Out in the hall, the metal door slammed shut. Moments later, Frank Wallace came into the room carrying a cardboard box. He was wearing a long trench coat and a pair of leather gloves. His hair was wet from the rain.
Will said, “Chief Wallace. It’s nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”
“You wanna tell me why you’ve got half my guys out chasing their tails in the pouring rain?”
“I assume you’ve heard that we found the crime scene where Allison Spooner was stabbed.”
“You test that blood yet? Could be an animal for all I know.”
Will told him, “Yes, I tested it on scene. It’s human blood.”
“All right, so he killed her in the woods.”
“It appears so.”
“I called off the search. You can bring in your own team if you wanna comb through six inches of mud.”
“That’s a very good idea, Chief Wallace. I think I will call in a team.”
Frank was obviously finished with Will. He dropped the box at Sara’s feet. “Here’s all the evidence we’ve got.” She held her breath until he backed away. He smelled rancid, a combination of mouthwash, sweat, and tobacco.
Will said, “I hope you don’t mind, Chief Wallace. I’ve got Detective Adams re-canvassing the neighborhood and checking with Allison’s teachers from school.”
“Do whatever you want,” Frank grunted. “I’m finished with her.”
“Is there a problem?”
“You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t.” Frank coughed into his gloved hand. Sara winced at the sound. “Lena screwed this whole thing up top to bottom. I’m not covering for her anymore. She’s a bad cop. Her work’s sloppy. She managed to get somebody killed.” He gave Sara a meaningful look. “Somebody else.”
She felt hot and cold at the same time. Frank was saying all the things that she wanted to hear—all the things she knew in her heart—but the words sounded dirty coming from his mouth. He was exploiting Jeffrey’s death, while Sara was trying to avenge it.
Will said, “Lena told me you spoke with Lionel Harris last night?”
Suddenly, Frank seemed nervous. “Lionel doesn’t know anything.”
“Still, he might have some personal information about Allison.”
“Lionel’s daddy raised him right. He knows better than to be sniffing around a little white girl from the college.”
Sara felt her mouth open in surprise.
Frank shrugged off her shock. “You know what I’m saying, Sweetpea. There’s not a lot that a sixty-three-year-old black man has in common with a twenty-one-year-old white girl. At least not if he knows what’s good for him.” He nodded toward Allison. “What did you find?”
Sara couldn’t find her voice to answer him.
Will provided, “Knife wound to the neck. There’s no definitive cause of death yet.”
Will caught Sara’s eye. She nodded her complicity, though she still felt shocked by what Frank had said. He had never talked this way around her parents. Eddie would have shown Frank the door if Cathy hadn’t beaten him to it. Sara wanted to chalk it up to his exhaustion. He certainly looked worse than he had the day before. Every item of clothing he wore, from his cheap suit to his trench coat, was wrinkled as if he had slept in it. His skin sagged off his face. His eyes glistened in the light. And he still hadn’t taken off his leather gloves.
Will broke the moment. “Chief Wallace, have you completed your report yet on the incident in the garage?”
Frank’s jaw clenched tighter. “I’m working on it.”
“Can you run it through for me now? Just the highlights. I’ll get the details when you turn in your report.”
Frank’s voice was gruff, making it clear he didn’t like being questioned. “Tommy was in the garage with a knife in his hand. We told him to put it down. He didn’t.”
Sara waited for more, but it was Will who prompted, “And then?”
Frank gave another sloppy shrug. “The kid panicked. He pushed Lena out of the way. I went to help her. He came toward me with the knife, cut my arm. Next thing I know, Tommy’s tearing down the driveway. Brad went after him. I told Lena to go, too.” He stopped. “She sure took her time.”
“She hesitated?”
“Lena usually runs the other way when there’s a fire.” He glanced at Sara, as if he expected her to agree. In Sara’s experience, the opposite was true. Lena stood as close to the fire as she could. It was the best vantage point from which to watch people burn.
Frank continued. “She trotted after them. Brad ended up being the one to pay for it.”
Will leaned against the counter, one hand resting on the edge. His interview style was certainly unusual. Put a beer in his hand and he could be talking football around a barbecue. “Did anyone discharge their weapon?”
“No.”
Will nodded slowly, drawing out his next question. “When you opened the garage door, did Tommy already have the knife in his hand?”
Frank leaned down and pulled an evidence bag out of the cardboard box. “This knife.”
Will didn’t take the bag, so Sara did. The hunting knife was serrated on one side and sharp on the other. The hilt was large. The blade was at least five inches long and an inch and a half wide. It was a miracle Brad was still alive. Without thinking, she blurted out, “This isn’t the knife that was used on Allison.”
Will took the weapon from Sara. He gave her a look that Tommy Braham had probably gotten every day of his life. He told Frank, “This looks new.”
Frank gave the knife a cursory glance. “So?”
“Was Tommy a knife enthusiast?”
Frank crossed his arms again. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead. Even with the colder temperature in the basement, he seemed to be burning up in the coat and gloves. “Obviously, he had at least two. Like the doc said. This isn’t the same one that was used on the girl.”
Sara would have melted into the floor if she had the power.
