Faithless

by Karin Slaughter

  She moved slowly, as if through water, sliding open the top drawer of her bureau, taking out the black plastic case. She sat on the floor, her back to Ethan, holding her breath as she unsnapped the lock. The noise filled the room like a gunshot. She tried not to gasp as Ethan shifted in bed. Lena closed her eyes, fighting panic as she waited for his hand on her back, his fingers wrapped around her throat. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder.

  He was on his side, facing away from her.

  The weapon was loaded, a round from the magazine already chambered. She cradled the gun in her hands, feeling it grow heavier and heavier until she let her hands drift to her lap. A smaller version of her service weapon, the Mini could do just as much damage up close. Lena closed her eyes again, feeling the mist of blood Terri had sprayed into her face, hearing her last words, almost triumphant: I got away.

  Lena stared at the gun, the black metal cold against her hands. She turned to make sure Ethan was still sleeping.

  His book bag was on the floor where he had dropped it. She gritted her teeth as she opened the zipper, the sound reverberating in her chest. The bag was a nice one, Swiss Army, with several large pockets and plenty of storage. Ethan kept everything in the bag— his wallet, his books for school, even some gym clothes. He wouldn’t notice a couple of extra pounds.

  Lena reached into the bag, unzipping the large rear compartment that snaked around the inside of the bag. There were pencils in there, some pens, but nothing else. She hid the gun inside and pulled the zip closed, leaving the bag on the floor.

  Moving backward, she crawled to the bed, using her hands to lift herself up, then inch by inch lowering herself down beside Ethan.

  He exhaled, almost a snort, and rolled over, his arm flopping across her chest. Lena turned her head to see the clock, counting away the minutes until the alarm would go off, until Ethan would be out of her life forever.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sara tightened her hand on Bob’s leash as his nose jerked toward the field on the side of the road. Being a sight hound, Bob had no control over his urge to chase anything that ran, and Sara knew if she let go of the leash, she would probably never see the dog again.

  Jeffrey, who was holding just as tightly to Billy’s leash, glanced into the field, too. “Rabbit?”

  “Chipmunk,” she guessed, steering Bob to the other side of the road. He gave in easily, laziness being just as much of a genetic imperative for greyhounds, and loped down the road, his slim heinie shifting with each step.

  Jeffrey slipped his arm around her waist. “You cold?”

  “Uh-uh,” she said, closing her eyes against the sun. They had both cursed loudly when the phone had awakened them at five till seven this morning, but Cathy’s offer of a pancake breakfast had persuaded them to roll out of bed. They both had a lot of work to catch up on this weekend, but Sara reasoned they would be better prepared on a full stomach.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Jeffrey said. “Maybe we should get another dog.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. Bob had just about died of a heart attack this morning when Jeffrey turned on the shower without first checking to make sure the dog wasn’t sleeping in his usual spot.

  “Or a cat?”

  She laughed out loud. “You don’t even like the one we have now.”

  “Well”—he shrugged—“maybe a new one, one we both picked out.”

  Sara leaned her head back on his shoulder. Despite what Jeffrey believed, she couldn’t always read his mind, but right now Sara knew exactly what he really wanted. The way he had talked about Terri and her son last night had made Sara realize something that she had never even considered. For years, she had only thought of her inability to have children as a personal loss, but now she could see that it was Jeffrey’s loss as well. She couldn’t exactly explain why, but somehow, knowing he had this need as deeply as she did made it feel less like a failure and more like something to overcome.

  “I’m gonna keep an eye on those kids,” he said, and she knew he meant Terri’s two children. “Pat’s going to come down pretty hard on him.”

  Sara doubted the man’s brother held any sway in the matter, and asked, “Will Dale keep custody?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “When I was pushing on his chest . . .” Jeffrey began, and she knew that he felt sick about the fact that he had cracked two of Tim Stanley’s ribs while giving the boy CPR. “They’re so little. His bones are like toothpicks.”

