False Witness

by Karin Slaughter

  The lecture had seemed like overkill. Leigh had grown up in Lake Point, where the last wealthy white residents had drained the lake on their way out of town so that no black people could swim in it. The small, abandoned houses had been turned into crack dens. Gunshots could be heard at all hours. Leigh walked to school past a park where there were more broken syringes than children. During her previous two years of babysitting, no one had ever questioned her street smarts.

  Linda must’ve picked up on her bristling. She had quickly turned down the threat level. Apparently, the Waleskis had been plagued by irresponsible flakes. One sitter had abandoned Trevor, not even locking the door behind her. Another had stopped showing up. Another refused to answer her phone. Linda was mystified. So was Leigh.

  And then three hours after Linda had left for work, Buddy had come home.

  He’d looked at Leigh in a way that she had never been looked at before. Top to bottom. Appraising her. Sizing her up. Lingering on the shape of her lips, the two tiny bumps pressing against the front of her faded Def Leppard T-shirt.

  Buddy was so big, so looming, that his footsteps shook the house as he walked toward the bar. He had poured himself a drink. He had wiped his sloppy mouth with the back of his hand. When he spoke, his words fell all over each other, a cataclysm of sly questions buried in inappropriate compliments—How old are you dolly you can’t be more than thirteen right but damn you look like you’re already a full-grown woman I bet your daddy has to beat the boys off with a stick what’s that you don’t know your daddy that’s a shame baby girl a little thing like you needs a big tough guy to protect her.

  Initially, Leigh had thought he was giving her the third degree the same way Linda had but, looking back, she understood that he’d been testing the waters. In law enforcement circles, this was called grooming, and pedophiles followed the same relentlessly predictable playbook.

  Buddy had quizzed her on her interests, the subjects she enjoyed in school, joked with her about her seriousness, implied she was smarter than him, more interesting, led a more fascinating life. He wanted to hear all about her. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t like those old farts she had met before. Sure, he was an old fart, too, but he understood what kids were going through. He offered her some weed. She passed. He offered her a drink. She sipped something that tasted like cough syrup and silently pleaded with him to please, please mister, please just let her go home so she could study.

  Finally, Buddy had made a big deal about looking at the giant gold watch on his thick wrist. His mouth had dropped open dramatically—wow dolly, where did the time go I could talk to you all night but your mother must be waiting up for you right I bet she’s a real bitch about that always keeping track of you even though you’re practically an adult and you should get to make your own decisions right?

  Unthinking, Leigh had rolled her eyes because the only reason her mother would be up was to make sure Leigh handed over the cash she’d made for watching Trevor.

  Had Buddy picked up on the eye-roll? All Leigh knew was that everything had changed in that moment. Maybe he was putting together the information he’d gathered. No father. Useless mother. Not many friends at school. Not likely to tell.

  He’d started talking about how dark it was outside. How bad the neighborhood was. That maybe it was going to rain. Sure, Leigh lived a ten-minute walk away, but she was too beautiful to be out on her own at night. Tiny little thing like you some bad dude could scoop you up and hide you in his pocket and what about that a fucking tragedy because then Buddy would never be able to see her beautiful little face ever again did she want that to happen he would be heartbroken could she really do such an awful thing to him?

  Leigh had felt sick and guilty and shamed and, worst of all, trapped. She’d dreaded the possibility that he was going to insist she stay the night. But then Buddy had told her he would drive her home. She had been so relieved that she hadn’t argued, just grabbed up all her homework and shoved it into her backpack.

  The light changed, but Leigh was so lost in thought that it took a moment for her to register the green. Yet another car horn urged her on. She took the turn. Her movements felt robotic as she drove down a shady side street. There was no wind to rustle the trees, but she could hear the rush of air through her open window as she sped down the road.