Will asked, “What made you suspect Tommy was involved in Allison’s murder? Other than the knife in his hand?”
“He was in her apartment.”
Will didn’t offer any information to the contrary, but Sara saw that he’d managed to get a question answered. If Lena had talked to Frank, then she hadn’t mentioned that Tommy lived in the garage, not Allison.
Frank’s patience had obviously run out. “Listen, son, I’ve been doing this a long time. There’s two reasons a man does this to a woman: sex and sex. Tommy already confessed. What’s the point of all this?”
Will smiled. “Dr. Linton, I know you haven’t done a full exam on Allison Spooner, but are there any signs of sexual assault?”
Sara was surprised to find herself back in the conversation. “Not that I can see.”
“Were her clothes torn?”
“There was a tear in the knee of her jeans where she fell. Her jacket was cut by the knife.”
“Are there any other significant wounds except for the one in her neck?”
“Not that I’ve found.”
“So, Tommy wanted to have sex with Allison. She told him no. He didn’t tear her clothes. He didn’t try to force her anyway. He puts her on his scooter and takes her out to the lake. He stabs her once in the neck. And then he dumps her in the lake with the chains and cinder blocks, writes a fake suicide note, and goes back to clean up her apartment. Is that about right, Chief Wallace?”
Frank lifted his chin. Hostility radiated off him like heat from a fire.
Will said, “The note is what’s bothering me. Why not just dump her in the lake and leave it at that? It’s doubtful anyone would have found her. The lake is pretty deep, right?” He looked at Sara when Frank did not answer. “Right?”
She nodded. “Right.”
Will seemed to be waiting for an answer from Frank that wasn’t going to come. Sara waited for him to ask about the 911 call, the boyfriend. Will didn’t. He just kept leaning against the counter, wa
iting for Frank to say something. For his part, Frank seemed to be scrambling for an explanation.
He finally came up with “The kid was retarded. Right, Doc?”
Sara told him, “I wish you wouldn’t use that word. He—”
“It is what it is,” Frank interrupted. “Tommy was stupid. You can’t reason with stupid. He stabbed her once? So what. He left a note? So what. He was retarded.”
Will let Frank’s words hang for a few seconds. “You knew Allison, right? From the diner?”
“I seen her around.”
“Have you found her car yet?”
“No.”
Will smiled. “Did you process Tommy’s car?”
“I hate to break the news to you, Einstein, but the retard confessed. End of story.” He looked at his watch. “I can’t stick around jerking you off for the rest of the day. I just wanted to make sure you had all the evidence.” He nodded to Sara. “You can reach me on my cell if you need me. I gotta get back to Brad.”
Will didn’t protest the abrupt departure. “Thank you, Chief. I appreciate your cooperation.”
Frank couldn’t figure out if he was being sarcastic or not. He ignored the comment, telling Sara, “I’ll let you know about Brad,” before stomping out of the room.
Sara wasn’t sure what to say. Will had let all the important questions go unanswered. Jeffrey’s style of interviewing had been much more aggressive. Once he had Frank on the ropes, he would’ve never let the man walk out of the room. She turned to Will. He was still leaning against the counter.
She wasn’t going to ignore the hundredth elephant that had just walked into the room. “Why didn’t you ask Frank about the boyfriend?”
He shrugged. “An answer doesn’t really matter if it’s a lie.”
“I admit he was being an ass, but he was also being forthcoming.” She snapped off her gloves and tossed them into the trashcan. “Did it occur to you that he has no idea Lena’s been doctoring all this evidence?”
Will scratched his jaw. “I’ve found that people tend to hide things for different reasons. They don’t want someone else to look bad. They think they’re doing the right thing, but they’re really not. They’re actually hindering an investigation.”
Sara had no idea where this was going. “I’ve known Frank for a long time. Despite that stupid, ignorant thing he said about Lionel, he’s not a bad man.”
“Sweetpea.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know it seems like I’m too close—”
“Those were nice gloves he was wearing.”
Sara found herself holding her breath. “I walked right into that, didn’t I?”
“Tommy took a beating.”
She sighed. Sara’s instinct had been to protect Frank. She’d never considered that Will would see this for what it was—hiding evidence. “Frank’s hand was cut up pretty badly. They must’ve sutured him at the hospital.”
“I don’t imagine they asked very many questions.”
“Probably not.” Even at Grady, cops were given a free pass on suspicious injuries.
“How dangerous is a gunshot wound if it grazes your hand?”
“Who was shot?”
Will didn’t answer. “Let’s say your hand was grazed. You didn’t get medical attention. You had a first aid kit to clean it out yourself, then you slapped some Band-Aids on it. What are the chances of getting an infection?”
“Extremely high.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“It depends on the type of infection, whether or not it gets into the bloodstream. You could be looking at anything from fever and chills to organ failure and brain damage.” She repeated her question. “Who was shot?”
“Lena.” Will held up his hand and pointed to the palm. “Here on the side.”
Sara felt her heart sink, though not for Lena. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. “Frank shot her?”
He shrugged. “It’s likely. Did you see the cut on his arm?”