  “It beats letting him die,” Sara said. Then, realizing how hard her words must sound to him, she added, “Cracked ribs heal, Jeffrey. You saved Tim’s life. You did everything right.”

  “I was glad to see that ambulance.”

  “He’ll be out of the hospital in a few days,” she assured him, rubbing his back to soothe his worries. “You did everything right.”

  “It made me think about Jared,” he said, and her hand stopped moving of its own accord. Jared, the boy he had thought of as a sort of nephew all these years, only to find out recently that he was actually a son.

  He said, “I remember when he was little, I’d throw him up in the air and catch him. God, he loved that. He’d laugh so hard he’d get the hiccups.”

  “I’m sure Nell wanted to kill you,” Sara said, thinking Jared’s mother had probably held her breath the entire time.

  “I could feel his ribs pressing against my hands when I caught him. He’s got such a great laugh. He loved being up in the air.” He gave a half-smile, thinking out loud, “Maybe he’ll be a pilot one day.”

  They walked, both of them silent, their footsteps and the jingle of the dogs’ metal ID tags the only sound. Sara pressed her head against Jeffrey’s shoulder, wanting more than anything to just be there in the moment. He tightened his arm around her, and she looked at the dogs, wondering what it would feel like to be pushing a stroller instead of holding on to a leash.

  At the age of six, Sara had quite conceitedly told her mother that one day she would have two children, a boy and a girl, and that the boy would have blond hair and the girl would have brown. Cathy had teased her about this early show of single-mindedness well into Sara’s twenties. Through college, then medical school, then finally her internship, it had been a long-standing family joke, especially considering the fact that Sara’s dating life was sparse to say the least. They had mocked her relentlessly about her precociousness for years, then the teasing had abruptly stopped. At twenty-six, Sara had lost her ability to ever have a child. At twenty-six, she had lost her childhood belief that just wanting something badly enough made it possible.

  Walking along the street, her head on Jeffrey’s shoulder, Sara let herself play that dangerous game, the one where she wondered what their children would have looked like. Jared had Jeffrey’s dark coloring, his mother’s intense blue eyes. Would their baby have red hair, a shock of auburn that grew like springs? Or would he have Jeffrey’s black, almost blue, mane, thick and wavy, the sort of hair you couldn’t stop running your fingers through? Would he be kind and gentle like his father, growing into the sort of man who would one day make some woman happier than she’d ever thought she could possibly be?

  Jeffrey’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath and let it go.

  Sara wiped her eyes, hoping he didn’t see how silly she was being. She asked, “How’s Lena?”

  “I gave her the day off.” Jeffrey rubbed his eyes, too, but she couldn’t look up at him. “She deserves a medal for finally following orders.”

  “The first time is always special.”

  He acknowledged the joke with a wry chuckle. “God, she’s such a mess.”

  She squeezed her arm around his waist, thinking that the two of them weren’t in much better shape themselves. “You know you can’t straighten her out, right?”

  He gave another heavy sigh. “Yeah.”

  She looked up at him, saw that his eyes were as moist as hers.

  After a few seconds, he clicked his tongue at Billy, getting
him back on the road. “Anyway.”

  “Anyway,” she echoed.

  He cleared his throat several times before he could tell her, “Paul’s lawyer should be here around noon today.”

  “Where’s he coming from?”

  “Atlanta,” Jeffrey said, all his disgust for the city resting on that one word.

  Sara sniffed, trying to get her composure back. “Do you really think Paul Ward is going to confess to anything?”

  “No,” he admitted, tugging on Billy’s leash as the dog stopped to investigate some weeds. “He shut his mouth as soon as we pulled Terri off him.”

  Sara paused, thinking about the woman’s sacrifice. “Do you think the charges will stick?”

