A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege

by Karin Slaughter

  'Sorry.' The clerk pointed to a sign behind him that said, 'In God we trust. All others pay cash.'

  'Right.' Fortunately, Jeffrey had dropped by a cash machine before heading out of Grant County yesterday afternoon. He pointed to the first-aid packets behind the clerk. 'Give me a couple packs of those aspirin, too.'

  'Thirty-eight fifty-three,' the clerk told him, tossing the aspirin on the counter and taking the bills Jeffrey handed him. 'Bad day?'

  Jeffrey ripped open the pack with his teeth. 'What do you think?'

  The clerk bristled. 'No need to take it out on me, buddy.' He rang the sale and handed Jeffrey the change. 'You take care, now.'

  'You, too,' Jeffrey managed, ducking past the cowbell as he left the store.

  In the car, Sara kept her own counsel. Jeffrey pulled back onto the road and followed the signs back to the highway.

  The sun was finally setting as he managed to get to the interstate. The aspirin hadn't even touched his headache. Sara must have been exhausted. By the time they crossed into Elawah County, her head was tilted to her shoulder, and she was making that soft, clicking noise she always made when she slept.

  Jeffrey took the unopened bottle of water she'd bought him at the rest stop and drank it down. There was some wisdom to the adage that you should be careful what you wish for. This morning, he'd been thinking it would be nice to see a flash of Sara's anger. Now, all that he could think was that it was a hell of a lot easier to love her when she was sleeping.

  The sign outside the motel was barely doing its job when he pulled into the space in front of their room. Only seven letters were left to illuminate the entire parking lot. Jeffrey cut the engine as he surveyed their surroundings. A black Dodge Ram was parked a few spaces down from him. The flickering light in the hotel office told him that the manager was watching television. When Jeffrey had checked in, the boy had glanced up from the set with glassy eyes, so bored he could barely manage to blink. Jeffrey imagined there were worse jobs you could have. Working a convenience store where your biggest thrill came from whacking strangers in the head with a cowbell came to mind.

  Jeffrey reached over and gently shook Sara awake. She squinted at the hotel, confused for a moment, then sat up, obviously remembering soon enough where they were and what had happened.

  He couldn't keep himself from asking, 'You okay?'

  She nodded, opening the door, getting out of the car.

  Jeffrey followed suit, stretching his back as he stood. His hand went to his holster when he heard a noise behind him.

  'Sorry about that.' Jake Valentine came out of the shadows, an open beer bottle in one hand, a small cooler in the other. He startled when he saw Jeffrey. 'Something happen?'

  'Just went for a drive,' was the best that Jeffrey could come up with.

  Sara walked toward the motel room, offering, 'I'll leave you two alone.'

  'Uh, ma'am?' Valentine stopped her. 'I just wanted to say I'm real sorry for what I said last night. Heat of the moment and all. I should've just held my tongue. I didn't mean what I said.'

  She nodded. 'Thank you for apologizing.'

  If Valentine had been expecting a more grateful response, he was talking to the wrong woman. Jeffrey unlocked the door for her. Sara reached down and wrapped her hand around his wrist, letting it rest there for a few seconds. He felt pathetically grateful for the gesture and gave her the room key because it seemed like a symbolic thing to do. She smiled at him – genuinely smiled – and he felt the band that had been squeezing his chest for the last four hours loosen some more.

  'Only be a minute,' Valentine said, as if he was worried Jeffrey would follow Sara into the room.

  Jeffrey was tempted, but as the door clicked shut, he asked Valentine, 'What's going on, Jake? You find Lena?'

  Valentine chuckled as he put the cooler on the ground and pulled out a fresh beer. Jeffrey saw four empties tucked into what was left of the ice. 'Brought you one of these. Peace offering.'

  'Thanks,' Jeffrey said, holding the cold bottle against his head. He'd driven at least ten hours today on about two hours of sleep. His muscles ached, his head throbbed and the last thing he wanted to be doing right now was talking to Jake Valentine.

  Still, he walked toward the front of the motel, seeing if the sheriff would follow. The man obviously wanted something, and Jeffrey was going to make it as difficult as possible for the sheriff to ask for his favor. He could consider it payback for their little do-si-do in the linen closet last night.