She shook her head again.
“I think he ripped it open on some metal that was sticking out of the garage door.”
Sara put her hand on the counter, needing the support. Frank had stood right in front of her and said that Tommy had cut him with the knife. “Why would he lie about that?”
“He’s an alcoholic, right?”
She shook her head, but this time it was more from her own confusion. “He never drank on the job before. At least not that I ever saw.”
“And now?”
“He was drinking yesterday. I don’t know how much, but I smelled it on him when I got to the station. I just assumed that he was shaken up because of Brad. That generation …” She let her voice trail off. “I guess I glossed it over because Frank’s from a time when it was all right to take a couple of drinks during the middle of the day. My husband would’ve never tolerated it. Not while Frank was on duty.”
“A lot has changed since he died, Sara.” Will’s voice was gentle. “This isn’t Jeffrey’s police force anymore. He’s not here to keep them in line.”
She felt tears come to her eyes. Sara wiped them away, laughing at herself. “God, Will. Why am I always crying around you?”
“I’m hoping it’s not my aftershave.”
She laughed halfheartedly. “What now?”
Will knelt down and started rummaging through the box of evidence. “Frank knows Allison has a car. Lena didn’t. Lena knows Allison didn’t live in the garage. Frank doesn’t.” He found a woman’s wallet and opened the clasp. “It’s odd that they’re not working together on this.”
“Frank made it clear he’s finished with her. My personal vendetta aside, he has ample reason to cut her loose.”
“I gather they’ve been through a lot. Why cut her off now?”
Sara couldn’t think of an answer. Will was right. Lena had done a lot of things in her career that Frank had covered for. “Maybe this is just the last straw. Tommy is dead. Brad was badly injured.”
“I talked to Faith on the ride over. There’s no Julie Smith that she can find. The cell phone number you gave me was for a throwaway purchased at a Radio Shack in Cooperstown.”
“That’s about forty-five minutes away.”
“Tommy and Allison must’ve had throwaways, too. Neither one has a record of a phone. We’ll need their numbers before we can track back where the phones were purchased, but that’s not going to make much of a difference, I think.” He held up the knife Frank had given them. “This doesn’t appear to have blood on it. Would they clean it during surgery?”
“They’d throw iodine on it, but they wouldn’t clean it like this.” She studied the weapon. “You’d expect blood around the hilt.”
“You would,” he agreed. “I’m going to have the local field agent do a lab run for me. Can I leave some samples here so he can take everything when you’re done?”
“Nick Shelton?”
“You know him?”
“He worked with my husband all the time.” She offered, “I’ll call him when I’m finished.”
Will held up the suicide note and stared at the words. “I don’t understand this.”
“It says ‘I want it over.’”
He gave her a sharp look. “Thank you, Sara. I know what it says. What I don’t understand is who wrote it.”
“The killer?” she tried.
“Possibly.” Will sat back on his heel, staring at the line of text that ran along the top section of the paper. “I’m thinking there’s two people out there—the killer and the 911 caller. The killer did his thing with Allison, and the caller is trying to get him in trouble for it. And then Julie Smith was trying to get Tommy off the hook by enlisting your help.”
“It sounds a lot like you’ve taken him off your list of suspects.”
“I thought you didn’t like to make assumptions.”
“I’m fine when other people do it.”
Will chuckled, but he kept his gaze on the note. “If the killer wro
te this, who’s he telling he wants it over?”
She knelt down to look over his shoulder. “The handwriting doesn’t look like Tommy’s.” She pointed to the “I” at the beginning of the sentence. “See this? In Tommy’s confession, he used a formal capital with—” Sara realized how useless her words were to him. “Okay, think about it this way: if the first stroke of the ‘I’ is like a stem, and there are branches … Well, not branches, more like bars …” She let her voice trail off. Trouble visualizing the shape of letters was at the core of his language problem.
“It’s frustrating,” Will agreed. “If only he had written something easier. Like a smiley face.”
Sara was saved a response by Will’s phone ringing.
“Will Trent.” He listened for at least a solid minute before saying, “No. Keep canvassing. Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He closed the phone. “This day just keeps getting worse.”
“What’s wrong?”
“That was Lena. We’ve got another dead body.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WILL FOLLOWED SARA IN HIS CAR AS SHE DROVE TO THE campus. He was starting to recognize landmarks, houses with fences and play sets that were familiar enough for him to remember the turns. The campus was new territory, and like most schools, it seemed to follow no particular design. Buildings had been added on when the money was there to construct them. Consequently, the campus sprawled over several acres like a hand with too many fingers.
He had spent all morning with Lena Adams, and he thought he could read her mood by now. Her tone on the telephone had been strained. She was getting to the breaking point. Will wanted to press her a little harder but there was no way he could have Lena meet him at the crime scene right now. Sara had made it obvious that she wasn’t going to be in the same room with the woman she believed killed her husband. Right now, Will needed Sara’s forensic eye more than he needed Lena’s confession.
He dialed Faith’s number as he steered his car around the curve of the lake. Will saw the boathouse Lena had pointed out to him earlier. Canoes and kayaks were stacked up against the building.
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