  “The attempted kidnapping and shooting we’ve got down easy,” he answered. “You can’t argue with two cops as witnesses.” He shook his head. “Who knows which way it’ll go? I sure as shit could argue premeditated; I was right there. There’s no telling with a jury . . .” He let his voice trail off. “Your shoe’s untied.” He handed her Billy’s leash and knelt in front of her to tie the lace. “They’ve got him for murder during the commission of a felony, attempted murder with Lena. There has to be something in there that keeps him behind bars for a long time.”

  “And Abby?” Sara asked, watching his hands. She remembered the first time he had tied her shoe for her. They had been in the woods, and she hadn’t been sure how she felt about him until that very moment when he had knelt down in front of her. Watching him now, all she could wonder was how she had ever not known how much she needed him in her life.

  “Get back,” Jeffrey shooed Billy and Bob as the dogs tried to catch the moving laces. Jeffrey finished the double knot, then straightened, taking the leash. “I don’t know about Abby. Terri’s evidence put the cyanide in his hands, but she’s not here to tell the tale. Dale’s not exactly gonna brag about how he told Paul to use the salts.” He put his arm back around her waist, pulling her closer as they continued walking. “Rebecca’s shaky. Esther told me I could talk to her tomorrow.”

  “Do you think she’ll give you anything useful?”

  “No,” he admitted. “All she can say is that she found some papers Abby left. Hell, she can’t even say for sure whether or not Abby left them. She didn’t hear what happened with Terri because she was in the closet the whole time and she can’t testify about the burials because it’s hearsay. Even if a judge let it in, Cole was the one who put the girls in the boxes. Paul kept his hands clean.” He admitted, “He covered his tracks pretty well.”

  Sara said, “I don’t imagine even a slick lawyer from Atlanta will be able to put a good spin on the fact that his client’s entire family is willing to testify against him.” Oddly, that was the real threat to Paul Ward. Not only had he forged his family’s signatures on the policies, he had cashed checks written out to them and pocketed the money. The fraud alone could keep him in prison until he was an old man.

  “His secretary’s recanted, too,” Jeffrey told her. “She says Paul didn’t work late that night after all.”

  “What about the people on the farm who died? The workers Paul had policies on.”

  “Could be they just died and Paul lucked out,” he said, though she knew he didn’t believe that. Even if he wanted to prosecute, there was nothing Jeffrey could do to find any evidence of foul play. The nine bodies had been cremated and their families— if they had any— had given up on them long ago.

  He told her, “Cole’s murder is the same story. There weren’t any prints but his on the coffee jar. Paul’s fingerprints were in the apartment, but so were everybody else’s.”

  “I think Cole got his own justice,” she said, aware that she was being harsh. In her years before Jeffrey, Sara had had the luxury of seeing the law in very black-and-white terms. She had trusted the courts to do their jobs, jurors to take their oaths seriously. Living with a cop had made her do a sharp about-face.

  “You did a good job,” she told him.

  “I’ll feel like that’s true when Paul Ward’s sitting on death row.”

  Sara would rather see the man live out the rest of his natural life behind bars, but she wasn’t about to start a death penalty discussion with Jeffrey. This was the one thing that he couldn’t change her mind on, no matter how hard he tried.

  They had reached the Linton house, and Sara saw her father kneeling in front of her mother’s white Buick. He was washing the car, using a toothbrush to clean out the spokes on the tire rims.

  “Hey, Daddy,” Sara said, kissing the top of his head.

  “Your mother was out at that farm,” Eddie grumbled, dipping the toothbrush into some soapy water. He was obviously bothered that Cathy had paid her old boyfriend a visit, but had decided to take it out on the car instead. “I told her to take my truck, but does she ever listen to me?”

  Sara was aware that as usual her father had not bothered to acknowledge Jeffrey’s presence. She said, “Daddy?”

  “Huh?” he grumbled.

  “I wanted to tell you . . .” She waited for him to look up. “Jeffrey and I are living together.”

  “No shit,” Eddie said, returning to the tire.

  “We’re thinking of getting another dog.”

  “Congratulations,” he answered, his tone far from celebratory.

