They walked out of the police station. The natural sunlight and warm summer air were a relief after the air-conditioned fluorescence of the police station.
“Where the hell have you been?” Anna asked, as soon as the door swung shut behind them. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
She studied her sister, parsing her appearance for any signs of what was going on in her life. Jody looked the same as always, which was to say, a lot like Anna. Jody was two years younger, but people always asked if they were twins. They both had standard midwestern blue eyes, blond hair, and easy smiles. In recent years, their different lifestyles had started to carve their bodies in different ways: Anna was thinner, from the stress of being a prosecutor and the habit of walking everywhere in D.C., while Jody was stronger, more muscular, as a result of years of installing panels on the GM assembly line. The most notable difference in their appearance was still the scar on Jody’s cheek. Today, Jody looked exhausted and pale.
“Sorry,” Jody said. “My cell phone fell in the toilet. I haven’t been getting any calls or messages. But it’s great to see you, Annie.”
“You too.” Anna pulled her into a tight hug, relieved to have her sister out of the police station and in her arms.
“Ouch,” Jody stepped backward, out of her embrace.
“What?”
Jody whispered, “I hurt my wrist. Can you drive my truck?”
Anna glanced around the police parking lot to see if anyone had noticed Jody flinch. Thankfully, it seemed to be empty.
Anna drove Jody’s GMC Yukon while Cooper followed on the motorcycle. She steered the big SUV past the trailer park where their family lived, years ago, when their father lost his job on the assembly line.
“What’s going on, Jo?”
“I should ask you the same thing. What are you doing here? I thought you were in the middle of a trial?”
“It finished up.”
“How’d you do?”
“The bad guys went to jail.”
“They always do when you’re on the case. Congrats. How’s Jack? Just a few weeks till your wedding! You must be stressed.”
“Not in the way you think,” Anna said. “I called it off last night.”
“Oh, Annie.” Jody looked almost as hurt as Anna. She knew the reasons behind the breakup. Anna’s relationship with Jack had changed forever as a result of her prosecution of the MS-13 gang case and the secrets it revealed. Jack had been the victim of a terrible tragedy, the full extent of which even he hadn’t known. Olivia’s mother had come back into his life. Now, he had to see if he could make things work with her. Anna had to give him the space he needed to do it. Jody reached over and squeezed her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Yeah,” Anna said unconvincingly. “What is going on with Coach Fowler? Why were the police questioning you?”
“I—well, I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“The police called you in for questioning about a man’s death. Disappointing me is the last thing you have to worry about.”
Jody took a deep breath. “I was hanging out with him last night. Before his car crash.”
“Define ‘hanging out.’”
“I brought him home with me, okay? From Screecher’s bar. We were—how would you say it in D.C.? Intimate.”
“Isn’t he married?”
“I didn’t say he was a saint. Neither am I. We were adults involved in an adult relationship.” Jody glanced at Anna’s face. “See, I knew you’d be mad.”
“Not mad,” Anna said, although she was disappointed. Why did Jody always have to get involved with the least appropriate guy in any ten-mile radius? “When did he leave your house?”
“Around two, maybe two thirty, this morning.”
“Were you guys drinking?”
“Now you sound like Rob. Yeah, we were drinking. I told the police that. Can I get in trouble for letting him drive drunk?”
“Maybe.”
“Shit.”
“Was this a onetime thing, or something more?”
“We’ve been . . . er . . . friendly, for a few weeks. We ran into each other at a Lions game and reconnected. We met the next day for an innocent little coffee, and things took off from there. I wonder how many affairs have started at Starbucks.”
Anna turned the truck into Jody’s subdivision, a neat grid of ramblers, each a slightly different take on white aluminum siding. Anna could just make out Cooper’s Harley in the rearview mirror, behind a blue sedan.
“What happened to your wrist?” Anna asked.
“I fell in the shower.”
“I’ve handled enough domestic violence cases to know a cover story when I hear one.”
“You’ve gotten so cynical, Annie. To a hammer, everything looks like a nail, huh? I’m not a domestic violence victim. I’m not Mom. I took a shower after Owen left, while I was probably too tipsy to be taking showers.”
“Is that when you just happened to drop your cell phone into the toilet?”
“Actually, yeah.”
“I came to help you, Jo. Kathy thought you needed help. But I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
“I appreciate that, Annie. But I didn’t ask Kathy to call you. I didn’t want you to come here today. And I don’t need your help.”
Anna turned the car into Jody’s driveway but had to brake quickly. The drive was already filled with other cars, many of them flashing red and blue lights. Three police cruisers, a white van, and two unmarked sedans were parked in Jody’s driveway and at the curb. Men with badges walked in and out of the house like ants from an anthill, carrying boxes instead of crumbs.
The blue sedan pulled up behind her, followed by Cooper’s Harley. The car door opened and Rob got out. He waved at Anna, then walked right into Jody’s house, calling hello to another officer he passed.
Anna stared at the activity. She recognized the execution of a search warrant when she saw it. She turned to her sister. “Still think you don’t need my help?”
Jody met Anna’s eyes. For the first time, Anna saw fear there.
