ONE
February5,2006
DetectiveMichaelOrmewoodlistenedtothe footballgameontheradioashedrovedown DeKalbAvenuetowardGradyHomes. Thecloser hegottotheprojects,themoretensionhefelt,his bodyalmostvibratingfromthestrainbythetime hetookaright intowhatmostcopsconsidereda warzone. AstheAtlantaHousingAuthorityslowly devoured itself,subsidizedcommunitieslikeGrady werebecomingathingofthepast. The in-townreal estatewastoovaluable,thepotentialforkickback toohigh. RightuptheroadwasthecityofDecatur, with itstrendyrestaurantsandmillion-dollar houses. Lessthanamile intheotherdirectionwas Georgia’sgold-encrustedcapitoldome. Gradywas likeaworse-casescenariosittingbetweenthem,a livingreminderthatthecitytoobusytohatewas alsotoobusytotakecareof itsown.
Withthegameon,thestreetswerefairlyempty. Thedrugdealersandpimpsweretakingthenight offtowatchthatrarestofmiraclesoccur: the AtlantaFalconsplaying intheSuperBowl. This beingaSundaynight,theprostituteswerestillout makingaliving,tryingtogivethechurchgoers somethingtoconfessnextweek. Someofthegirls wavedatMichaelashedrovepast,andhereturned thegreeting,wonderinghowmanyunmarkedcars
5
stoppedhereduringthemiddleofthenight,cops tellingDispatchtheyweretakingaten-minute break,thenmotioningoveroneofthegirlstohelp blowoffsomesteam.
Buildingninewas inthebackofthedevelopment, thecrumblingredbrickedificetaggedbytheRatz, oneofthenewgangsthathadmoved intothe Homes. Fourcruisersandanotherunmarkedcar were infrontofthebuilding,lightsrolling,radios squawking. Parked intheresidents’ spaceswerea blackBMWandapimpedoutLincolnNavigator, itsten-thousand-dollarrazorrimsglitteringgold in thestreetlights. Michaelfoughttheurgetojerkthe steeringwheel,takesomepaintofftheseventythousand-dollarSUV. Itpissedhimofftoseethe expensivecarsthebangersdrove. Inthelastmonth, Michael’skidhadshotupaboutfour inches, outgrowingallhisjeans,butnewclotheswould havetowaitforMichael’snextpaycheck. Tim lookedlikehewaswaitingforahightidewhile Daddy’staxdollarswenttohelpthesethugspay theirrent.
Insteadofgettingoutofhiscar,Michaelwaited, listeningtoanotherfewsecondsofthegame, enjoyingamoment’speacebeforehisworldturned upsidedown. Hehadbeenontheforceforalmost fifteenyearsnow,goingstraightfromthearmyto thepolice,realizingtoolatethatotherthanthe haircut,therewasn’tthatmuchdifferencebetween thetwo. Heknewthatassoonashegotoutofhis car itwouldallstartuplikeaclockthatwaswound tootight. Thesleeplessnights,theendlessleadsthat neverpannedout,thebossesbreathingdownhis neck. Thepresswouldprobablycatchonto it,too. Thenhe’dhavecamerasstuck inhisfaceeverytime
6
heleftthesquad,peopleaskinghimwhythecase wasn’tsolved,hissonseeing itonthenewsand askingDaddywhypeopleweresomadathim.
Collier,ayoungbeatcopwithbicepssothick withmusclehecouldn’tputhisarmsdownflat againsthissides,tappedontheglass,gesturingfor Michaeltorolldownhiswindow. Collierhadmade acirclingmotionwithhismeatyhand,eventhough thekidhadprobablyneverbeen inacarwithcrank windows.
Michaelpressedthebuttonontheconsole, saying, ‘Yeah?’ astheglasssliddown.
‘Who’swinning?’
‘NotAtlanta,’ Michaeltoldhim,andCollier noddedas ifhehadexpectedthenews. Atlanta’s previoustriptotheSuperBowlwasseveralyears back. Denverhadthumpedthem34–19.
Collierasked, ‘How’sKen?’
‘He’sKen,’ Michaelanswered,notofferingan elaborationonhispartner’shealth.
‘Couldusehimonthis.’ Thepatrolmanjerked hisheadtowardthebuilding.‘It’sprettynasty.’
Michaelkepthisowncounsel. Thekidwas inhis earlytwenties,probablyliving inhismother’sbasement,thinkinghewasamanbecausehestrapped onaguneveryday. Michaelhadmetseveral Colliers intheIraqi desertwhenthefirstBushhad decidedtogo in. Theywerealleagerpupswiththat glint intheireyethattoldyoutheyhadjoinedup formorethanthreesquaresandafreeeducation. Theywereobsessedwithdutyandhonor,allthat shitthey’dseenonTVandbeenfedbythe recruiterswhopluckedthemoutofhighschoollike ripecherries. Theyhadbeenpromisedtechnical trainingandhome-sidebaseassignments,anything
7
thatwouldgetthemtosignonthedottedline. Mostofthemendedupbeingshippedoffonthe firsttransportplanetothedesert,wheretheygot shotbeforetheycouldputtheirhelmetson.
TedGreercameoutofthebuilding,tuggingat histielikeheneededair. Thelieutenantwaspasty forablackman,spendingmostofhistimebehind hisdeskbasking inthefluorescentlightsashe waitedforhisretirementtokick in.
HesawMichaelstillsitting inthecarand scowled.‘Youworkingtonightorjustoutfora drive?’
Michaeltookhistimegettingout,slidingthekey outofthe ignitionjustasthehalftimecommentary startedontheradio. Theeveningwaswarmfor February,andtheair-conditioningunitspeoplehad stuck intheirwindowsbuzzedlikebeesarounda hive.
GreerbarkedatCollier, ‘Yougotsomethingto do?’
Collierhadthesensetoleave,tuckinghischinto hischestlikehe’dbeenpoppedonthenose.
‘Fuckingmess,’ GreertoldMichael. Hetookout hishandkerchiefandwipedthesweatoffhis forehead.‘Somekindofsickpervgotaholdofher.’
Michaelhadheardasmuchwhenhe’dgottenthe callthatpulledhimoffhisliving-roomcouch. ‘Where isshe?’
‘Sixflightsup.’ Greerfoldedthehandkerchief intoaneatsquareandtucked it intohispocket. ‘Wetracedthenine-one-onecalltothatphone.’ He pointedacrossthestreet.
Michaelstaredatthephonebooth,arelicofthe past. Everybodyhadcellphonesnow,especially dealersandbangers.
8
‘Woman’svoice,’ Greertoldhim.‘We’llhavethe tapesometimetomorrow.’
‘Howlongdid ittaketogetsomebodyouthere?’
‘Thirty-twominutes,’ Greertoldhim,and Michael’sonlysurprisewasthat ithadn’ttaken longer. Accordingtoalocalnewsteam investigation,responsetimestoemergencycallsfrom Gradyaveragedaroundforty-fiveminutes. An ambulancetookevenlonger.
Greerturnedbacktothebuildingas if itcould absolvehim.‘We’regonnahavetocall insomehelp onthisone.’
Michaelbristledatthesuggestion. Statistically, Atlantawasoneofthemostviolentcities in America. Adeadhookerwashardlyanearthshatteringdevelopment,especiallyconsidering whereshewasfound.
HetoldGreer, ‘That’sallIneed ismoreassholes tellingmehowtodomyjob.’
‘Thisassholethinks it’sexactlywhatyouneed,’ thelieutenantcountered. Michaelknewbetterthan toargue–notbecauseGreerwouldn’ttolerate insubordination,butbecausehe’dagreewith Michaeljusttoshuthimup,thenturnaroundand dowhateverthehellhewantedtoanyway.
Greeradded, ‘Thisone’sbad.’
‘They’reallbad,’ Michaelremindedhim,openingthebackdoortohiscarandtakingouthissuit jacket.
‘Girldidn’thaveachance,’ Greercontinued. ‘Beat,cut,fuckedsixwaystoSunday. Wegotareal sickfuckonourhands.’