  The Waleskis had a carport on the side of their house. The windows were already rolled down in Buddy’s yellow Corvette when they left by the kitchen door. The car was an older model. Rust rimmed the hood. The paint was faded. A permanent oil stain marked his space on the concrete. The interior had smelled like sweat and cigars and sawdust. He had made a big deal about opening the door for Leigh, flexing his biceps to show her how strong he was. Prince Charming at your service little madam just snap your fingers anytime and your ol’ pal Buddy will be there.

  Then he’d walked around to the driver’s side, and her first thought was that he was like a clown jamming himself into a toy car. Buddy was groaning and huffing as he wedged his hulking body behind the wheel. Shoulders hunched. Seat raked back. Leigh could remember watching his enormous hand wrap around the stick shift. The entire gear box had disappeared. He kept his bear paw there, tapping along to the song on the radio.

  Callie was haunted by the phantom bleating tone of the operator on the broken kitchen telephone. Leigh was haunted by Buddy’s creaky falsetto as he sang along with Hall & Oates’ “Kiss on My List.”

  They were two minutes into the trip when, in the dim orange light of the radio, Buddy’s hand wandered in her direction. He kept his eyes straight ahead, but his fingers tapped on her knee the same as they had on the shifter.

  I like this song do you like this song dolly I bet you do but I wonder have you ever kissed a boy do you know what that feels like?

  Leigh was paralyzed, trapped in the bucket seat, sweat melding her skin into the cracked leather. Buddy’s hand didn’t leave her knee as he slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. She recognized the Deguils’ house. She had babysat for their daughter, Heidi, a few times last summer. Their front porch light was on.

  That’s okay little girl don’t be scared your ol’ pal Buddy would never hurt you okay but Jesus your skin is so soft I can feel the peach fuzz you’re almost like a baby.

  He still hadn’t looked at her. His eyes stayed focused straight ahead. Tongue darting out between his lips. His sausage fingers tickled along her knee, dragging her skirt along with them. The weight of his hand on her leg was an anvil.

  Leigh gasped for breath. Her head swam as she felt herself spinning back into the present. Her heart was beating so hard in her throat that she pressed her hand to her chest to make sure it hadn’t dislodged itself. Her skin was clammy. She could still hear Buddy’s last words as she got out of the car—

  Let’s keep this between you and me how about that here’s some extra cash for tonight but promise me you won’t tell I don’t want your mama getting mad at you and punishing you so I can’t ever see you again.

  Leigh had told her mother about Buddy’s tickling fingers on her knee the second she’d walked through the door.

  Jesus Christ Harleigh you’re not a helpless baby just slap away his hand and tell him to fuck off when he tries it again.

  Of course Buddy had tried it again. But her mother had been right. Leigh had slapped away his hand and screamed at him to fuck off and that was the end of it. Damn dolly okay okay I get it no big deal but watch it tiger you’re gonna give some poor fella a run for his money someday.

  Afterward, Leigh had forgotten about the incident the way you forget about things that are too awful to remember, like the male teacher who kept talking about how Leigh’s breasts were developing so fast or the old man at the grocery store who told her she was turning into a real woman. Three years later, when Leigh had saved up enough to buy a car so she could drive to a better job at the mall, she had passed on the babysitting gig to a grateful Callie.

  The light turned green. Leigh’s foot
moved to the accelerator. Tears were streaming down her face. She started to wipe them away, but fucking Covid stopped her. She pulled a tissue from the pack and carefully dabbed underneath her eyes. Another sharp breath filled her lungs. She held on to the air until it hurt, then shushed it out between her teeth.

  Leigh had never told Callie about what had happened to her in the Corvette. She had never warned her baby sister to slap Buddy’s hand away. She had never told Buddy to leave Callie the fuck alone. She hadn’t warned Linda or anyone else because Leigh had pushed the awful memory so far down that by the time Buddy’s murder bubbled it all up, all she could do was drown in her own guilt.

  Her mouth opened for another breath. She felt disoriented again. Leigh looked around, trying to get her bearings. The Audi knew where it was going before she did. Left turn, coast a few yards, right turn into the strip-mall parking lot.