  A long tunnel ran behind the front office of the motel, giving access to either side. Jeffrey wasn't really hungry, but he knew he should try to eat something. He asked Valentine, 'You got any money?'

  Valentine pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket. Jeffrey took what he needed and fed it into the machine. He stared at the candy bars and crackers, trying to decide which was less likely to give him indigestion. He settled on SunChips and made the selection.

  'I like those, too,' Valentine offered.

  Jeffrey held out the bag. 'You want some?' Valentine shook his head and Jeffrey took a seat on one of the wooden benches opposite the vending machines. He ripped the bag open with his teeth and ate a few chips. They were stale.

  Valentine just stood there watching him, obviously not knowing what to do. He looked even younger out of his uniform, his spaghetti build punctuated by the high-waisted jeans and overlarge polo shirt. The Georgia Bulldog red ball cap he was wearing wasn't helping much, either. It sat tilted slightly to the side on his narrow head. Even with the noticeable bulge from his ankle holster, he looked like a starter for the varsity basketball team.

  If Jake Valentine was the secret drug kingpin of Elawah County, he was sure hiding it well.

  'Nice night,' Valentine murmured. 'You and the wife out for a drive?'

  Jeffrey opened the bottle with a twist, ignoring the pain shooting through his hand. He hated beer, but his head was hurting so bad he would've drunk poison to make it stop pounding.

  Valentine said, 'All jokes aside, still no sign of your detective.'

  Jeffrey wasn't surprised. Short of Lena knocking on the front door of the jail and asking to be let in, he doubted very seriously that she would be found. Jeffrey had asked Frank Wallace to keep an eye on her credit cards, but Jeffrey assumed nothing had come up or Frank would've called. He also asked the senior detective to keep an eye out in Heartsdale, but both men had agreed that it was highly unlikely Lena would show back up in Grant County.

  Jeffrey stared at the abandoned building on the other side of the motel, a tin-roofed hovel that some enterprising soul had painted to look like a grass shack.

  'Hank's place,' Valentine volunteered, nodding toward the building. 'Bartender was selling meth from behind the counter. ATF said a secret informer tipped 'em off. Told me this after the fact, mind you. First I heard about it was Junior, the night manager here, calling to ask me did I know Hank's bar was surrounded by sixty state police cars.'

  Jeffrey took another swig from the bottle. He could hear the trickle of a stream, the swaying of trees in the forest that backed onto the hotel and bar. He wanted to be home, floating on his back in the lake, the sound of Sara and her sister's laughter muffled by the cool water. He wanted to be in bed, lying on his back, with Sara's mouth on him.

  Valentine cut through his thoughts. 'I'm guessing you already knew about Hank's bar,' he said. 'Just like I'm guessing you're the one who cut the ATF tape on the back door.'

  'Good guess,' Jeffrey said, though he had a feeling Lena had done the honors. So, she was looking for something. The cut tape was like a fingerprint. All it told you was that someone had been there. It didn't tell you when or why. Maybe she had gone there for money. Maybe she had been there last night while Jeffrey and Sara tried to sleep.

  'Anyway ...' Valentine stubbed his toe against the asphalt. 'I was in the neighborhood and figured I'd just ...'

  Jeffrey gave a heavy sigh as he stood from the bench, too tired to let this play out sl
ow. 'I take it from the empty bottles in your cooler that you've been here a while. You're not in uniform, so you're trying to look like you're off duty, but the fact that a three-year-old could spot that ankle holster tells me you've either been watching too much TV or you've got something to be afraid of. My bet's on the last one.'

  Valentine chuckled, but Jeffrey could tell the younger man was shaken. He looked out at the parking lot, took a long pull from his beer.

  Jeffrey tossed the empty SunChips bag into the trash. 'Tell me about Al Pfeiffer.'

  'Al retired.'

  'Why?'

  'Wanted to spend more time with his grandbabies.'

  'And less time on fire?'

  Valentine's eyes narrowed. 'Why're you interested in that old man?'

  Jeffrey took a healthy mouthful of beer, trying not to shudder from the bitter taste. Not only did Valentine look like a teenager, he had the tastes of one. Jeffrey would've bet his pension the kid hadn't paid more than three bucks for the six-pack.

  'Lookit,' Valentine said. 'I just wanted to let you know we've got the coroner coming in tomorrow.'