Michaelputonhisjacket,thinkingGreersounded likehewasauditioningforHBO.‘Ken’soutofthe hospital. Saidcomebyandseehimanytime.’
9
Greermadesomenoisesaboutbeingrealbusy latelybeforetrottingofftowardhiscar,looking backoverhisshoulderas ifhewasafraidMichael wouldfollow. Michaelwaiteduntilhisbosswas in hiscarandpullingoutofthelotbeforeheheaded towardthebuilding.
Collierstoodatthedoorway,handrestingonthe buttofhisgun. Heprobablythoughthewas keepingwatch,butMichaelknewthattheperson whohadcommittedthiscrimewasn’tgoingto comebackformore. Hewasfinishedwiththe woman. Therewasnothingelsehewantedtodo.
Colliersaid, ‘Thebossleftfast.’ ‘Thanksforthenewsflash.’
M ichaelbracedh imselfasheopenedthedoor, lett i ngthedamp,darkbu i ld i ngslowlydrawh im i n . Whoeverhaddesi gnedtheHomeshadn ’ tbeen th i nk i ngabouthappyk idscom i nghomefrom schooltowarmcook i esandm i lk . Theyhad focusedonsecur ity,keep i ngopenspacestoa m i n i mumandcover ingallthel ightfixtures i nsteel meshtoprotectthebulbs. Thewallswereexposed concretewi thnarroww i ndowstucked i ntot i ght l i ttlecorners,thesafetyw ireembedded i ntheglass look i ngl ikeun i formcobwebs . Spraypa int coveredsurfacesthathadbeenpai ntedwh i teonce uponat ime . Gangtags,warni ngsandvar i ous p i ecesof i nformati oncoveredthemnow. Tothe r i ghtofthefrontdoor,someonehadscrawled, Kimisaho!Kimisaho!Kimisaho!
Michaelwaslookingupthewindingstaircase, countingthesixflights,whenadoorcreakedopen. Heturnedtofindanancientblackwomanstaring athim,hercoaldarkeyespeeringoutaroundthe edgeofthesteeldoor.
10
‘Police,’ hesaid,holdinguphisbadge.‘Don’tbe afraid.’
Thedooropenedwider. Shewaswearingafloral apronoverastainedwhiteT-shirtandjeans.‘Iain’t afraid’ayou,bitch.’
Clusteredbehindherwerefouroldwomen,all butoneofthemAfrican-American. Michaelknew theyweren’theretohelp. Grady,likeanysmall community,thrivedongossipandthesewerethe mouthsthatfedthesupplyline.
Still,hehadtoask, ‘Anyofy’allseeanything?’
Theyshooktheirheads inunison,bobbleheads ontheGradydashboard.
‘ That ’ sgreat, ’ M i chaelsa id,tuck i nghi sbadge back i ntoh i spocketasheheadedtowardthe sta i rs .‘ Thanksforhelp ingkeepyourcommun i ty safe .’
Shesnapped, ‘That’syourjob,cocksucker.’
Hestopped,hisfootstillonthebottomstairas heturnedbacktowardher,lookingherstraight in theeye. Shereturnedtheglare,rheumyeyesshifting backandforthlikeshewasreadingthebookofhis life. Thewomanwasyoungerthantheothers, probably inherearlyseventies,butsomehow grayerandsmallerthanhercompanions. Spidery linescrinkledtheskinaroundherlips,wrinkles etchedfromyearsofsuckingoncigarettes. Ashock ofgraystreakedthroughthehaironthetopofher headaswellastheonescorkscrewingoutofher chinlikedreadlocks. Sheworethemoststartling shadeoforangelipstickhehadeverseenona woman.
Heasked, ‘What’syourname?’
Herchintiltedup indefiance,butshetoldhim, ‘Nora.’ 11
‘Somebodymadeanine-one-onecallfromthat phoneboothoutside.’
‘Ihopetheywashtheyhandsafter.’
Michaelallowedasmile.‘Didyouknowher?’
‘Weallknowedher.’ Hertone indicatedthere wasalotmoretobetoldbutshewasn’ttheone whowasgoingtotell ittosomedumb-asswhite cop. Obviously,Noradidn’texactlyhaveacollege degreeunderherbelt,butMichaelhadneverset muchstorebythatkindofthing. Hecouldtellfrom hereyesthatthewomanwassharp. Shehadstreet smarts. Youdidn’tlivetobethatold inaplacelike Gradybybeingstupid.
Michaeltookhisfootoffthestep,walkingback towardtheclusterofwomen.‘Sheworking?’
Norakepthereyeonhim,stillwary.‘Most nights.’
Thewhitewomanbehindherprovided, ‘Shean honestgirl.’
Noratskedhertongue.‘Suchayounglittle thing.’ Therewasahintofchallenge inhervoice whenshesaid, ‘Nokindoflifeforher,butwhat elsecouldshedo?’
Michaelnoddedlikeheunderstood.‘Didshe haveanyregulars?’
Theyallshooktheirheadsagain,andNoraprovided, ‘Sheneverbroughtherworkhomewithher.’ Michaelwaited,wondering iftheywouldadd anythingelse. Hecountedthesecondsoff inhis head,thinkinghe’dlet itgototwenty. Ahelicopter flewoverthebuildingandcarwheelssquealed againstasphaltacoupleofstreetsover,butnoone paidattention. Thiswasthesortofneighborhood wherepeoplegotnervous iftheydidn’thear gunshotsatleastacoupleoftimesaweek. There
12
wasanaturalordertotheirlives,andviolence–or thethreatof it–wasasmuchapartof itasfast foodandcheapliquor.
‘Allright,’ Michaelsaid,havingcountedthe secondstotwenty-five. Hetookoutoneofhis businesscards,handing ittoNoraashetoldher, ‘Somethingtowipeyourasson.’
Shegrunted indisgust,holdingthecardbetween herthumbandforefinger.‘Myass isbiggerthan that.’
Hegaveherasuggestivewink,madehisvoicea growl.‘Don’tthinkIhadn’tnoticed,darlin’.’
Shebarkedalaughassheslammedthedoor in hisface. Shehadkeptthecard,though. Hehadto takethatasapositivesign.
Michaelwalkedbacktothestairs,takingthe firstflighttwoatatime. Allofthebuildingsat Gradyhadelevators,buteventheonesthatworked weredangerous. Asafirst-yearpatrolman,Michael hadbeencalledouttotheHomesonadomestic disturbanceandgottencaught inoneofthecreaky contraptionswithabustedradio. Hehadspent abouttwohourstryingnottoaddtotheoverwhelmingsmellofpissandvomitbeforehis sergeantrealizedhehadn’treported inandsent somebodytolookforhim. Theold-timershad laughedathisstupidityforanotherhalfhour beforehelpinggethimout.
Welcometothebrotherhood.
AsMichaelstartedonthesecondflightofstairs, hefeltachange intheair. Thesmellhithimfirst: theusualodoroffriedfoodsmingledwithbeerand sweat,cutbythesuddenbutunmistakablestench ofviolentdeath.
Thebuildinghadrespondedtothefatality inthe 13
usualway. Insteadoftheconstantthumpofrap beatingfrommultiplespeakers,Michaelheardonly themurmurofvoicesfrombehindcloseddoors. Televisionswereturneddownlow,thehalftime showservingasbackgroundnoisewhilepeople talkedaboutthegirlonthesixthfloorandthanked theLord itwasherthistimeandnottheirchildren, theirdaughters,themselves.
Inthisrelativequiet,soundsstartedtoecho downthestairwell: thefamiliarrhythmsofacrime sceneasevidencewasgathered,photostaken. Michaelstoppedatthebottomofthefourth-floor landingtocatchhisbreath. Hehadgivenup smokingtwomonthsagobuthislungshadn’treally believedhim. Hefeltlikeanasthmaticashemade hiswayupthenextflightofstairs. Abovehim, someonelaughed,andhecouldheartheothercops join in,participating intheusualbullshitbravado thatmade itpossibleforthemtodothejob.
Downstairs,adoorslammedopen,andMichael leanedovertherailing,watchingtwowomen wrangleagurney insidethefoyer. Theywere wearingdarkbluerainjackets,brightyellowletters announcing ‘MORGUE’ ontheirbacks.