  Sergeant Nick Wexler’s squad car was backed into its usual lunchtime spot between a frame shop and a Jewish deli. The lot was only half-full. A distanced line led to the deli’s front door for take-out.

  Leigh took her time before getting out of the car. She freshened her make-up. Chewed a couple of breath mints. She put on her Fuck Me Red lipstick. Her notebook and a pen were retrieved from the pile. She turned past the notes on Andrew’s case and found a clean page. She wrote along the bottom of the paper. The Valium was doing the trick. Her hands had stopped shaking. She could no longer feel her own heartbeat.

  She tore off the bottom part of the page, folded it into a tight square, then tucked it into her bra strap.

  Nick was already watching her when she got out of the Audi. Leigh exaggerated the sway of her hips. Flexed her calves with every step. The walk bought her time to carousel through her personalities. Not vulnerable like she was with Walter. Not icy cold the way she’d been with Reggie Paltz. With Nick Wexler, Leigh was the kind of woman who could flirt with an Atlanta police sergeant while he was writing her up for speeding and end up fucking his face off three hours later.

  Nick wiped his mouth with his fingers as she got closer. Leigh smiled, but the corners of her lips curled up too much. That was the Valium. It made her a grinning idiot. She felt Nick’s eyes track her as she walked around the front of his squad car.

  The windows were down.

  Nick said, “Damn, Counselor. Where you been hiding yourself?”

  She waved at the detritus he kept on the passenger seat. “Move your shit out of my way.”

  Nick flipped up the dash-mounted laptop and used his arm to sweep everything else onto the floor. Leigh’s hand missed the door handle on the first try. Her vision clouded. She blinked the fog away, smiling at Nick as she pulled open the door. His navy Atlanta Police Department uniform was wrinkled from the heat. As sweaty as he smelled, Nick was an unabashedly sexy man. Bright white teeth. Thick, black hair. Deep blue eyes. Ropey strong arms.

  Leigh climbed into the squad car. Her heel slipped on his lunch bag. She hadn’t bothered with a mask. The Valium had made her loose, but her judgment wasn’t completely shot. Frontline workers had been eligible for the vaccine back in February. Leigh figured she was more likely to get syphilis from Nick Wexler than Covid.

  He said, “I hope you’re here to badger my witness.”

  Leigh stared out the dirty windshield. The line to the deli was inching forward. The grin tightened the muscles in her face. Her anxiety was simmering in an unreachable part of her brain. Andrew receded into the darkness along with it.

  “Hey.” Nick snapped his fingers. “You wanna share some of that shit you’re on?”

  “Valium.”

  “Rain check,” he said. “I’d settle for a handjob.”

  “Rain check,” she said. “Since when do you settle?”

  He chuckled with appreciation. “What brings you to my ride after all this time, Counselor? You up to something?”

  Conspiracy to commit murder. Improper disposal of a body. Lying to a law enforcement officer. Signing a false statement. Fleeing prosecution across state lines.

  She told him, “I need a favor.”

  He raised his eyebrows. They didn’t do favors. They were occasional fuckbuddies who would both be drummed out of their respective occupations if their dalliances got out. Cops and defense attorneys got along about as well as Churchill and Hitler.

  She said, “It’s not about a case.”

  He was clearly skeptical. “Oh-kay.”

  “Deadbeat client. I need to track her down so I can get paid.”

  “Are the Shylocks getting antsy at Buttfuck, Cunt & Motherfucker?”

  The silly grin picked at her mouth. “Something like that.”

  He was still dubious. “They make you chase down your own receivables?”

  “I’ll try somebody else.” Leigh reached for the door.

  “Hey-hey. Hold up, Counselor. Stay with me.” He was talking to her like a cop, but his hand gently rested on her shoulder. His thumb stroked her neck. “What’s the matter?”

  She shook off his hand. They didn’t soothe each other. Only Walter got that version of Leigh.

  Nick tried again, asking, “What’s wrong?”