6
As prosecutor, Anna was accustomed to search warrants—but being on the government side of them. She liked sifting through the seized items looking for evidence, like combing through pebbles and fragments on a beach, looking for that one perfect shell. This was the first time she’d been on the other side. This wasn’t evidence; the police were carrying out boxes of her sister’s private possessions.
“Stay in the car,” Anna told her sister. “Do not say anything to anyone.”
For once, Jody just nodded. The sight of the officers at her house seemed to have knocked the air out of her. Anna jumped out of the Yukon and strode up to an officer who was toting a box out of Jody’s home.
“I assume you have a warrant,” Anna said. “I’d like to see the paperwork.”
“Detective Gargaron’s in charge.” The officer nodded at Rob and kept walking. Cursing under her breath, Anna went up to Rob. He stood on the front steps with another officer, going over papers on a clipboard.
“Detective Gargaron,” Anna said. “You seem to be everywhere.”
“Ms. Curtis.” He looked up. “It’s not personal. Your sister’s case came up on my watch.”
“What are the chances?”
“I know half the people who live in Holly Grove. Chances were pretty good.”
Cooper walked up and greeted Rob with a vigorous jock handshake.
“’Sup, Gargaron?”
“’Sup, Bolden?”
Cooper put a hand on Anna’s shoulder. Only then did she realize she was shaking.
“You guys take your car accidents seriously here in Holly Grove,” Cooper said. “In Detroit, the police don’t even show up for gunfire.”
Rob
said, “How’s that working out for Detroit?”
“May I see the warrant, please?” Anna said.
Rob was required to give her a copy, and he knew it. He pulled a folded sheaf of papers from his back pocket and handed it to Anna. She skimmed the first page: judge’s signature, clerk’s stamp, proper address. The technicalities were in order. She looked to the dotted line where the suspected crime would be named. Her heart hitched as she read the words: MURDER IN THE FIRST DEGREE. She forced herself to read on to the next page, which listed the items the police could take out of the house:
BEDSHEETS; BLANKETS; REASONABLE SWATHES FROM ANY CARPETING, UPHOLSTERY, WALLS, OR OTHER SURFACES WHICH APPEAR TO CONTAIN OR TEST POSITIVE FOR THE PRESENCE OF HUMAN SECRETIONS; SPONGES, RAGS, MOPS, CLEANING PRODUCTS; WASHING MACHINE; ALL SINKS, TOILETS, SHOWERS, AND PIPES ATTACHED THERETO; ANY OBJECT THAT COULD BE USED TO INFLICT BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE SKULL.
Anna looked up, stunned. “What are you looking for? There was a car crash at the stadium. A one-car drunk-driving accident. What’s that got to do with Jody’s toilet?”
Rob shrugged. “It’s too soon to tell.”
“Can I get the affidavit?”
The affidavit would have all the details explaining why the police thought there was probable cause to search Jody’s house, and it would tell Anna a lot about the investigation they’d conducted so far.
“No,” Rob replied. “It’s sealed.”
Anna had reached the end of the information he was obligated to give her, and now she wanted to strangle him. But the most effective attorneys weren’t the ones who berated cops, but befriended them.
“Can I talk to you alone for a sec?” she asked, glancing at Cooper and the other officer.
Rob seemed pleased. They walked to the end of the driveway, away from the crowd. Anna met his eyes and kept the anger out of her voice. “You obviously know your stuff, Rob, and you’re doing a thorough job. You don’t have to tell me anything else, and I don’t want to put you on the spot. But I would really appreciate if you could clue me in on what the police theory is.”
Rob looked at her for a long moment, then grinned. “What made you come home anyhow, Anna? You miss me?”
She forced herself to return his smile. But she couldn’t banter—not with this man, not while her sister’s house was being searched. So she went with the truth. “I missed Jody,” she said. “I haven’t been here for her much since I left for college. And I certainly haven’t been around for her enough the past few months. I can see that she’s really in trouble. I’m a prosecutor, Rob. I want to do the right thing here. What’s going on?”
Rob ran his thumb across his brushy straw-colored mustache. “I’ll tell you something off the record. If you go to the press with it, though, I swear I’ll never tell you anything again.”
“I won’t go to the press with it.”
“The coroner says Coach Fowler didn’t die in the car crash. He was dead before the car hit the wall. The side of his skull was bashed in, and not from the windshield. From blunt force trauma that occurred before the accident.”
Anna blew out a breath. She realized why the police were taking Jody’s pipes. They were looking for blood, evidence that Jody had washed up a crime scene. They thought she’d killed Coach Fowler in her home, then cleaned up afterward. That was ridiculous.
“How is my tiny sister going to kill that big man? And drag his body to a car? And get the car to crash into a stadium?”
“Your sister is just as smart as you,” Rob said. “If she put her mind to something, she’d get it done.”
7
I hoped you would come home for the Homecoming dance, but you were off on some important college thing, a debate tournament or something. Mom took a hundred pictures of me wearing a frilly hot-pink dress. My date, Ben Ohebshalom, wore a not-quite-as-hot-pink cummerbund, which kind of clashed with my dress, but which Mom still thought was adorably thoughtful. I used concealer to try to cover up the scratches on my forehead, but it didn’t really work. On the bright side, Wendy’s fresh fingernail marks drew attention away from the old scar on my cheek. For once, there was something more dramatic for people to try not to stare at.