Michaelcalled, ‘Uphere.’
‘Howfarup?’ oneofthemasked.
‘Sixthfloor.’
‘Mother fuck,’ shecursed.
Michaelgrabbedthehandrailandpulledhimself upthenextfewstairs,hearingthetwowomenoffer upmoreexpletivesastheystartedtheclimb,the gurneybangingagainstthemetalrailingslikea brokenbell. Hewasoneflightawayfromthetop whenhefeltthehairsonthebackofhisneckstand up. Sweathadgluedhisshirttohisback,butsome
14
sortofsixthsensesentachillthroughhim.
Aflashpoppedandacamerawhirred. Michael steppedcarefullyaroundaredstilettoshoethat wasflatonthestair,lookingas ifsomeonehadsat downandslipped itoff. Thenextstepuphadthe perfectoutlineofabloodyhandgrippingthetread. Thenextstairhadanotherhandprint,thenanother, assomeonehadcrawledupthestairs.
Standingonthelandingatthetopofthefifth flightwasBillBurgess,aseasonedbeatcopwho hadseenjustabouteverykindofcrimeAtlantahad tooffer. Besidehimwasadarkpoolofcoagulating blood,theedgesspreading inrivuletsthatdropped fromonesteptothenextlikefallingdominoes. Michaelreadthescene. Someonehadstumbled here,struggledtogetup,smearingbloodasshe triedtoescape.
Billwaslookingdownthestairs,awayfromthe blood. Hisskinwasblanched,hislipsathinslash ofpink. Michaelstoppedshort,thinkinghe’dnever seenBillflusteredbefore. Thiswasthemanwho’d goneoutforchickenwingsanhourafterfindingsix severedfingers intheDumpsterbehindaChinese restaurant.
ThetwomendidnotspeakasMichaelcarefully steppedoverthepuddleofblood. Hekepthishand ontherail,makingtheturntothenextflightof stairs,thankfulforsomethingtoholdontowhen hesawthescene infrontofhim.
Thewomanwaspartiallyclothed,hertightred dresscutopenlikearobe,showingdarkcocoaskin andawispofblackpubichairthathadbeenshaved intoathinlineleadingdowntohercleft. Her breastswereunnaturallyhighonherchest, implantsholdingthemup inperfection. Onearm
15
wasouttoherside,theotherrestedaboveherhead, fingersreachingtowardthehandrailas ifherlast thoughtshadbeentopullherselfup. Herrightleg wasbentattheknee,splayedopen,theleftjutting atananglesothathecouldseestraightupherslit.
Michaeltookanotherstep,blockingoutthe activityaroundhim,tryingtoseethewomanasher killerwouldhaveseenher. Makeupsmearedher face,heavylipstickandrougeapplied indarklines tobringoutherfeatures. Hercurlyblackhairwas streakedwithorange,teasedout inalldirections. Herbodywasnice,ornicerthanyou’dexpectfrom whattheneedlemarksonherarms indicatedshe was: awomanwithahabitshefedbetweenher legs. Thebruisesonherthighscouldhavecome fromherkillerorajohnwholiked itrough. If it wasthelatter,thenshehadprobablywillingly endured it,knowingshe’dbeabletogetmore moneyforthepain,knowingmoremoneymeant morepleasurelateronwhentheneedleplunged in andthatwarmfeelingspreadthroughherveins.
Hereyeswerewideopen,staringblanklyatthe wall. Oneofherfakeeyelasheshadcomeloose, makingathirdlashunderherlefteye. Hernosewas broken,hercheekshiftedoffcenterwherethe bonesbeneaththeeyehadbeenshattered. Light reflectedagainstsomething inheropenmouth,and Michaeltookanotherstepcloser,seeingthat itwas filledtothetopwithliquidandthattheliquidwas blood. Thelightoverheadglintedofftheredpool likeaharvestmoon.
PeteHanson,themedicalexamineroncall, stoodatthetopofthestairstalkingtoLeo Donnelly. Leowasanasshole,alwaysplayingthe toughcop,jokingabouteverything,laughingtoo
16
loudandlong,butMichaelhadseenhimatthebar onetoomanytimes,hishandaconstantblurashe slammedbackonescotchafteranother,tryingto getthetasteofdeathoutofhismouth.
LeospottedMichaelandcrackedasmile,like theywereoldpalsgettingtogetherforagoodtime. Hewasholdingasealedplasticevidencebag inhis handandhekepttossing itacoupleof inches inthe airandcatching itlikehewasgettingreadytoplay ball.
Leosaid, ‘Hellofanighttobeoncall.’
Michaeldidn’tvoicehisagreement.‘What happened?’
Leokepttossingthebag,weighing it inhishand. ‘Docsaysshebledtodeath.’
‘Maybe,’ Petecorrected. Michaelknewthe doctorlikedLeoaboutasmuchaseveryoneelseon theforce,whichwastosayhecouldn’tstandthe bastard.‘I’llknowmorewhenIgetheronthe table.’
‘Catch,’ Leosaid,tossingtheevidencebagdown toMichael.
Michaelsaw it inslowmotion,thebagsailing throughtheairendoverendlikealopsided football. Hecaught itbefore ithittheground,his fingerswrappingaroundsomethingthickand obviouslywet.
Leosaid, ‘Somethingforyourcat.’
‘Whatthe—’ Michaelstopped. Heknewwhat it was.
‘Lookithisface!’ Leo’sshotgunlaughechoedoff thewalls.
Michaelcouldonlystareatthebag. Hefelt bloodatthebackofhisthroat,tastedthatmetallic stingofunexpectedfear. Thevoicethatcameoutof 17
hismouthdidnotsoundlikehisown– itwasmore likehewasunderwater,maybedrowning.‘What happened?’
Leowasstilllaughing,soPeteanswered, ‘Hebit offhertongue.’
18
TWO
February6,2006
WhenhehadreturnedfromtheGulfWar,Michael hadbeenhauntedbyhisdreams. Assoonashe closedhiseyes,hesawthebulletscomingathim, thebombsblowingoffarmsandlegs,children runningdowntheroad,screamingfortheirmamas. Michaelknewwheretheirmotherswere. Hehad stoodbyhelplesslyasthewomenbangedtheclosed windowsoftheschoolhouse,tryingtobreaktheir wayoutasfirefromanexplodedgrenadeburned themalive.
AleeshaMonroewashauntinghimnow. The tonguelesswoman inthestairwayhadfollowed himhome,workedsomekindofmagic inhis dreamssothat itwasMichaelchasingherupthe stairs,Michaelforcingherbackontothelanding andsplittingher intwo. Hecouldfeelherlongred nailssinking intohisskinasshetriedtofighthim off,chokinghim. Hecouldn’tbreathe. Hestarted clawingathisneck,herhands,tryingtogetherto stop. HewokeupscreamingsoloudthatGinasat up inbedbesidehim,clutchingthesheettoher chestlikesheexpectedtoseeamaniac intheir bedroom.
‘Jesus,Michael,’ shehissed,handoverherheart. ‘Youscaredtheshitoutofme.’
Hereachedfortheglassofwaterbythebed, 19
sloshingsomeonhischestashetooklargegulpsto quenchthefire inhisthroat.
‘Babe,’ Ginasaid,touchingthetipsofherfingers tohisneck.‘Whathappened?’
Michaelfeltastingonhisneckandputhis fingerswherehershadbeen. Therewasarent inthe skin,andwhenhegotuptolook inthemirrorover thedresser,hesawathintrickleofblooddripping fromthefreshcut.
Shestoodbesidehim.‘Didyouscratchyourself inyoursleep?’
‘Idon’tknow.’ Heknew,though. Hestillhadn’t caughthisbreathfromthedream.
Ginawrinkledhernoseasshepulledhishandto hermouth. Forasecond,hethoughtshewasgoing tokiss it,butsheasked instead, ‘Whydoyousmell likebleach?’
He’dhadtoscrub itoffhim–thatsmell,that stickiness,thatcamefrombeingaroundthedead. Michaeldidn’ttellherthis,didn’twanttoopenup thatconversation,so insteadhesquintedatthe clock,asking, ‘Whattime is it?’
