“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he told her, though he was obviously lying. “Let’s go to Robert’s house again.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Let me go tell Nell where I’m going.”
He grabbed her hand, pulling her back toward the street. “She’ll figure it out.”
“Okay,” she repeated, wondering what was going on. He held on to her hand as they walked down the street. There was a slight breeze in the air, which made the day more bearable, but it was still hot on the black asphalt, and Sara could not help thinking back to two short nights ago when she had run down the street trying to get away from Jeffrey. Maybe he was thinking about the same thing, because he squeezed her hand.
She asked, “Are you okay?”
He shook his head, but did not elaborate.
“Why do you want to look at the house again?”
“Something’s not right,” he said. “It doesn’t add up.”
“What did Robert say?”
“Nothing new,” Jeffrey told her. “He’s still taking the rap for it. Taking the rap for everything.” His jaw tightened, and he was quiet a beat. “He’s lying about Julia. It makes me wonder what else he was lying about.”
“Like what?” Sara said, thinking that it was pretty clear what had happened in the bedroom that night. “All the evidence backs what he’s saying.”
“I just want to look at it again,” he said. “I want see for myself that it works out.”
“What specifically do you think doesn’t add up?”
He let go of her hand as they approached Robert’s house, not answering her question. The yellow clapboard looked freshly painted and the white picket fence gave the place a surreal effect, like it was a Hollywood version of what a home should be.
There was a bright yellow strip of police tape on the door. Jeffrey took out his Swiss Army pocketknife, prying up the blade with his fingernail. “He was attacked last night.”
“In the jail?”
He nodded.
“By whom?”
Jeffrey sliced through the police tape. “He won’t say.”
“How could Hoss let that happen?”
“It wasn’t Hoss,” Jeffrey told her, closing the knife. “Robert won’t say who put him in general population, but I have a feeling it was Reggie.”
“Why didn’t he just paint a target on his back?”
“If I see that stupid redneck fuck again, I’m going to rip his head off.”
Sara had a hard time reconciling Reggie with these actions, but Nell had said he was not to be trusted.
She asked, “Is Robert all right?”
Jeffrey opened the door and stepped back, letting Sara enter the house first. “I tried to get him to talk to me, to tell me what went down, but he wouldn’t.”
“Was he badly beaten?”
“It’s not that I’m worried about,” Jeffrey said, and she read everything on his expression in a moment.
“Oh, no,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “Is he okay?”
He closed the door behind them. “He says he’s fine.”
“Jeffrey,” she said, wrapping her hand around his shoulder. He looked down the hallway, not at her, and she could tell he was struggling to maintain his composure.
“Possum was down there this morning to bail him out,” he said. “I didn’t even think about doing that.”
“How could he make bail?”
“Hoss must have pulled some strings,” Jeffrey told her. “It’s not like he’s a flight risk. Where would he go?”
“I’m so sorry,” she told him, feeling his sadness wash over her.
He put his arms around her, and she held him, trying to offer comfort when she knew there was little else she could do.
“Oh, Sara,” he breathed, burying his face in her neck. His whole body relaxed, and despite all that had happened, she felt an overwhelming sense of happiness knowing that just by holding him she could bring him such peace.
He said, “I just want to get away with you.”
“I know,” she told him, stroking the nape of his neck.
“I want to take you dancing,” he said, and she laughed because they both knew she had the coordination of a just-born colt. “I want to walk on the beach with you and drink piña coladas out of your belly button.”
She laughed again, pulling away, but he would not let her. Sara kissed his neck, letting her lips linger on his skin. He tasted salty, like the ocean, and she could smell the musky odor of his aftershave. “I’m here,” she said.
“I know,” he told her, finally breaking the embrace. He gave a heavy sigh, indicating the house with a toss of his hand. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“What are we looking for?” she asked, following him into the living room.
“I don’t know,” he said, opening one of the drawers in the coffee table. He rummaged around inside, then closed it. “Where did he keep his backup gun?”
“I think he said the living room?” Sara said, more of a question because she could not remember.
“There should be a safe,” he said. “If he was telling the truth about where he kept it.”
Sara was not sure if anything Robert said could be trusted, but she opened the doors on the television cabinet. Except for a large TV and a bunch of videotapes, she saw nothing. She bent down to go through the drawers, saying, “They don’t have kids in the house. He could’ve just kept it in a drawer.”
“Robert knows better than that,” Jeffrey said, getting on his hands and knees to look under the couch. “Hoss taught us both that you always secure your weapon.” He sat back on his heels, a sad look in his eyes. “Robert coached Little League,” he said. “He probably had kids in here all the time. He wouldn’t have left a gun laying around.”
“Jessie had an episode,” Sara told him. “Nell told me around the miscarriage she took too many pills.”
“Another reason for him to keep it hidden,” Jeffrey pointed out.
Sara rummaged through a stack of instruction sheets for every piece of electronic equipment in the house. She found several old remote controls, a few spent batteries, and a fingernail file, but no gun safe. She asked, “Where do you keep your backup?”
