A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege

by Karin Slaughter

'My pleasure.' The sheriff pushed open the door with a flourish.

  Sara watched them through the glass door. The mist had turned into a spitting rain, but neither man seemed to care. Jeffrey stood on the curb while Valentine walked into the lot for yet another look at Sara's car. She felt shame mixing with anger that he was so focused on the damn thing. If the sheriff thought Jeffrey was on the take, he was more than welcome to look at their tax returns.

  Behind her, the steel door slammed closed. Don Cook had made his exit. Lena and Sara were alone. Immediately, the walls felt as if they were closing in.

  Lena's tone was clipped, cutting. 'You need to get Jeffrey out of here right now.'

  That's not going to be a problem,' Sara returned, watching her stubborn husband standing out in the rain. 'Jeffrey's going to see Ethan.'

  'You can't let him do that.'

  Sara laughed, incredulous. 'I don't know if you remember your little tirade in the hospital a few days ago, Lena, but the best way to get Jeffrey to do something is to tell him not to do it. It helps if you make threats.'

  Lena muttered something under her breath.

  Sara heard plenty, but still, she demanded, 'What was that?'

  'Nothing.'

  'If you're going to try to mumble, you shouldn't do it so clearly.'

  Lena walked toward her, stopping a few feet away. 'I said he's so pussy whipped he can't see straight,' she repeated. 'You need to get him the fuck out of here. Now.'

  'How do you propose I do that?'

  'Just tell him that he has to leave.'

  Sara shook her head. 'God, you're so stupid about people.'

  'You think insulting me is gonna fix this?'

  'Fix what?' Sara demanded. 'Fix the woman who was burned alive? Fix the man who was stabbed in the back? Fix the fact that your uncle is at death's door?'

  Lena pressed her lips together, stared all her hate into Sara.

  'Save the theatrics. I get that same look at the clinic every time I give a toddler a shot.' Sara put her hands on her hips. 'Tell me, Lena, was Charlotte Gibson your friend?'

  Lena kept glaring, but Sara could see the other woman's resolve was breaking.

  'Was she?'

  'Yes,' she finally answered. 'If she was your friend, then I fear for your enemies.'

  Lena finally looked away, her tone softening. 'I'm trying to protect both of you. I need a day – just a day. Take me at my word and get out of town.'

  'You've dragged us down here and gotten us mixed up in this ... this ... shit – for lack of a better word – and you think that a simple, "because I said so," is going to end it?' Sara looked back at the parking lot, saw that Valentine and Jeffrey were walking toward the door. 'Is Ethan mixed up in any of this?'

  Lena stared at Sara as if trying to divine the best response to get her way.

  'Quickly,' Sara snapped. Valentine was a few feet from the glass door, Jeffrey behind him. 'Is Ethan involved in this?'

  'I don't know.' Lena shook her head and shrugged at the same time. 'Probably not. I don't know.'

  'What will happen if Jeffrey goes to see him? What will change? Will it make anything better or worse?'

  'I don't—'

  Valentine opened the door. Jeffrey followed him inside.

  Lena didn't waste her time. She told Jeffrey, 'Stay away from Ethan.'

  He looked at Sara first, as if trying to decide which team she was on. Sara copied Lena's earlier gesture, shaking her head and shrugging. Maybe Lena wasn't so stupid about people after all. Of course, Sara had basically drawn her a map: the best way to make Jeffrey do something was to tell him not to do it. If Lena wanted him out of town so badly, the trip to Coastal State Prison would eat up the entire day.

  Lena told him, 'Ethan has nothing to do with any of this.'

  He gave her that cocky smile that Sara despised. 'That so?'

  'I'm taking care of things,' Lena told him. 'Just leave, Jeffrey. This is none of your business.'

  He was still smiling, but his tone was a warning. 'Are you my boss now, Lena? Is that how it works when you've got a big-gun drug lawyer pulling your strings?'

  Lena looked at the floor. Sara tried to change Jeffrey's focus, asking the sheriff, 'Is Lena's car still at the impound lot?'

  Valentine nodded.

  'Do you mind driving us there to pick it up?'

  Valentine was obviously surprised by the request. 'I was ... uh ...'