‘Shit,’ shegroaned,droppinghishand.‘Mightas wellgetdressed. Myshiftstarts intwohours.’
Michaelpickeduptheclocktoseeforhimself. Six-thirty. Afterprocessingthecrimescene,tossing thewoman’sapartmentandgoingthroughthe paperwork,hehadgottenmaybefourhoursofsleep.
Theshowercameon,pipesrumbling inthewall asthehotwaterheaterkicked in. Michaelwent intothebathroom,watchingGinaslipofftheshirt she’dslept in.
‘Tim’salreadyup,’ shesaid,takingoffherpanties. ‘Youneedtomakesurehe’snotgetting into anything.’
20
Michaelleanedagainstthewall,admiringher flatstomach,thewaythemuscles inherarms stretchedasshetookthebandoutofherhair.‘He’s fine.’
Ginagavehimalook,noticinghimnoticingher. ‘Checkonhim.’
Michaelfeltasmileonhislips. Herbreastshad kepttheirfullnessafterTim,andhismouthwas almostwateringatthesightofthem.‘Call insick,’ hetoldher.
‘Right.’
‘We’llwatchamovie,makeoutonthecouch.’ Hepaused,thentried, ‘Rememberhowweusedto justkissforhours?’ Christ,hehadn’thadmore thanapeckonthecheek inmonths.‘Let’skisslike that,Gina. Nothingelse. Justkissing.’
‘Michael,’ Ginasaid,leaning intocheckthe watertemperature. Shestepped intotheshower. ‘StopleeringatmelikeI’mahookerandgocheck onyourson.’
Sheclosedtheshowerdoor,andhewaitedafull minutebeforeleaving,watchinghersilhouette behindtheglass,wonderingwhenthingshad startedtogowrongbetweenthem.
HehadmetGinabeforehisunitleftfortheGulf. Noonewasexpectingtogethurtoverthere,but Michaelandhisfellowgruntshadplayed itup, gettingalltheactiontheycouldbeforebeing dropped inthedesert. EllenMcCallumwasapetite, bottleblonde,nottoobright–justthekindofgirl youwantedtorememberwhenyouwerestuck in somefilthy,sand-encrustedtentamillionmiles fromhome,tellingtheguysaboutthegirlback homewhocouldsucktheleatheroffacouch.
Michaelhadspentthebetterpartofaweek
21
tryingtoget intoEllen’spantswhenupwalked Gina,hercousin. She’dprettymuchrippedMichael anewoneformessingaroundwithherfavorite babycousin,butwhenhe’dshippedoutacoupleof dayslater, itwasGinahewasthinkingabout. Her curlybrownhair,herdelicatefeatures,thesmooth curveofherass. Hestartedwritingtoher,andto hissurprise,shewroteback–realmeanatfirst,but thenshecalmeddownalittle,almostgotsweeton him. Hewas inKuwait,supposedlykeepingthe peace,whensomedumb-assteenagerfooling aroundwithahandgunaccidentallyshothim inthe leg. Thekidwasalousyshot,butthewound wouldn’theal. WhenMichaelwassenttothebase inGermanyforsurgery, itwasGinahecalledfirst. Theygotmarriedaweekafterhewasdischarged andtwoweekslaterhesignedupwiththeAtlanta PoliceDepartment. Ginagraduatedfromnursing schoolatGeorgiaBaptistandgotagoodjobat CrawfordLongHospital. Twoyearslater,shewent overtoPiedmontwheretheypaidhermore. Michaelgothisgoldshieldandwasmovedfromhis patrolbeatatGradytoVice,withapaybumpto match. Soon,theirlifewasrollingalongbetterthan Michaelhadeverexpected. Theyboughtahouse justnorthofAtlanta,startedputtingmoneyaway forarainyday,thinkingabouthavingakidortwo andmaking itarealfamily. ThenTimcamealong. Hewasaquietbaby,butMichaelsawasparkle inhisbigblueeyes. ThefirsttimeheheldTimwas likeholdinghisownheart inhishands.
ItwasBarbara,Gina’smom,whosawtheproblemsfirst. Henevercries. Hedoesn’tengage. He staresatthewallforhours. Michaelfought ittooth andnail,butthedoctorconfirmedBarbara’s
22
suspicions. Timhadbeendeprivedofoxygenat somepointduringGina’spregnancy. Hisbrain wouldneverdeveloppastthelevelofasix-year-old. Theydidn’tknowhoworwhy,butthatwasjust theway itwas.
MichaelhadneverlikedBarbara,butTim’s diagnosismadehimhateher. Itwasaclichéto despiseyourmother-in-law,butshehadalways thoughtherdaughtertradeddownandnowshe sawTim’sproblemasMichael’sfailure. Shewas alsosomekindofreligiousnut,quicktofindfault inothers,notsoquicktosee it inherself. Shewasn’t justtheglass-is-half-emptytype; shethoughtthe glasswashalfemptyandtheywereallgoingtohell for it.
‘Tim?’ Michaelcalled,puttingonaT-shirtashe walkedthroughthehouse.‘Whereareyou, buddy?’
Heheardgigglingbehindthecouch,butkept walkingtowardthekitchen.
‘Where’dTimgo?’ heasked,notinghissonhad scatteredafullboxofCheeriosalloverthekitchen table. Tim’sbluebowlwasfilledtotherimwith milk,andforjustasecondMichaelcouldsee AleeshaMonroe’sred,redmouth,theway ithad beenfilledwithherownblood.
‘Boo!’ Timscreamed,grabbingMichaelaround thewaist.
Michaelstartled,eventhoughTimdidthis practicallyeverymorning. Hisheartwasthumping inhischestasheliftedhissonup intohisarms. The kidwaseightnow,muchtoobigtobeheld,but Michaelcouldn’thelphimself. Hestrokedbackthe cowlickonthetopofTim’shead.‘Yousleepokay, kiddo?’
23
Timnodded,pullingawayfromMichael’shand, pushingathisshouldersohecouldgetdown.
‘Let’scleanupthismessbeforeBa-Bagetshere,’ hesuggested,scoopingsomeofthecereal intohis handandtossing it intothebox. Barbaracame duringtheweektowatchTim. Shetookhimto school,pickedhimup,madesurehehadhissnack anddidhishomework. Mostdays,shespentmore timewithhimthaneitherMichaelorGina,but it wasn’tlikeeitherofthemhadachoice.
‘Ba-Bawon’tlikethismess,’ Michaelsaid.
‘Nope,’ Timagreed. Hewassittingatthetable, legspulledupunderneathhim. Theflytohis Spidermanpajamassaggedopen.
‘Tuck inyourequipment,buddy,’ Michael admonished,tryingtofightthewaveofsadness thatcameoverhimasTimfumbledwiththe buttons.
Michaelhadbeenanonlychild,probablyalittle morethanspoiled. WhenTimcamealong,he didn’tknowanythingaboutcaringforababy. ChangingTim’sdiaperhadbeenembarrassing, somethingtogetoverwithasquicklyaspossible andwithminimalcontact. Now,allMichaelcould thinkaboutwasthefactthatTimwouldhit puberty inafewyears. Hisbodywouldstart growing,changinghim intoaman,buthismind wouldnevercatchup. Hewouldneverknowwhat itwasliketomakelovetoawoman,tousewhat Godgavehimtobringpleasuretoanotherhuman being. Hewouldneverhavechildrenofhisown. Timwouldneverknowthejoyandheartacheof beingafather.
‘Whomadethismess?’ Ginaasked. Shewas wrapped inthebluesilkrobeMichaelhadgivenher
24
forChristmasacoupleofyearsago,herhair swirledup inatowel.‘Didyoumakethismess?’ she teasedTim,cuppinghischin inherhandasshe kissedhislips.‘Ba-Bawon’tlikethis,’ shesaid. Michaelgotasecretkickthatthekidhadn’tbeen abletocallBarbaragrandmalikeshewanted.