“By my bed,” he answered. “When I’m home, my service piece is in the kitchen.”
“Why there?”
“I’ve never thought about it,” he said, running his hand under the coffee table. “Just seemed logical. One upstairs, one downstairs.”
“Where in the kitchen?” Sara asked, walking toward the back of the house.
“Cabinet over the stove,” he called, then, “Shit.”
“What?”
“Got a splinter.”
“Try to be a little more careful,” she advised him, walking down the hall. The bedroom was directly across from the kitchen, but she did not let herself look. The stench of dried blood was overpowering, and Sara knew that it would linger in the house long after Robert and Jessie found someone who could clean it. She could not imagine how Jessie could go on living here after what had happened.
Sara opened the cabinet over the stove, finding a stack of Tupperware bowls with their lids neatly piled beside them. She stood on the tips of her toes, peering all the way to the back, but there was nothing even resembling a gun. She went around the room, opening and closing all the cabinets, with the same results. She even checked the refrigerator, which had a full gallon of milk, juice, and the usual staples, but no gun.
“Find anything?” Jeffrey asked. He stood in the doorway with one hand cradling the other.
“Does it hurt?” Sara asked.
“Not much,” he said, holding out his hand. She turned on the light and saw a thick splinter in the palm of his hand.
“They must have some tweezers,” she said, opening the drawers. A quick search found nothing but common kitchen utensils. “I’ll check the bathroom.”
She headed toward the master bathroom but stopped w
hen she caught sight of a sewing basket sitting on the highboy beside the dining room table.
She told Jeffrey, “Come in here, the light’s better,” as she searched the basket. “These will work,” she said, finding a pair of straight-edged tweezers among the pins and needles.
“You want me to open these?” Jeffrey asked, but he was already twisting the rod to open the blinds. He looked out into the backyard, saying, “It’s nice here, huh?”
“Yes,” she said, taking his hand in hers. She wore glasses sometimes at work, but she had been too vain to bring them along on the trip. “This might hurt.”
“I can take it,” he said, then, “Ow, shit.” He jerked back his hand.
“Sorry,” she said, trying not to smile at his reaction. She held his hand closer to the window, taking advantage of the light. “Just think about something else.”
“That won’t be hard,” he told her sarcastically, wincing as the tweezers grew near.
“I haven’t even touched it,” she said.
“Are you this mean to your kids?”
“Usually they’re a little braver.”
“That’s nice.”
“Come on,” she teased him. “I’ll give you a lollipop if you’re good.”
“I’d rather give you something to suck on.”
She raised an eyebrow, but did not respond. Slowly, she worked at the splinter, trying to get it to come out in one piece.
Jeffrey asked, “Did you notice something weird about Swan?”
“Weird how?” She groaned as the splinter broke.
“Like…” He made a hissing sound as she dug into the skin. “He’s the exact opposite of Robert.”
She shrugged. “Maybe that was the point. She wanted something different. A change.”
“Am I different from the guys you usually date?”
Sara worked on the splinter, trying to come up with a good answer. “I can’t say that I’ve given it much thought.” She smiled as the splinter came out. “There.”
He put his hand to his mouth, something Sara saw kids do at the clinic, as if some genetic imperative convinced them that their mouth could cleanse a wound.
“Let’s look in the bedroom,” Jeffrey said.
“You think he was lying about keeping a backup in the living room?”
“I don’t know.”
“He could have kept it in his truck.”
“Maybe.”
“What else is bothering you?” She decided not to let him brush it off. “I’m not stupid, Jeffrey. Something’s bothering you. Either tell me or not, but don’t keep denying it.”
He put his hand on the windowsill. “Yes, something is bothering me. I just can’t talk about it.”
“Okay,” she agreed, glad that she had at least gotten him to admit it. “Let’s finish in here. Maybe then we can go back to Nell’s and try to make some sense of all this.”
The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and the hinges squeaked when she opened it. Light was streaming in through the windows, and Sara was surprised to find that her memory of what the room had looked like the night Swan had been shot was completely skewed. Somehow, her mind had exaggerated everything so that whenever she tried to imagine the room, she saw blood everywhere. In actuality, except for the splatter fanning out to the door and ceiling and the pool of blood and matter where Swan had lain, the room was clean.
Jeffrey opened the armoire and searched the shelves as Sara went to the bedside table opposite the side Swan had been shot. Everything in the room had been dusted for prints, black powder showing specks of dirt and ridges on every available surface. She assumed Reggie had lifted whatever evidence he needed, but still Sara tried not to touch the black powder on the cabinet door, knowing from experience how difficult it was to wash off. She opened the door from the top, stepping back as a baby-blue vibrator fell out onto the floor.
Jeffrey was looking over her shoulder. “That explains a lot,” he said in a knowing tone.
“What does it explain?” Sara asked him, taking a tissue to use as she returned the machine to its resting place. “Every woman I know has one of these.”
He seemed surprised. “Do you?”