  Finally, the reason for his visit. 'That so?'

  'He's gonna look at the body from the Escalade, let us know what he thinks happened.'

  'Sounds like a good plan.'

  'You mentioned before about your wife ...' Valentine's voice trailed off. When he saw that Jeffrey wasn't going to help him, he added, 'It just sounded to me like she's got a lot of experience.'

  Jeffrey could not believe what he was hearing. 'She does.'

  'I'd be real grateful if you could have her come over, maybe look at the body, tell us what she sees.'

  Jeffrey tried to see the angles, to figure out why Valentine would make such a request. Nothing came to mind, and the beer wasn't helping. 'I thought you said your guy was good.'

  'Oh, he is, but something like this ... look, we'd pay her. We've still got some money left in the budget. Just tell me what her rate is.'

  Jeffrey knocked back the rest of the beer and immediately wished he had another, then he thought of his father and wished he hadn't drunk anything at all.

  Valentine took his silence the wrong way. 'I can get cash if—'

  'Are they paying you off?'

  'What's that?'

  Jeffrey pressed his empty bottle into the man's chest. 'Something's going on in your town and you're either a part of it or you're taking money to look the other way.'

  Valentine gave a forced laugh. 'You sure those are my only options?'

  Jeffrey warned him, 'Listen, Barney Fife, I'm going to find out what's going on here one way or another, and I don't care whose toes I have to step on to do it.'

  'You gonna punch me again?'

  Jeffrey thought back to Sara slapping him, how powerless she must have felt locked in the car. 'I might.'

  Valentine leaned down to put Jeffrey's bottle in the cooler. When he straightened, he gave Jeffrey a lazy, half-smile like they were old friends. 'You should come to my house for supper sometime.'

  Jeffrey walked back down the tunnel toward the parking lot. 'Why would I want to do that?'

  Valentine matched his stride. 'I'll show you around, point out the little projects I've been working on.' He flashed his goofy grin. 'I'm a lot handier than I look.'

  'You going somewhere with this?'

  'We're trying to build a deck out back. Every payday, we buy a couple of pieces of cedar for it. The wife figures it'll take a year before we've got everything we need, but we're real patient people. We're not like some folks who can just throw money around, raising mansions out of swampland. We just take our time and do it the right way.'

  He was talking about Al Pfeiffer. Jeffrey wondered if Valentine knew his old boss had been paid a visit today. Pfeiffer probably still had ties to the community, maybe came back to see friends. People would know where he was living. They would keep in touch.

  Jeffrey was in front of the room. He pointed to the door. 'This is my stop.'

  Valentine tipped his hat. 'You enjoy your evening, Chief. Let me know what your wife says.'

  Jeffrey watched the man put the cooler in the passenger seat of his black truck, then walk around to the driver's side. He opened the door and tossed Jeffrey a wave before getting in. Once the truck pulled away, Jeffrey could see the desk clerk peering out the window. He felt the kid's eyes on him as he knocked on the door.

  Sara wasn't exactly smiling when she opened the door, but she hadn't called him a stupid asshole in at least four hours, so maybe his luck had turned.

  The room was as dank as it was depressing; exactly as Jeffrey had remembered it from the night before. Sara had already removed the dark, multi-patterned coverlet off the bed. He wondered how much DNA had been transferred in the process.

  She asked, 'What did our new best friend want?'

  'For you to do the autopsy on the body.'

  'Why would he want that?'

  'Good question,' he replied, sitting on the bed. He thought better of it and lay down on his side, bunching the pillows up under his head, kicking off his shoes. 'Add that to the long list of things I don't know.'

  She walked to the door and checked the lock, then turned out the lights. In the dark, the mattress shifted as she got into bed. Like Jeffrey, she didn't bother to take off her clothes. He waited for her to curl up beside him, but she didn't.

  Sara had once told him that even when they were divorced, she'd still had nightmares about getting a phone call in the middle of the night. It was something even cops couldn't joke about, that fateful call that told your wife or girlfriend or lover that your number had finally come up. Some coked-out idiot or stupid drunk had pulled a knife, squeezed the trigger, and there was nothing your loved ones could do but pick up the phone, wait for the words.