Timstartedtohelpcleanup,makingmoreofa mess intheprocess.‘Uh-oh,’ hesaid,droppingto hisknees,pickinguponeCheerioatatime, countingthemoutloudashehandedthemtohis mother.
GinaaskedMichael, ‘Yougettinghomeata decenthourtonight?’
‘ItoldyouIhadacase.’
‘Inabar?’ shesaid,andheturnedhisbacktoher, takingacoupleofmugsdownfromthecabinet. He’dbeentoowounduplastnighttocomestraight home. Leohadsuggestedtheygetadrink,talk aboutthecase,andMichaelhadtakenhimupon theoffer,usingtheexcusetotossbackacoupleof bourbonsandtaketheedgeoffwhathe’dseen.
‘Eleven ...’ Timcounted.‘Twelve ...’
Ginasaid, ‘Yousmelllikeanashtray.’
‘Ididn’tsmoke.’
‘Ididn’tsayyoudid.’ Shedroppedahandfulof Cheerios intotheboxandheldoutherhandfor more.
‘Fourteen,’ Timcontinued.
‘Ijustneededsometime.’ Michaelpouredcoffee intothemugs.‘Leowantedtotalkaboutthecase.’ ‘Leowantedanexcusetogetshitfaced.’
‘Uh-oh,’ Timsang.
‘Sorry,baby,’ Ginaapologizedtotheirson. She softenedhertone.‘Youskippedanumber. What happenedtothirteen?’ 25
Timshrugged. Forthemoment,hecouldonly counttotwenty-eight,butGinamadesurehehit everynumberalongtheway.
GinatoldTim, ‘GogetdressedforBa-Ba. She’ll beheresoon.’
Timstoodandbouncedoutoftheroom, skippingfromonefoottotheother.
GinadroppedtheCheerios intotheboxandsat downwithagroan. Shehadpulledadoubleshift thisweekendtopickupsomeextramoney. Theday hadn’tevenstartedandalreadyshelooked exhausted.
‘Busynight?’ heasked.
Shetookasipofcoffee,lookingathimoverthe steamrisingfromthemug.‘Ineedmoneyforthe newtherapist.’
Michaelsighed,leaningagainstthecounter. Tim’soldspeechtherapisthadtakenhimasfaras shecould. Thekidneededaspecialist,andthegood specialistsweren’tonthestatehealth insurance plan.
‘Fivehundreddollars,’ Ginasaid.‘That’llget himthroughtheendofthemonth.’
‘Christ.’ Michaelrubbedhisfingers intohiseyes, feelingaheadachecomingon. Hethoughtabout theBMWandtheLincolnhe’dseenatGrady Homeslastnight. Timcouldseefiftyspecialistsfor thatkindofmoney.
‘Take itoutofsavings,’ hesaid.
Shesnortedalaugh.‘Whatsavings?’
Christmas. Theyhadraidedtheirsavingsfor Christmas.
‘I’mgonnaaskforanothershiftatthehospital.’ Sheheldupherhandtostophisprotest.‘He’sgot tohavethebest.’
26
‘He’sgottohavehismother.’
‘Howaboutyourmother?’ sheshotback.
Michael’sjawset.‘I’mnotgoingtoaskherfor anotherdime.’
Sheputdownthemugonthetablewithathump thatspilledcoffeeontothebackofherhand. There wasnowaytowinthisargument–Michaelshould know,they’dhad itpracticallyeveryweekoverthe lastfiveyears. Hewasalreadyworkingovertime, tryingtobring inextracashsoTimcouldhavethe thingsheneeded. Ginatookweekendshiftstwicea month,butMichaeldrewthelineatherworking holidays. Hebarelysawheras itwas. Sometimes, hethoughtsheplanned itthatway. Theyweren’ta marriedcoupleanymore; theywereapartnership, anonprofitcorporationworkingforthebetterment ofTim. Michaelcouldn’tevenrememberthelast timethey’dhadsex.
‘Cynthiacalledlastnight,’ Ginatoldhim. Their spoilednext-doorneighbor.‘She’sgotaloose boardorsomething.’
‘Looseboard?’ herepeated.‘Where’sPhil?’
Shepressedherpalmstothetableandstood. ‘Botswana. Hell,Idon’tknow,Michael. Shejust asked ifyoucouldfix itandIsaidyes.’
‘Didyouwanttoconsultwithmeaboutthat first?’
‘Do itordon’t,’ shesnapped,tossingtherestof hercoffee intothesink.‘Ineedtogetdressedfor work.’
Hewatchedherbackasshemadeherwaydown thehall. Everymorningwaslikethis: Timmaking amess,themcleaning itup,thensomeargument aboutsomethingstupidbreakingout. Totopthings off,Barbarawouldbeheresoon,andMichaelwas
27
surehismother-in-lawwouldfindsomethingto complainabout,whether itwasherachingback, herpaltrysocialsecuritycheck,orthefactthathe’d givenheraretardedgrandson. Lately,shehad takentoleavingarticlesonGulfWarSyndrome tapedtotherefrigerator,theobvious inference beingthatMichaelhaddonesomethinghorrible over inIraqthathadbroughtthisscourgeonher family.
Michaelwent intothebedroomanddressed quickly,skippinghisshowersohewouldn’thaveto go intothebathroomanddealwithGinaagain. He sawBarbara’sToyotapulling intothedriveway andgrabbedhishammeroutofhistoolbox, sneakingoutthebackdoorasshecame inthefront.
Partofthechain-linkfencearoundthebackyard hadbeentakenoutbyatreeduringthelast ice stormandtherehadn’tbeenanymoneytofix it. He hoppedoverthebrokensection,carefulnotto catchthecuffofhispantsonthetwistedmetaland fallflatonhisface. Again.
Heknockedatthebackdoor,glancingthrough thewindowashewaitedforCynthiatocome. She tookhersweettime,paddingupthehall inashort, babydollrobethatwasopenedtorevealthe camisoleandthongsheworeunderneath. Everythingwaswhite,practicallysee-through. Michael wonderedwherePhilwas. IfGinaeveranswered thedoorforPhildressedthisway,Michaelwould havefuckingkilledher.
Cynthiaslowlyworkedthelocks,bendingatthe waist,flashingsomebreast. Herlongblondehair coveredherface. Thecamisolewassolowhecould seethetipsofherpinknipples.
Michaelheftedthehammer inhishand,feeling
28
anelectricbuzz inhishead. Heshouldjustturn aroundrightnowandletherfixherownboard. Shit,Philhadtocomehomesometime; lethimdo it.
Cynthiaflashedhimasmileassheopenedthe door.‘Howdy,neighbor.’
‘Where’sPhil?’
‘Indianapolis,’ shesaid,cuppingherhands aroundhermouthtohideayawn.‘Sellingsupport hosetothemassessohecankeepme inthestyleto whichI’vebecomeaccustomed.’
‘Right.’ Heglancedoverhershoulder. The kitchenwasapigsty. Crustyplateswerestacked in thesink,take-outpizzaboxeseverywhere, cigarettesflowingoutofashtrays. Hesawmold growingonaglassofwhatlookedlikeorangejuice.
Hesaid, ‘Ginatoldmeyouhavealooseboard.’ Shesmiledlikeacat.‘Itneedstightening.’
Michaelputdownthehammer.‘Whydidyou callher?’
‘Neighborshelpneighbors,’ shesaid,like itwas simple.‘YoutoldPhilyou’dlookaftermewhenhe wasaway.’
Philhadn’tmeantlikethis.
Shepulledhim insidethehousebyhisshirt collar.‘Youlooksotense.’
‘Ican’tkeepdoingthis.’
‘Whatareyoudoing?’ sheasked,pullinghim closer.
HethoughtofGina,thewaysheneverlookedat himanymore,how itfeltwhenshepushedhim away.‘Ijustcan’t.’
Herhandpressedhardagainstthefrontofhis pants.‘Feelslikeyoucan.’
Michaelheldhisbreath,hiseyesfollowingthe 29
slopeofhersmallbreaststoherfirmnipples. He felthistongueslipoutbetweenhislips,could almostfeelwhat itwouldbeliketoputhismouth onher.
Sheunzippedhispantsandreached in.‘Youlike this?’ sheasked,movingherthumb inacircular motion.