  Lena interrupted, 'I left Hank's car at his house this morning. We can take that. It's closer.'

  Sara didn't wait for Valentine to come up with an excuse. She told Jeffrey, 'Lena and I will take Hank's car to the hospital. You can pick me up there when you're finished.'

  Jeffrey's jaw worked. He nodded toward the door and Sara followed him outside. The mist was back, lending a solemn mood. Silently, he walked to the car. Her cell phone was in the glove box. He powered it on, staring at the screen as he told her, 'It'll take me a few hours to get there, probably another hour to fill out all the paperwork.' He handed her the phone. 'I'll call you when I'm on my way back, all right?'

  Jeffrey wasn't one for public displays, but he kissed her cheek, then her mouth. She grabbed him by his collar, pressed her face in his neck.

  He said, 'I don't know what's going on between you and Lena, but promise me that y'all are going straight to the hospital.' She nodded, but that wasn't enough. He tilted her face up to his. 'You're going to be the mother of my child, Sara. Promise me that you're going to keep yourself safe.'

  'I promise,' she told him. 'We'll go straight to the hospital. I'll be there until you come to get me.'

  He kissed her again before letting go. 'It's going to be fine, okay?' He walked around to the driver's side of the car. 'I'll see you in a few hours. We'll be home tonight.'

  Sara watched him get into the car, remembering that morning six months ago when he'd left her standing in her parents' driveway. Lena had called minutes earlier and he was off to arrest Ethan Green on a gun violation. Now, standing outside the jail, Sara felt the same dread welling inside of her – the same uncontrollable fear that hovered like a dark shadow over her heart every time she found herself thinking about the misery of her life without Jeffrey.

  As he reversed into the street, Sara prayed to God that this time would have the same ending. That tonight – just like that night – she would curl up in bed beside him and listen to the steady cadence of his breath as he fell asleep.

  Sara and Lena rode in the back of Jake Valentine's squad car. He had offered the front seat, but Lena had said no and frankly, Sara did not want to sit by the man. What little respect she'd had for Valentine in the beginning was more than cancelled out by his relinquishing his badge over the threatening letter. The irony was not lost on Sara that, had she been in Myra Valentine's shoes, she would have begged her husband to quit. Sara wondered if there would ever come a day when she would not worry about the fact that Jeffrey was good at his job.

  Probably the night of his retirement party.

  The brakes squeaked as Valentine pulled to a stop in front of Hank's house. Sara frowned at the Mercedes in the driveway. The car looked older than Lena.

  Valentine got out of the cruiser. He opened Lena's door, then walked around to get Sara's. He seemed relieved to be leaving the job and getting on with his life. She wondered what Jeffrey had said to him out in the parking lot.

  The rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast. Lena stared at her uncle's house, asking, 'Why are all the lights on?'

  'What's that?' Valentine asked.

  'The lights are on,' Lena said, an edge to her voice. 'I didn't see them on this morning.'

  Sara wondered why it mattered. She asked, 'Are you sure?'

  'Yes,' she said, then, 'No. I don't remember.' She stared back at the house. 'Hank wouldn't want all the lights left on like that.'

  'He's barely coherent,' Sara reminded her. 'I'm sure his electric bill is the last thing on his mind.'

  Lena started up the front walk. '
I'm going to check.'

  'Hold on, lady.' Valentine trotted up ahead of her, hand on his gun so it wouldn't slap his leg. 'Let me just run in there and check things out, okay?'

  Lena didn't wait with Sara. Instead, she walked around Hank's Mercedes, looking inside the windows, checking underneath, an air of paranoia surrounding her every move.

  Sara followed her, asking, 'What's going on?'

  'We had a deal,' Lena said, almost to herself.

  'What deal?'

  Lena stood on the far side of the car, watching Jake Valentine pull at the tape around the front door, trying to pick it open.

  'What were you looking for under the car?' Sara asked, all of her senses telling her something was wrong. 'Who did you make a deal with, Lena?'

  'Hey,' Valentine called. 'Anything happens' – he gave a little chuckle – 'y'all know the number for nine-one-one, right?' He didn't give them a chance to respond as he shouldered open the door.

  Lena inhaled sharply as if to brace herself.

  Valentine waved back at them. 'It's okay,' he said, holding his hand to his side. 'I'm okay.'