  She must have been thinking about that today when Al Pfeiffer pulled the trigger. She must have been terrified that she was going to be trapped in the car, unable to help him, watching him die.

  'Jeff?' He wasn't sure what he expected Sara to say to him, but as usual, she managed to come up with something he could have never anticipated. 'I was thinking about fixing the patio – maybe replacing some of those broken stones, making the wall a little higher so people can sit on it without their knees going up around their ears.' She paused. 'What do you think?'

  He rolled over onto his back. A thin stream of light was coming in through the curtains and he could just make out her profile. 'I think the last time you messed with concrete, we had to borrow your dad's jackhammer.'

  'The bag said it was self-leveling.'

  He smiled at the familiar excuse.

  'I want to do the autopsy.'

  Jeffrey didn't know what to say. His initial response was to say no, but that was only because Jake Valentine had asked her to do it. 'I don't know that it'll get us out of here any sooner.'

  Her silence told him she wasn't going to be easily swayed. Jeffrey tried to frame his next words carefully, offering, 'I can ask Frank to drive down here and pick you up after you're finished.'

  'No,' she told him. 'I'm not going to leave you.'

  'What if I want you to?'

  The phone started to ring before she could answer. Jeffrey leaned over her and picked up the receiver.

  'Hello?'

  'Why are you still there?'

  Jeffrey sat up so fast that he jerked the phone off the bedside table. 'Lena?'

  'You can't be there,' she said, her voice a raspy whisper. 'Why are you still there?'

  'Where are you?' he asked. 'Let me come get you.'

  She started crying, sobs choking her words. 'Why ...?' she cried. 'Why didn't they kill me instead?'

  'Who?' he demanded, confused. 'Who are you talking about?'

  'Just go,' she begged. 'You have to go before they—'

  'Who's they, Lena? Who's after you?' All he heard was the staccato of her breath. 'Lena?' He pressed the phone to his ear. 'Lena? Are you there? Where are you? Let me come get you.'


  The line went dead.

  WEDNESDAY MORNING

  NINE

  Sara used her thumb to trace the pattern of dried blood on the BMW's steering wheel as she followed Jake Valentine's cruiser through downtown Reece. Shock or trauma or a combination of the two had managed to knock her out last night. She had slept more deeply than she had in months. Had Jake Valentine not banged on their door at seven-thirty this morning, she would probably still be in bed.

  Up ahead in Valentine's car, she could see Jeffrey having an animated conversation with the sheriff. Sara hoped to God he was managing to get some information out of the man. Common sense told her this would not be the case. Jeffrey hadn't told Valentine about Lena's phone call last night because he knew the man would trace the number. For his part, Valentine wasn't offering any updates on the manhunt. This morning, when he'd seen the cuts on Jeffrey's face and hands in the daylight, all he'd said was, 'Hate to see the other guy.'

  Sara hadn't even noticed until then how badly he'd been hurt. She had always taken care of Jeffrey's body. Over the years, she had disinfected his cuts, rubbed arnica gel into his bruises, bandaged sprained ankles and broken fingers. After impromptu football games, she had iced his knee so he could walk the next morning. Hours he spent fixing things around the house were rewarded with long back rubs and whatever else she could think of to help him relax. Even after the divorce, when Sara couldn't stand to be in the same room with him, she had rushed to the hospital when a stray round of buckshot had lodged in his leg.

  She hadn't seen him cut open his hand yesterday. She had seen the shotgun being fired into the air, then the second warning shot, close enough to stop her heart beating in her chest. She had watched Jeffrey lurch forward, sliding on the gravel, but she hadn't thought to check him out, to look for cuts and abrasions. All she'd been able to focus on was the absolute terror she'd felt each time Al Pfeiffer pulled the trigger, and her white-hot fury when Jeffrey had slowed the car afterward.

  His foot had come off the pedal. Sara had thought something was wrong with the car. She had looked down, panicked, to see what was wrong, and seen exactly why the car had slowed almost to a full stop. She had looked at Jeffrey then, the way his mouth twisted up at the corner as Al Pfeiffer gave him that look. God, that look. Sara had wanted to slap it off his face. They were just like a couple of boys on the playground seeing who could kick the most dirt in the other's face before a teacher came along. Lena was the same way – she didn't have a dick to swing around, but she could certainly kick up dirt with the best of them.