‘Jesus,’ hehissedbetweenhisteeth.‘Yes.’
30
THREE
Michaelfeltlikeshit. Hell,he was shit.
ThefirsttimewithCynthiahadbeenanaccident. Michaelknewthatwasalameexcuse, itwasn’tlike youcouldjusttripandthenextthingyouknow, you’re insomebody’svagina,buthereallydidthink of italongthoselines. Philhadcalledlong-distance fromCaliforniaonenight,franticwithworry becausehecouldn’treachCynthia. Theman traveledallthetime,sellingwomen’shosierytothe bigdepartmentstoresandprobablywettinghis whistlealongtheway. Michaeldidn’thaveproof, buthehadworkedViceforthreeyearsandhe knewthetypeofbusinessmanwhoavailedhimself ofthelocaltalentwheneverhewasontheroad. TheconstantphonecallscheckingonCynthiawere morelikeguiltcalls,Phil’swayofkeepingtabson herwhenhecouldn’tkeeptabsonhimself.
Ginahadbeenworkingnightsthen,already pullingawayfromMichaelwhenhereachedoutto her. Tim’schallengeswerebecomingmoreevident andherresponsehadbeentothrowherself into work,doingdoubleshiftsbecauseshecouldn’t standthethoughtofcominghomeanddealingwith herdamagedson. Michaelwassickwithgrief, exhaustedfromcryinghimselftosleepatnightand justplaindamnlonely.
Cynthiawasavailable,morethanwillingtotake hismindoffthings. Afterthefirsttime,hehadtold
32
himself itwouldn’thappenagain,and ithadn’t,not forayearatleast. MichaelhadworkandTim,and thatwasallhethoughtaboutuntilonedaylast springwhenCynthiahadmentionedtoGinathat hersinkwasleaking.
‘Gofix itforher,’ GinahadtoldMichael.‘Phil’s goneallthetime. Thepoorthingdoesn’thaveanybodytolookoutforher.’
Hewasn’t inlovewithCynthiaandMichael wasn’tstupidenoughtothinkshehadthosekinds offeelingsforhim. Attheripeoldageofforty,he hadlearnedthatawomanwhowaseagertogo downonyoueverytimeshesawyouwasn’t inlove –shewaslookingforsomething. MaybeCynthia likedthethrillofbangingMichael inPhil’sbed. Maybeshelikedthe ideaofseeingGinaoutthe kitchenwindowandknowingshewastaking somethingthatbelongedtoanotherwoman. Michaelcouldn’tlethimselfconsiderher motivations. Heknewhisownwellenough. For thosefifteenortwentyminuteshespentnextdoor, hismindwentblankandhewasn’tthinkingabout payingthespecialistsormakingthemortgageor thephonecallfromthecreditcardcompanyasking whentheycouldexpectsomemoney. Michaelwas justthinkingaboutCynthia’sperfectlittlemouth andhisownpleasure.
Shewouldwantsomethingsomeday,though. He wasn’tsostupidthathedidn’tatleastknowthat.
‘Yo,Mike,’ Leocalled,rappinghisknuckleson Michael’sdesk.‘Getyourheadoutofyourass.’
‘What’sgoingon?’ Michaelasked,sittingback in hischair. Thestationwasemptybutforthetwoof them,Greerlockedbehindhisofficedoorwiththe shadesdrawn.
33
Michael indicatedthecloseddoor.‘Hejerking off inthereagain?’
‘GotsomeLurch-lookingfreakfromtheGBI withhim.’
‘Why?’ Michaelasked,butheknewwhy. Last night,Greerhadsaidhewasgoingtocall inhelpon thisone,andthenextstepuptheladderwasthe GeorgiaBureauofInvestigation.
‘Hedon’tconsultwithme,’ Leosaid,sittingon theedgeofMichael’sdesk,scatteringpapers inthe process. Hedidthisallthetime,nomatterhow manywarningsMichaelgavehim.
Leoasked, ‘Youget introublewiththewifelast night?’
‘ No, ’ Mi chaell i ed,lett i ngh i seyestravelaround thesquadroom . Theplacewasdepress i ngand dark,thewallofw indowslook ingoutatthe HomeDepotacrossthestreetth ickwi thgr i me thatblockedoutthemorni ngsun . C i tyHallEast wasatwelve-storybu i ld i ng,aonet imeSears departmentstore,thatsatatthebaseofacurve i n PoncedeLeonRoadandtookupawholec ity block. Ara i lroadtrackseparatedthestructure fromanoldFordfactorythathadbeenturned i ntopr i ceylofts . Thestatehadboughtthe abandonedSearsbu ild i ngyearsago,turni ng i t i ntovar i ousgovernmentoffices . Therewereat leastth i rtyd i fferentdepartmentsandoverfive hundredc i tyemployees . M i chaelhadworkedhere fortenyearsbutotherthantheovercrowded park i nggarage,hehadonlyseenthethreefloors theAtlantaPol iceDepartmentusedandthe morgue.
‘Yo,’ Leorepeated,bangingthedeskagain. Michaelpushedhischairfromthedeskand
34
awayfromLeo. Betweenthechain-smokingand constantnipsLeotookfromthebottlehekept in hislocker,theguyhadbreathlikeadog’sfart.
‘Youdaydreamingaboutsomepussy?’
‘Shutup,’ Michaelsnapped,thinkinghe’dhittoo closetohome. Leoalwaysdid–notbecausehewas agooddetective,butbecausehecouldn’tkeephis mouthshut.
‘IwasthinkingaboutgoingtoseeKenlateron.’ Leotookatangerineoutofhissuitpocketand startedpeeling it.‘How’shedoing?’
‘Okay,’ Michaeltoldhim,thoughthetruthwas hehadn’ttalkedtoKen inaweek. Theyhadbeen partnersforawhile,closeasbrothers,untilKen hadclutchedhisarmonedayanddroppedtothe ground. HehadbeentalkingtoMichaelabouta gorgeouswomanhe’dmetthenightbefore,andfor asplitsecond,Michaelthoughtthefallwassome kindofjoke. ThenKenhadstartedtotwitch. His mouthsaggedopenandhepissedhimselfright thereonthesquadroomfloor. Fifty-threeyearsold andhe’dstrokedoutlikeanoldman. Thewhole rightsideofhisbodywasgonenow,hisarmand leguselessasawetnewspaper. Hismouthwas permanentlytwistedsothatdribblepoureddown hischinlikehewasababy.
Noonefromthesquadwantedtoseehim,to hearhimtrytotalk. Kenwasareminderofwhat wasjustaroundthecornerformostofthem. Too muchsmoking,toomuchdrinking,twoorthree failedmarriages,allendingwithyourlonelylast daysspentcatatonic infrontofthetube,stuckat somecrappy,state-runnursinghome.
Greer’sdooropened,andalankyman inathreepiecesuitcameout. Hewastotingaleather
35
briefcasethatlookedlikeapostagestamp inhis largehand. MichaelcouldseewhyLeohadcalled theguyLurch. Hewastall,maybesix-fouror-five, andwhippetthin. Hisdirtyblondhairwascuttight tohishead,partedontheside. Hisupperliplooked funny,too,likesomeonehadcut it inhalfandput itbacktogethercrooked. Asusual,Leohadgotten theshowwrong. Putsomeknobsoneithersideof hisneckandtheguycouldbeon TheMunsters.
‘Ormewood,’ Greersaid,motioninghimover. ‘This isSpecialAgentWillTrentfromCAT.’
Leoshowedhisusualgrace.‘Whatthefuck is CAT?’
‘SpecialCriminalApprehensionTeam,’ Greer clarified.
MichaelcouldalmostfeelLeostrainingnotto pointoutthatthisactuallyspelledSCAT. Not muchshutuphisfellowdetective,butTrentwas standingclosetoLeo,loomingoverhimbyalmost afoot. Thestateguy’shandswerehuge,probably bigenoughtowraparoundLeo’sheadandcrush hisskulllikeacoconut.
Leowasan idiot,buthewasn’tstupid.