Ben was a nice guy—cute, smart, and funny, but not too full of himself. He had those dreamy hazel eyes that made all the other girls go gaga for him. He liked me, and I knew it. But I didn’t feel the same way. Maybe it was because he was so nice and smart. I always did fall for the worst possible guy in any ten-mile radius, right? Or maybe it’s just impossible for a fifteen-year-old boy to compete with a fully grown man. I was already smitten with the big crush of my teenage life, and no cummerbund, however thoughtfully chosen, could change that.
The school gym was done up as best as it could be, though it was still obviously a gym. But the fluorescents were off, little white Christmas lights and paper flowers hung from the walls, and we had a DJ, so at least it had the proper sense of occasion.
Wendy was at the dance too, obviously. She came with one of the seniors, “as friends.” He got the status of bringing last year’s Homecoming queen, and she got to bask in her fading glory one more time.
I was talking to Ben and some other sophomores, when Wendy came up. She looked me up and down and said, “Where did you get that dress?”
“The Gap,” I said, blanking on anything higher end.
“That’s a lie,” she said, and she was right. I got it at the consignment shop on Main Street for forty-three dollars. “The Gap doesn’t sell prom dresses. I know where you got that dress. It was mine. I wore it two years ago.”
This was true, I confirmed, too late. The next day, I looked in the yearbook, and there was Wendy at the 2002 Homecoming dance, all resplendent in the frilly horror. Only it was new then.
I could feel everyone looking, silent and embarrassed for me. I wanted to crawl out of that dress and leave it on the floor. But I wouldn’t give Wendy the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. I raised my chin and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Wendy. Did you want to wear it again? I didn’t realize adults were allowed to come to kids’ dances.”
My friends laughed, and I flounced off while I still had the last word. Also, before anyone could see the tears in my eyes. I walked over to the DJ and pretended to look at the list of songs. That’s when Coach came up to me. He was chaperoning the dance. He wore a dark suit and light blue tie that matched his eyes. For a minute, I was stunned by how good he looked.
He handed me a tissue and said, “Don’t worry about Wendy. She’s just jealous. You look better in that dress than she ever did.”
“Thanks.” I turned so no one could see me dabbing my eyes. I hoped my blue eyeliner wouldn’t run.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” he said. “Being a chaperone at these dances, or being a kid at them.”
“That’s easy. All you have to do is stand there, looking all . . . nice . . . in your suit.”
“Ah, so it must seem. But in fact it’s a tricky job. Look over there.” He cocked his head at a bunch of boys—football players—standing in a darkened corner, passing something around.
“Booze?” I asked.
“I expect so.”
“Are you going to bust them?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
“You’re the chaperone. Seems like a pretty easy call,” I said, even though I didn’t want those kids to get in trouble.
“Yeah? Say I bust them for alcohol. What then? They get suspended or expelled, in their senior year. Arrested, even. Not good for their careers. And then how do I field a team? We’d never make it to state finals.”
I laughed.
“Maybe you can just talk to them?” I said. “Tell them to pour it out?”
“That might be just the answer.” He smiled at me, like I’d come up with a wise and insightful solution. Then his face got serious. “But listen, Jody. There
’s going to be a lot of drinking tonight. Things can get out of hand at these parties. Take care of yourself.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. I certainly hoped things would get out of hand. What was the fun otherwise? He handed me a piece of paper. It had his phone number written on it.
“Call me if you ever need help. I’ll pick you up and take you home, no questions asked. And I won’t tell your mom if you don’t want me to.”
I held that little piece of paper like it was the Hope Diamond. I didn’t have many adults I could count on in my life.
“Thank you,” I said. I folded it into a neat square and put it in my purse.
“I want to show you something.” He steered me to the other side of the gym and pointed up at the board that listed the school records. It was black with faded yellow lettering. But bright white letters spelled out one new entry:
GIRLS’ HIGH JUMP: JODY CURTIS, 6'2", 10/12/04
I’d set the school record at a track meet a couple weeks earlier. I got a big golden trophy, which sat in the middle of my bedroom dresser. But this was even better. They’d taken your name down from the gym and put up mine. Sorry, sis. But it was the first time I was better than you in anything. And the coach made sure the record was up on the board in time for the dance.
He said, “I’m really proud of you, Jody.”
I’d never heard Dad say that. Tears welled up again, but for a different reason. I turned and hugged him. He stiffened, and I knew that I shouldn’t have done that. He was an adult and couldn’t be seen hugging a student at a dance. I dropped my arms and just looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re the one who did it.”
“You taught me how.”
We smiled at each other, because it was an accomplishment that we’d achieved together: his coaching and my jumping. It was one of the best moments of my life. That, of course, was the moment Wendy chose to come over and tap me on the shoulder.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, “but Ben is looking for you. He said he really needs to talk to you.”
A Good Killing Page 3