  “And getting married,” she added.

  The toothbrush paused, and beside her, Jeffrey actually gasped.

  Eddie brushed at a speck of tar with the toothbrush. He looked up at Sara, then at Jeffrey. “Here,” he said, holding the toothbrush out to Jeffrey. “If you’re going to be part of this family again, you’ve got to take your share of responsibilities.”

  Sara took Billy’s leash from Jeffrey so that he could take off his jacket. He handed it to her, saying, “Thanks.”

  She gave him her sweetest smile. “My pleasure.”

  Jeffrey took the brush and knelt beside her father, going at the spokes in earnest.

  This obviously wasn’t good enough for Eddie. He instructed, “Put some elbow grease into it. My girls can do a better job than that.”

  Sara put her hand to her mouth so that they wouldn’t see her smile.

  She left them alone to either bond or kill each other, tying the dogs’ leashes around the railing on the front porch. Inside, there was a burst of laughter from the kitchen, and Sara walked down the hall, thinking that it felt like years had passed instead of six days since the last time she had made this trip.

  Cathy and Bella were almost in the exact place as before, Bella sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper, Cathy working at the stove.

  “What’s going on?” Sara asked, kissing her mother’s cheek as she stole a piece of bacon off the plate.

  “I’m leaving,” Bella told her. “This is my farewell breakfast.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sara answered. “I feel like I haven’t even seen you.”

  “Because you haven’t,” Bella pointed out. She waved off Sara’s apology. “You’ve been tied up with your work stuff.”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  “Atlanta,” Bella said, then gave her a wink. “Take a long nap before you come see me.”

  Sara rolled her eyes.

  “I mean it, sugar,” Bella told her. “Come see me.”

  “I might be a little busy for a while,” Sara began, not quite knowing how to deliver her news. She felt a foolish grin on her lips as she waited for their undivided attention.

  “What is it?” her mother asked.

  “I’ve decided to marry Jeffrey.”

  Cathy turned back to the stove, saying, “Well, that took long enough. It’s a wonder he still wants you.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Sara answered, wondering why she even bothered.

  “Don’t mind your mama, darling,” Bella said, rising from the table. She hugged Sara hard, saying, “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Sara responded in a pointed tone, mostly for her mother’s benefit. Cathy s
eemed oblivious.

  Bella folded the paper and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll leave y’all to talk,” she told them. “Don’t say anything bad about me unless I can hear it.”

  Sara watched her mother’s back, wondering why she wasn’t speaking. Finally, Sara couldn’t stand the silence, and said, “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

  “I’m happy for Jeffrey,” Cathy told her. “You took your own damn sweet time.”

  Sara folded Jeffrey’s jacket over the back of Bella’s chair and sat down. She was ready for a lecture on her own failings, so she was surprised at Cathy’s next words.

  “Bella told me you went to that church with your sister.”

  Sara wondered what else her aunt had told her mother. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You met Thomas Ward?”

  “Yes,” Sara repeated, dropping the ma’am. “He seems like a very nice man.”

  Cathy tapped her fork on the side of the skillet before turning around. She folded her arms over her chest. “Do you have a question to ask me, or would you rather take the cowardly route and filter it through your aunt Bella again?”

  Sara felt a flush work its way up her neck to her face. She hadn’t thought it through at the time, but her mother was right. Sara had mentioned her fears to Bella because she knew her aunt would take it back to her mother.

  She took a breath, screwing up her courage. “Was he the one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lev is . . .” Sara searched for the words, wishing she could do this through her aunt Bella. Her mother’s eyes pierced her like needles. “Lev has red hair.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Cathy asked sharply.

  “Well, ye—”

  “Did you go to medical school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you should know something about genetics.” Cathy was angrier than Sara had seen her mother in a long time. “Did you even stop to think how your father would feel if he thought you thought even for a minute—” She stopped, obviously trying to control her fury. “I told you at the time, Sara. I told you it was purely emotional. It was never physical.”