Trentsaid, ‘I’mpartofaspecialdivisionofthe GeorgiaBureauofInvestigationsetuptoaidlocal lawenforcementaroundthestate inapprehending violentcriminals. Myrolehere ispurelyadvisory.’
Hespokelikehewasreadingfromatextbook, carefullyenunciatingeveryword. Betweenthatand thethree-piecesuit,theguycouldbeacollege professor.
‘MichaelOrmewood.’ Michaelrelented,holding outhishand. Trenttook it,nottoofirmbutnotlimp likehewasholdingafish.‘This isLeoDonnelly,’ Michael introduced,sinceLeowasoccupiedwith
36
stickinghalfthetangerine inhismouth,thejuice drippingdownthebackofhishand.
‘Detective.’ TrentgaveLeoadismissivenod. He glancedathiswatch,tellingMichael, ‘Theautopsy resultswon’tbereadyforanotherhour. I’dliketo comparenotes ifyouhaveaminute.’
MichaellookedatGreer,wonderingexactly whathadshiftedonthefoodchain inthelasttwo minutes. Hewasgettingthefeelinghehadbeen relegatedtothebottomandhedidn’tlike it.
Greerturnedhisbacktothem,waddlingtoward hisoffice. Hetossedoverhisshoulder, ‘Keepme in theloop,’ asheclosedhisdoor.
MichaelstaredatTrentforabeat. Thestateguy didn’tlooklikeacop. Despitehisheight,hedidn’t filltheroom. Hestoodwithahand inhispocket, hisleftkneebent,almostcasual. Hisshoulders wouldbeprettybroad ifhestoodupstraight,but hedidn’tseem inclinedtotakeadvantageofhis size. Helackedthepresenceofsomebodywhowas onthejob,the ‘fuckyou’ attitudethatcamefrom arrestingeverytypeofscumtheearthhadtooffer.
Michaelstaredattheman,wonderingwhat wouldhappen ifhejusttoldtheassholetofuckoff. BetweenthefightwithGinathismorningandhis run-inwithCynthia,Michaelfiguredheshouldgive somebodyabreaktoday. Hewavedhishand towardthedoor.‘Conferenceroom’sthisway.’
Trentheadedupthehall. Michaelfollowed, staringattheman’sshoulders,wonderinghowhe hadendedup intheGBI. Usually,thestateguys wereadrenalinejunkies,theirbodiessopumped withtestosteronethattherewastheconstantsheen ofsweatontheirforeheads.
Michaelasked, ‘Howlongyoubeenonthejob?’
37
‘Twelveyears.’
MichaelfiguredTrentwasatleasttenyears youngerthanhim,butthatdidn’ttellhimwhathe wantedtoknow.‘Ex-military?’ heasked.
‘No,’ Trentanswered,openingtheconference roomdoor. Thewindowswereactuallyclean in thisroom,and inthesunlightMichaelcouldseea secondscarrunningalongthesideofTrent’sface. Thepinklightenedtoanalmostwhiteas itjagged fromhiseardownhisneck,followinghisjugular anddisappearing intohisshirtcollar.
Somebodyhadcuthimprettydeep.
‘GulfWar,’ Michaelsaid,puttinghishandtohis chest,thinkingthatmightdrawthemanout.‘You sureyouweren’tenlisted?’
‘Positive,’ Trentreplied,sittingdownatthe table. Heopenedhisbriefcaseandpulledouta stackofbrightlycoloredfilefolders. Inprofile, Michaelcouldseehisnosehadbeenbustedatleast acoupleoftimesandwondered ifthemanwasa boxer. Hewastoothin,though,hisbodylean,his faceangular. Nomatterwhathispast,therewas somethingabouttheguythatsetMichaelonedge.
Trentwaspagingthroughthefiles,puttingthe folders intosomekindoforder,whenhenoticed Michaelwasstillstanding. Hesaid, ‘Detective Ormewood,I’monyourteam.’
‘Isthatso?’
‘Idon’twantanyglory,’ Trentsaid,though in Michael’sexperience,thatwaswhatthe ‘G’in ‘GBI’ stoodfor. Thestateboyshadareputationfor coming in,doinghalftheworkandtakingallofthe credit.
Trentcontinued, ‘Idon’twanttostealthe spotlightorbeonthenewswhenwecatchthebad
38
guy. Ijustwanttoassistyou inyourjobandthen moveon.’
‘WhatmakesyouthinkIneedassistance?’
Trentlookedupfromthefiles,studyingMichael forafewseconds. Heopenedafluorescentpink folderflatonthetableandslid ittowardMichael. ‘JulieCooperofTucker,’ hesaid,namingatown abouttwentymilesoutsideAtlanta.‘Fifteenyears old. Shewasrapedandbeaten–almosttodeath–fourmonthsago.’
Michaelnodded,flippingthroughthefile,not botheringtoreadthedetails. Hegottothevictim’s photographandstopped. Longblondehair,heavy eyeliner,toomuchlipstickforagirlthatage.
Trentopenedanotherfolder,thisoneneon green.‘AnnaLinder,fourteen,ofSnellville.’
JustnorthofTucker.
‘Decemberthirdoflastyear,Linderwas abductedwhilewalkingtoheraunt’shousedown thestreetfromherhome.’ Trentpassedthefolder toMichael.‘Raped,beaten. SameM.O.’
Michaelflippedthroughthefile,lookingforthe photo. Linder’shairwasdark,thebruisesaround hereyesevendarker. Hepickedupthegirl’s picture,studying itcloser. Hermouthhadbeen beatenprettybad,thelipcut,blooddrippingdown herchin. Shehadsomekindofglitteronherface thatpickeduptheflashfromthecamera.
‘Shewasfoundhiding inaditch inStone MountainParkthenextday.’
‘Okay,’ Michaelsaid,waitingfortheconnection.
‘Bothgirlsreportbeingattackedbyaman wearingablackski mask.’ Trentlaidoutanorange folder,aphotographpaper-clippedtothetopsheet. ‘DawnSimmonsofBuford.’
39
Michaeldidadoubletake,thinkingthisgirl couldn’tbemorethanten.‘She’syoungerthanthe others,’ hesaid,disgustedbythethoughtofsome sickfucktouchingthechild. Shewasn’tmucholder thanTim.
‘Shewasassaultedsixmonthsago,’ Trenttold him.‘Shereportsthatherattackerworeablackski mask.’
Michaelshookhishead. Bufordwasanhour awayandthegirlwastooyoung.‘Coincidence.’
‘Ithinkso,too,’ Trentagreed.‘Guyslikethis don’thuntoutsidetheircomfortarea.’
Withoutrealizing it,Michaelhadtakenaseatat thetable. Heputdownthephotooftheten-yearoldandslid itbacktowardTrent,thinkinghe’dbe sick ifhelookedat itonemoreminute. Jesus,her poorparents. Howthehelldidpeoplelivethrough thissortofthing?
Michaelasked, ‘What’sthatmean?Comfort area?’
Trentwentbacktohisprofessorvoice.‘Child sexualpredatorshaveaspecificagegrouptheygo after. Amanwho’ssexuallyattractedtoten-yearoldsmightthinkfifteen,sixteen, istooold. The samegoesforamanwho’s interested inteenagers. He’dprobablybejustasdisgustedasyouarebythe thoughtofmolestingagirlthatyoung.’
Michaelfelthisstomachclench. Trentwasso matter-of-factabout it,as ifhewasdiscussingthe weather. Hehadtoask, ‘Yougotkids?’
‘No,’ Trentadmitted,notreturningthequestion. Maybehealreadyknewtheanswer,probablyfrom Greer. Michaelwonderedwhatthebastardhad saidaboutTim.
Trentcontinued, ‘I’veput inacalltotheparents
40
ineachcasetosee ifwecantalktothegirls, perhapsgetsomenew informationnowthatsome timehaspassedsincetheattacks. FromwhatI’ve seen,victimsofthesesortsofcrimesremember moreastheygetsomedistancefromtheevent.’ He added, ‘Itmightbeawasteoftime,butthenwe mighthearsomethingthattheycouldn’trecall duringthe initial interviews.’