  She hated his let me fix this tone, which was one of the reasons she hadn’t seen him in a while. “Do I look like something’s wrong with me?”

  He laughed. “Counselor, ninety-nine percent of the time I got no idea what the hell is going on in that gorgeous head of yours.”

  “You make up for it with the one percent.” She hadn’t meant to put the suggestive lilt in her tone. Or maybe she had. There was a certain amount of self-harm that came with what they were doing. Leigh fully appreciated that the risk was what kept bringing her back.

  Nick had never cared about her motivations. He let his eyes travel down her body to her legs. He was a man who knew how to look at a woman. Not the sleazy way that Buddy had sized up a thirteen-year-old. Not the casually sexist fuckable/not fuckable appraisal Reggie Paltz had given her in his office. The kind of look that said I know exactly where to touch you and for how long.

  Leigh bit her bottom lip.

  “Shit,” Nick said. “All right, what’s the client’s name?”

  She knew better than to show her eagerness. “Left bra strap.”

  His eyebrow shot back up. He checked to make sure no one was watching. His finger slipped inside her blouse. Her skin was sweaty from the heat. His finger traced along her collarbone, down to her breast. She could feel her breathing change as he found the piece of paper. He slowly slid it out between two fingers.

  He said, “It’s wet.”

  She smiled again.

  “Jesus Christ.” He pushed down his laptop. He peeled open the paper and laid it flat on his leg. He laughed when he read the name. “Let’s see what kind of trouble homegirl got herself into.”

  “Racial profile much?”

  He side-eyed her. “If I want someone to break my balls and not fuck me, I can go home to my wife.”

  “If I want to fuck somebody whose balls are breakable, I would go home to my husband.”

  He chuckled, typing into the keyboard with one finger.

  Leigh took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She shouldn’t have said that about Walter. This was the nasty side that Nick brought out in her. Or maybe Walter was the only man on earth who could bring out that tiny little bit of Leigh that was good.

  “Oh, damn.” Nick squinted at the screen. “Theft. Possession of a controlled substance. Trespassing. Vandalism. Controlled substance. Controlled substance. Jesus Christ, how is this bitch not in jail?”

  “She’s got a damn good lawyer.”

  Nick shook his head as he paged down the screen. “We work our asses off to make these cases and it goes to hell the second you cocksuckers show up.”

  “Yeah, but at least you get your cock sucked.”

  He gave her the look again. They both knew why she kept bringing this back to sex.

  Nick said, “I could get fired for looking this up for you.�
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  “Tell me when a cop ever got fired for anything.”

  He grinned. “Do you know how miserable desk duty is?”

  “Beats being shot in the back.” She could tell by his sharp look that she had pushed him too far. So she pushed him farther. “Are you worried at all that white people are starting to distrust the cops, too?”

  The sharp look got sharper, but he said, “Counselor, you better be glad your legs look so damn good today.”

  She watched him turn back to his computer. His finger slid across the track pad. “Here we go. Previous addresses—Lake Point, Riverdale, Jonesboro.”

  Not the northern corner of Iowa. Not on a farm. Not married. Not raising two kids.

  “Lady prefers your finer establishments.” Nick took the pen and spiral notebook from his breast pocket. “Two weeks ago, she was given a citation for jaywalking. She gave an address at a no-tell motel. She in the game?”

  Leigh shrugged.

  “The name doesn’t exactly set her up for success.” He laughed. “Calliope DeWinter.”

  “Callie-ope,” Leigh corrected, because their mother was too stupid to know how to pronounce it. “She goes by Callie.”

  “So she’s capable of making at least one good choice.”

  “It’s not about making good choices. It’s about having good choices.”

  “Sure.” Nick ripped the page out of his spiral notebook. He folded the address in half and held it between his two fingers. He didn’t try to slip it underneath her bra strap because he was a cop and he wasn’t stupid. “What do you make, Counselor, ten grand an hour?”

  “Something like that.”

  “And a low-level junkie prostitute pays for that how?”