“Of course not, honey,” she joked. “You’re more than man enough for me.”
“I’m serious, Sara.”
“What?” she asked, glancing in the cabinet before shutting the door. There was a small tube of personal lubricant, but she thought better than to tell Jeffrey. She said, “It doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes couples use them. What sort of smoking gun are you looking for here?”
“I don’t know,” he said, sounding defeated. “He’s not telling me the truth. We’ve got to either prove he’s lying or prove he’s not.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Either way, I’m going to support him through this.”
Sara told him, “Sometimes when people lie, they sprinkle in the truth so that it sounds believable.”
“Meaning?”
“Robert might have told us a bit of information that we’re just not hearing.” Sara suggested, “Let’s take it from the beginning and go over what Robert and Jessie said happened the first time.”
“You mean what they told us when Luke was shot?”
She nodded.
“All right,” he said, looking around the room. “Let’s take it from the top. We were in the street. I heard the shots and ran through the backyard to here.” He stood in the doorway. “I saw what had happened, or at least saw the dead guy. Robert groaned and I turned around. He was here,” Jeffrey pointed behind the door. “Jessie was over here,” he said, indicating the area by the window.
“Then what?”
“I asked Robert if he was okay, then I went to get you.”
“All right,” Sara began, taking up the narration. “I came in and you went to call the police. I checked Swan’s pulse, then I went to help Robert.”
“He wouldn’t let you look at the wound,” Jeffrey provided. “Jessie kept interrupting while I tried to get the story.”
“Which was,” Sara took over, “they were in bed. Swan came in through the window.”
Jeffrey walked over to the window. He looked out into the backyard. “Someone could have sneaked in through here.”
“Did Robert ever say he knocked the screen out?” She clarified, “As part of his new story where he says he did it. Did he say that he knocked out the screen?”
“No.”
Sara glanced around the room, trying to remember how things had looked that night.
“So, Swan has a gun,” Jeffrey said, picking back up on Robert’s first explanation. “He crawls to the bed. Jessie wakes up and screams. Robert stirs and Swan shoots at him.”
“He misses,” Sara provided. “Robert runs to the armoire and gets his gun.” She stood in front of the armoire. “He shoots at Swan, but the gun hangs.”
Jeffrey finished, “Swan shoots him, then Robert’s gun goes off and shoots Swan in the head.”
Sara looked down at where she was standing. The blood-spray pattern did not point to the armoire.
She said, “He would’ve had to have been here,” walking to the door and lining herself up with the pattern. “Look at this,” she said, indicating blood in the carpet where Swan had fallen. “Robert had to have been standing here.”
“Why?”
“He shoots,” she said, holding out her hand with her thumb and index finger forming the shape of a gun. “The bullet hits Swan in the head, and there’s backsplatter from the bullet. It’s basic science: for every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. The bullet goes in, the blood sprays back. Look at the pattern of the blood.”
Jeffrey stood beside her, looking at the carpet. “Okay,” he said. “I see it. He was standing here.”
“Hold on,” she told him, leaving the room before he could ask why. She got the sewing basket and came back, saying, “This isn’t exactly scientific.”
“What are you doing?”
She found a spool of yellow th
read, thinking that would show up best. “Blood’s subject to gravity, just like anything else.”
“So?”
“So,” she said, opening a box of straight pins. “You can tell from the shape of the drop which way the blood fell. If it was splattered, if it fell straight down.” She pointed to the bullet hole behind the door. “See?” she told him. “You can tell from the pattern that Robert was standing near the wall when the bullet exited his body. The blood drops are almost perfectly round except at the top, where you can see they’ve got a slight teardrop shape to them. That means the bullet was on an upward trajectory.”
“But it looks scattered,” Jeffrey said, pointing to the hairline ribbons of red radiating from the circular drops.
“The blood hit the wall straight on, but it still splattered back.” She used a straight pin to point this out. “This is where the bulk of the impact took place.”
“All right,” he agreed, though she could tell he still did not buy it. “What can the rest of this tell us?”
“Watch,” she told him, picking at the end of the thread. She pulled it out a few yards, then bent to the carpet to match it to the blood. “I’m just guessing at the angle, and of course I’ll have to adjust it—probably up—for the parabolic, but I—”
“What are you talking about?”
“Basic trigonometry,” she answered, thinking it was obvious. “I really don’t have the right equipment, so this is just a hunch, but the formula goes something like, the ratio of width and length of the bloodstain equals the angle of impact….” She had lost him again, so she said, “Go find some tape.”
“Masking? Duct? Scotch?”
“Anything sticky.”
While Jeffrey searched the house for tape, Sara went about lining up the thread. She used the pins to attach the ends to the carpet and spun out the thread in lengths of ten to twelve feet.
“Will this work?” Jeffrey asked, handing her a roll of electrical tape.
“It should,” Sara said, peeling off strips of tape and sticking them to her arm. She found the major splatters on the bedside table, careful not to touch the chunks of flesh that remained. She wished she had put on a pair of gloves before starting this, but it was too late now.
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