‘Right,’ Michaelagreed,tryingnottosound annoyed. Hehadworkedplentyofrapesonhis ownanddidn’tneedalesson.
‘Ithinktheperpetrator isprobablyawelleducatedman,’ Trentsaid.‘Probably inhismid-to late-thirties. Unhappywithhisjob,unhappywith hishomesituation.’
M i chaelheldh istongue . Inh i sop i n i on, profil ingwasaloadofsh it . Exceptforthewelleducatedpart,Trentcouldbetalki ngabout mostofthemen i nthesquad . Throw i nbang i ng h i snext-doornei ghborandhe ’ dbedescr i b i ng M i chael.
‘Thefilesshowaclearpatternofescalation,’ Trentcontinued.‘Cooper,thefirstgirlwas attackedoutsideamovietheater; quick,efficient. Thewholethingtookmaybetenminutesandallof itwasoutofrangeofthetheater’sclosed-circuit cameras. Thesecond,AnnaLinder,wasabducted rightoffthestreet. Hetookhersomewhere–she’s notsurewhere– inacar. Heleftherrightoutside thegatesofStoneMountainPark. Parkpolice foundherthenextmorning.’
‘Anytiretracks?’
‘Abouttwelvehundred,’ Trentanswered.‘The parkhadjuststarted itsannualChristmaslights show.’
41
MichaelhadtakenGinaandTimtoseethe lights. Theywenteveryyear.
‘DNA?’ Michaelasked.
‘Heworeacondom.’
‘Okay,’ Michaelsaid. Sohewasn’tamoron. ‘Whatdoesthishavetodowithmygirllastnight?’
Trentnarrowedhiseyes,likehewondered if Michaelhadheardawordhesaid.‘Theirtongues, Detective.’ Heslidthereportsbackover.‘Theyall hadtheirtonguesbittenoff.’
42
FOUR
‘Thetongue isbasicallylikeapieceoftoughsteak,’ PeteHansonsaid,slippingonhislatexgloves. He stopped,lookingatTrent.‘Itakeyouforarunner, sir. Isthatcorrect?’
Trentdidn’tseemsurprisedbythequestion. Beingonthejobfortwelveyears,Michaelfigured themanhadbeenaroundhisshareofeccentric coroners.
Heanswered, ‘Yes,sir.’
‘Longdistance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Marathons?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thoughtso.’ Petenoddedtohimself,likehehad scoredapoint,thoughMichaelhadnoticedthat WillTrenthadn’tvolunteeredany information abouthimself.
Petewentbacktothecorpselyingonthetable in thecenteroftheroom. AleeshaMonroe’sbodywas draped inawhitesheet,herheadexposed. The thirdeyelashwasgone,themakeupremoved. Thicksutureslinedherforeheadwhereherscalp andfacehadbeenpeeledbacktoexamineherskull andremoveherbrain.
‘Youeverbittenyourtongue?’ Peteasked.
Trentdidn’tanswer,soMichaelsaid, ‘Sure.’ ‘Healsprettyquickly. Thetongue isanamazing organ–unless it’ssevered,that is. Atanyrate,’ he
43
continued, ‘bitingthroughthetongue isnota difficultendeavor.’ Herolledbackthesheet, showingthetopoftheY-incisionbutstoppingjust shyofbaringMonroe’sbreasts.
‘Here,’ Petesaid. Michaelcouldseedeepblack bruisesoverthewoman’sleftshoulder.‘Thedistributionofthelivormortistellsusshediedwhere youfoundher. Onherback,onthestairs. My guess,’ Petesaid, ‘isthatshewasbeaten,then raped,and inthecourseoftherapehebitoffher tongue.’
Michaelthoughtaboutthat,picturedheronthe stairs,herbodylaxatfirstassheenduredtherape, thentensing,convulsing infearassherealizedwhat wasgoingtohappen.
Trentfinallyspoke.‘CanyougetDNAoffthe tongue?’
‘I imagineI’llgetasignificantamountofDNA offhertongue,givenherprofession.’ Peteshrugged hisshoulders.‘AndI’msuretheswabsfromher vaginawillrevealacornucopiaofsuspectsforyou, butmyguesswouldbethatyourperpetratorused acondom.’
‘Why isthat?’ Michaelasked. ‘Powder,’ Peteanswered.‘Therewasatraceof cornstarchonherrightthigh.’
Michaelknewthatrubberswereoftenpacked in powdertomakethemeasiertouse. Allthecondom makersusedthesame ingredients,sotherewasno wayoftracing itbacktoasinglemanufacturer. Not thatknowingwhetherheusedaTrojanora Ramseswouldnarrowthesearch.
‘I’mguessing itwaslubricated,’ Peteadded. ‘Therewerealsotracesofacompoundnot inconsistentwithnonoxynol-9.’
44
Trentseemedtofindthis interesting.‘Werethere anytracesofthisonthestairs?’
‘NotthatIfound.’
Trentsurmised, ‘So,hemusthavehadsexwith hersomewhereelse,probably insidetheapartment, beforethestruggle inthestairway.’
Michaeltunedthemout. AwhorelikeMonroe wasn’tgoingtowasteherhard-earnedmoneyon extravaganceslikelubeandspermicide. Betterto justgritherteethandsavethecash. Dealwiththe consequenceslater.
Michaelsaid, ‘Thecondommusthavebelonged tothedoer.’
Trentlookedsurprised,as ifhe’djust rememberedMichaelwas intheroom.‘That’s possible.’
Michaelspelled itoutforhim.‘Thedoerdidn’t meantokillher. Whybotherwithanexpensive condom,right?’
Trentnodded,butdidn’tsayanythingelse.
‘Well.’ Petebrokethesilence.‘AsIwassaying ...’ Hewentbacktohislecture,openingthewoman’s mouth,showingthestubwherehertongueusedto beattached.‘Therearen’tanymajorarteries inthe tongue,barringthelingualartery,whichspreads outliketherootsofatree,taperingattheends. You wouldhavetogo intothemouthafew inchestoget to it, inwhichcaseyoucouldn’tuseyourteeth.’ He frowned,thinkingforamoment.‘Pictureadachshundtryingtofithissnout intoabadgerhole.’
Michaeldidn’twantto,buthefoundthe image playing inhismind,theyippybarkechoing inhis ears.
‘Inthiscase,’ Petecontinued, ‘the incision separatedthefrenulumlinguaefromtheorgan,
45
bisectingthesubmandibularduct.’ Heopenedhis ownmouthandlifteduphistongue,pointingtothe thinstretchofskinunderneath.‘Theremovalofthe tongue inandof itself isnotalife-threatening injury. Theproblem is,shefellontoherback. Perhapstheshockoftheeventorthevarious chemicalsubstances inherbodyaffectedher. Subsequently,shepassedout. Overthecourseofa fewminutes,thebloodfromtheseveredtongue engorgedherthroat. Myofficialcauseofdeathwill beasphyxiationduetotheblockageofthetrachea byblood,causingrespiratoryarrest,secondaryto exsanguinationfromthetraumaticamputationof thetongue.’
‘ But, ’ M i chaelsai d, ‘ hed i dn ’ tmeanforherto d i e .’
‘It’snot inmypurviewto imaginewhatgoes throughaman’smindwhenhe isbitingoffa woman’stongue,but ifIwereagamblingman,and myex-wiveswilltellyouIam,thenyes. Iwould guessthattheattackerdidnot intendforhertodie.’
Trentsaid, ‘Justliketheothers.’
‘Therearemore?’ Peteasked,perkingup.‘I’ve notheardofanycasessimilartothis.’
Trenttoldhim, ‘Therearetwogirlsthatwe knowof. Thefirsthadhertonguebitten,butnot completelysevered. Itwassewnbackonandshe wasfine–relativelyspeaking. Thesecondlosther tongue. Toomuchtimehadpassedtosafely reattach it.’
Peteshookhishead.‘Poorthing. Wasthis recent?Ihaven’treadanythingabout it.’
‘Thefirstattackhappenedonstateland,sowe wereabletokeep itquiet. Thesecondgirl’sparents shutoutthepressandthelocalcopsheldbackthe
46