  Blood seeped into the material of his shirt where the metal flashing on the doorjamb had sliced open his side. Valentine kept putting his hand to the wound then looking at the blood on his palm. Sara could tell from the bleeding that the cut was deep, but he assured them, 'I'm fine. Y'all just stay here while I poke around inside.'

  Lena waited until the sheriff disappeared, then opened the back door of Hank's car. She reached under the driver's seat with her hand, keeping her eyes on the house the entire time.

  Sara asked, 'What are you doing?'

  Lena closed the door quietly, locked the car. She had obviously been checking for something under the seat, but she told Sara, 'That cut looked pretty bad.'

  The rain started up again. Sara raised her hand to shield her eyes. 'You wanna tell me what the hell is going on here?'

  Lena grinned, as if Sara was being foolish. 'I think I just didn't notice that the lights were on this morning,' she said. 'There should be a first-aid kit in Jake's cruiser.' She went to Valentine's car and pulled the trunk release. The lid popped open, and Sara saw a rifle bolted to the floor. Beside it was the blue metal box Charlotte Gibson's husband had brought into the station.

  Sara remembered the birth certificate applications hidden under the lining, where Angela Adams had listed her brother as the father of her children. It took all Sara's effort not to push Lena aside as the other woman reached into the trunk and picked up the box.

  Still, Sara tried, 'That's evidence.'

  Lena snapped open the lid before Sara could think of a way to stop her.

  Sara suppressed a sigh of relief. The box was empty. Even the liner was gone. Rain splattered the metal bottom.

  Lena asked, 'Where did he get this?'

  'It was brought in by Charlotte Gibson's husband.'

  Lena shook her head. 'That doesn't make sense.'

  'All clear,' Valentine shouted from the house. He made his way down the porch, holding his side, obviously in pain. He saw the metal box, and asked Lena, 'Have you ever seen that before?'

  Lena shook her head and gently closed the lid.

  Valentine holstered his weapon as he asked, 'Any particular reason y'all are poking around in my trunk?'

  The first-aid kit was strapped inside. Sara retrieved the kit, saying, 'We thought you might need this.'

  He took his hand away from his side, showing her where the flashing had ripped the shirt, sliced apart the flesh. 'I think I need more than a Band-Aid, Doc. This thing is bleeding like a mofo.'

  Reluctantly, Sara asked, 'When was your last tetanus shot?'

  'I stepped on a nail when I was twelve.'

  She looked at the house, dreading the thought of going inside. She didn't want to go back to the jail, either, but she couldn't very well make him stand out in the rain.

  Sara headed toward the front steps, telling Valentine, 'You're going to need another tetanus shot. I'll get you patched up as best as I can and then you can drive yourself to the hospital.'

  'Drive myself?' He seemed alarmed.

  'It's two minutes away,' she said, knowing she should offer to drive him.

  Valentine scowled. 'I hate hospitals.'

  'Everyone does,' she said, leading him back to the kitchen. Sara was a plumber's daughter and had been exposed to her fair share of sewage, but she had never smelled anything as bad as this. 'I'll clean it up and get a good look at it.'

  'Is it going to hurt?'

  'Probably,' she admitted, pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen. Trash was strewn everywhere, but the sink was empty and the light was good. Sara put the first-aid kit on top of a stack of pamphlets on the counter and asked Lena, 'Can you find some clean rags?'

  Lena frowned. 'How clean do they have to be?' She didn't wait for an answer. She put the metal box on the table and went back into the hall, the swinging door swishing closed behind her.

  Sara lowered her voice, asking Valentine, 'Is there any reason I should be worried about not having gloves?'

  'What?' he asked, then blushed and laughed at the same time. 'Oh, no, ma'am. I'm clean as a whistle.'

  'Okay,' she said, hoping she could trust him. Sara turned on the faucet and used the soap in the tub of Orange Glo to wash her hands. 'Go ahead and take off your shirt. I can at least get the bleeding under control.'

  He put his gunbelt on the table and started unbuttoning his shirt. 'Is this as bad as I think it is?'

  'We'll have to see.' Sara opened up the first-aid kit, glad when she saw large gauze pads and surgical tape instead of the usual Band-Aids.

