wearing a nice pencil skirt, blouse, and matching jacket. The skirt might be a little short, but otherwise she looks like an office secretary. She’d wanted to show Mark how well she cleans up, but it’s this new guy’s eyes that are glued to her, lingering in particular on her chest and legs. Mark seems to notice and, to her relief, rescues her from the situation by offering to walk her to her car. As they head toward the courthouse doors, she looks over her shoulder to see that Glen is still ogling her—no doubt staring at her ass in the tight skirt.
“Glen is going to be handling a lot of the drug cases while I focus on other things,” Mark says. “So if you have tips along those lines, let him know. He’ll treat you right.”
Susan’s mood has plummeted in the past few minutes. She was on such a high, feeling so proud of herself, happy that she could help Mark, the only man who’s ever treated her halfway decently. Now it sounds like Mark’s shoving her off on the new guy.
“So that’s it?” Susan says, her eyes starting to fill with tears. “I testified against Cat Eyes and now you’re done with me?”
“It’s not like that,” he says. “Susan, don’t be silly.”
Mark explains that he’s been working himself to death since he arrived in Pikeville. The FBI has more to do here than two agents can handle, much less one.
“Glen is helping with the caseload,” he says. “I just want you to know that you can talk to him too. Not just me.”
“Okay,” she says, still not happy about the situation.
As they talk, Clint and Crystal Black and a few other people walk out of the courtroom, casting glares at Susan and Mark.
“Are you going to be okay? Is it safe for you here?” Mark asks.
Susan dismisses his concern, says she’ll be staying with her sister Molly for a few days. “They’ll all get over it,” she says. “Nobody holds a grudge around here. Give it a few weeks—everybody’ll forgive and forget.”
This couldn’t be further from the truth. People around here can hold grudges for generations. The infamous Hatfield-McCoy feud happened in these very hollows, with neighbors killing one another precisely because no one could forgive and forget. A hundred years have passed since then, but that kind of mentality remains.
Mark walks Susan to her sister’s car, waits until she’s pulled out of the parking lot, then walks back to the courthouse. When he saunters past the crowd of Cat Eyes’s friends, Mark tries to ignore them. He hears them muttering something that sounds like “get what’s coming,” but he isn’t sure if they’re talking about him or Susan.
Or both of them.
Part Two
* * *
TEN MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER 14
November 1988
KATHY’S LYING ON THE floor, alternating between
doing sit-ups and scissor-kicking her legs. She’s worked up a sweat and wants to quit, but there’s only ten minutes left on the exercise tape playing on the VCR, and a drive to lose those last five pounds of pregnancy weight keeps her going. She jumps to her feet and mirrors the instructor on the screen, kicking her legs as high as she can. She wishes she could go out running like Mark, but she doesn’t have that luxury while watching two kids all day. Little Evan is bouncing in a baby walker, and Jenny is coloring in her room.
When the phone rings, Kathy considers not answering it, but she hasn’t spoken to anyone except the kids all day and she’s hungry for some adult interaction. She pauses the video and reaches for the phone. It’s probably Susan Smith or Glen Bell, who, like Susan, is now a regular who calls on a nearly nightly basis to confide in her. She knows it can’t be Mark. The chop-shop case has consumed him for the better part of a year, and most days he’s usually too busy to even let her know if he’ll be home for dinner.
“Hey, Kathy,” Susan says. “How are you, girl?”
“Oh, I’m okay,” Kathy says. Even though she and Susan have never actually met in person, Kathy has come to think of her as a friend, maybe her closest friend in Pikeville. “You?”
“Ugh,” Susan moans. “I’m so sick of Glen Bell. I know the only reason he’s working with me is because he wants to get in my pants. Mark never tried that, Kathy. You should know your husband’s a stand-up guy.”
Glen and Mark don’t get along. The two work more or less separately, and the silence in the office they share is palpable and awkward. When Glen first started, Kathy insisted Mark invite him over for dinner; Glen immediately made both of them uncomfortable by whistling and commenting on Kathy’s figure.
“You sure don’t look like you’ve had two kids,” he told her.
To defuse the situation—and keep Mark from losing his cool—she’d talked to Glen about her post-pregnancy workout regimen and diet. Glen confided to her that he had a hard time keeping weight off and was embarrassed about how he looked—although the extra pounds actually came in handy doing undercover work. No one expects an FBI agent to look like him.
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