  'I hate needles,' Valentine continued. Lena came in, a couple of rags in her hand. He warned them both, 'Y'all don't let it get around, now, but I've been known to faint when I see a needle.'

  'Me, too,' Sara told him. She ripped open the gauze pad and he flinched like a child. She was always amazed by how nervous cops got around anything that questioned their invincibility. The man could barely unbutton his shirt.

  She asked, 'Do you need help with that?'

  'Aw, hell.' Valentine gave up on the buttons and slipped his shirt off over his head, wincing as he stretched, the wound gaping open.

  'Careful,' Sara warned, a moment too late.

  He looked at the blood dripping down the waist of his pants and joked, 'I'm not gonna need a transfusion or anything, right?'

  'Oh, I don't think so,' Sara said, pressing the gauze pad to his wound. 'If you do, I'm sure we can find some donors at the jail.'

  'I don't know about that,' Valentine said. 'I've got a rare blood type.'

  The blood was already seeping through the gauze. Sara held out her hand for the rags, but Lena did not offer them. She was just standing there, frozen in place.

  'AB-negative,' Lena said, her voice barely above a whisper. 'His blood type is AB-negative.'

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Jeffrey passed his gun to the guard behind the metal cage at Coastal State Prison. Ever since he'd been caught unarmed with Jake Valentine in the woods, Jeffrey had kept the weapon close. He'd even slept with it on the nightstand last night instead of tucking it under the mattress like he normally did. He suddenly realized that when the adoption went through, he'd have to get a gun safe, figure out a better place to store all of his guns. The thought made him smile.

  'Anything else?' the guard asked, ejecting the clip in Jeffrey's Glock and checking the chamber.

  'That's it.'

  The man nodded, writing down the serial number from the gun and passing a claim check to Jeffrey.

  Another guard opened the first of two gates, saying, 'Through here.'

  Once they were both inside the holding pen and the first door was locked, the guard opened the second door and they walked through.

  The guard, whose name tag read, 'Applebaum,' looked to be exactly the type of man you'd find working in a place like Coastal State Prison. Tall with broad shoulders, he walked with the
kind of swagger that said he wasn't afraid of anything.

  Jeffrey told him, 'I think you met one of my detectives a few days ago.'

  'Nope,' the guard told him. 'Just got back from vacation.' He stopped at another set of doors. These were operated from a central control station. Applebaum murmured something into his walkie-talkie and the door clicked open.

  Jeffrey said, 'There was nothing in Green's jacket about drugs.'

  Applebaum shook his head. 'His boys don't touch 'em. If you're down with his crew and they catch you using or selling, you'd be better off running ass-naked through the yard than having them deal with you.' He shook his head. 'Had this one skinhead, must've been seventeen, eighteen, who aligned with Green's crew when he got in. He couldn't stay off the needle, though; got caught red-handed. He knew they were after him, so he made a shank out of his comb and kiestered it in the shower.'

  Jeffrey knew kiestering was prison slang for stowing something up your ass. 'What happened?'

  'They got a broom and shoved the comb up higher. The doc who did the postmortem says he found bits of plastic teeth practically in the guy's tonsils when he cut him open.'

  'Green did this?'

  'He ordered it,' Applebaum admitted as he stopped in front of another closed door. 'Somebody that high up, they keep their hands real clean.'

  'Somebody could flip.'

  The guard laughed as he took out a key and opened the door, revealing the interview room. 'And J-Lo could fly down to Georgia and blow me in her private plane.' He turned all business as he escorted Jeffrey into the interview room. 'Don't touch the prisoner. Don't get within five feet of him. See this line on the table? This is as far as he'll be able to reach with the chains, but don't trust that.'

  'I don't want him chained.'

  'Warden's orders.'

  'I'm not afraid of Ethan Green.'

  Applebaum turned around. 'Listen, man, I sure as shit am, and you should be, too.'

  Jeffrey nodded, taking his point. 'Bring him in.'

  Applebaum left, and Jeffrey sat at the table facing the metal ring bolted to the wall. He heard talking in the hallway and stood, not wanting to give Ethan a height advantage. Then, thinking he looked like he'd come with his hat in his hand, walked over to the wall opposite the door and leaned against it, hands in his pockets.