Last Breath

by Karin Slaughter

  She told Roland, “You were part of this. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”

  Roland gave another labored sigh.

  “I hate men who sigh instead of telling me to fuck off.” Charlie told Flora, “Get up.” When Flora didn’t stand, Charlie pulled her up. She practically dragged the girl to the door, telling Coin, “This is shitty, even for you.”

  “She ain’t gonna be free for long,” Coin said. “Only a matter of time before she screws up.”

  “Unbelievable,” Charlie muttered. She kept pulling Flora down the hallway. She punched the buzzer so the desk sergeant would open the door to the lobby.

  “I don’t understand,” Flora said. “What happened?”

  “You were never under arrest. There’s no way a judge would’ve signed off on their flimsy evidence, so they swooped down and gave you a twenty-person escort to the police station. They were hoping you would be scared enough to confess.”

  “Confess to what?” Flora put on her innocent babe-in-the-woods look. “Miss Quinn, I didn’t do anything.”

  Charlie punched the buzzer again. “Shut your lying mouth.”

  The door buzzed back before it slowly swung open.

  Maude Faulkner was in the waiting room. She jumped up from one of the hard plastic chairs. “What the hell is going on?”

  Charlie banged open the exit door. She was done talking to anyone connected to these vile people. It was one thing to be lied to by a client. That happened on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. Flora Faulkner had not just lied. She had manipulated Charlie. She had played off the memory of Charlie’s dead mother—a wound that was still so raw that Charlie felt tears in her eyes whenever she remembered that last day, that last breath her mother had taken. Charlie had been sitting inches away from the shotgun. If she thought about it hard enough, she could still feel the hot splash of blood from the buckshot ripping her mother in two.

  And Flora had used that tragedy not as a lever, but as a crude weapon. A cudgel. A baseball bat. A Molotov cocktail thrown straight into Charlie’s heart.

  She spotted her Subaru at the back of the parking lot. Her hands shook as she searched for her keys. The hot and cold was back, the ringing in her ears. She didn’t care about the why of it all. She just wanted to extricate herself from this awful situation. She had wasted enough time on their crazy bullshit. She had more important things to worry about, like that her entire life was about to change and she had to go to the drugstore to get the test and then she had to tell her husband and he might not be as excited about the news as she was.

  Charlie stopped five feet away from the parking lot.

  Her burning desire to leave fizzled at the sight of a sapphire blue Porsche Boxter parked in one of the handicapped slots.

  The car had to cost at least fifty grand, roughly half of Charlie’s student loans. Black interior. Navy blue top. Sparkling in the overhead parking lot lights. And the overhead lights were on because it was dark outside and instead of being home with Ben, telling him how enormously wonderful their life was going to be in nine months, Charlie was outside the police station fighting the urge to strangle a fifteen-year-old monster.

  She turned around.

  Flora was right behind her.

  Maude knew enough to keep her distance.

  Charlie said, “Nice car.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” She had the beatific smile of a Chuckie doll. “Am I allowed to open my mouth now?”

  “Is there something you want to say?”

  “It’s privileged, right? Strictly between you and me?”

  Charlie crossed her arms. “Sure.”

  “First,” Flora said, “thanks for getting me out of there.”

  “Good luck keeping it that way, you stupid child.” Charlie saw the familiar flash of anger in the girl’s eyes. “You heard the man in there. They’re coming after you, Flora. You’ll be forty before you get out of prison. Your life will be over.”

  Maude grunted. “Shit, wait ’till you’re fifty!”

  “This isn’t a joke,” Charlie said. “Flora is in serious trouble. They found over five hundred grams of meth in the trunk of the Porsche.”

  Maude pursed her lips. “That’s some weight.”

  Charlie wanted to slap the woman. “The district attorney and the police are not going to drop this case. They’re coming after her for trafficking.” She jammed her finger into Flora’s face. “And you’re not smart enough to get yourself out of this mess.”

  “Good thing I’ve got a lawyer who can be smart for me.”

  “Not this lawyer,” Charlie countered. “I’m done with you.”

  “Miss Quinn, you can’t abandon me.” There was a lilting tone in the girl’s voice that had worked like a charm a few hours ago. “I need your help.”

  “Help with what?” Charlie remembered the way Flora had crossed her arms in the interrogation room. The girl’s fingers had laid across the three bruised dots on her bicep almost exactly. “You did that to yourself, didn’t you? The bruises on your arm?”

  Flora looked down at her bicep. She answered the question by pressing her fingers deep into the bruises. They matched exactly. “I thought you might need a visual aid to push you off the fence. Sometimes the sad I-Lost-My-Mama stories only get half the work done.”

  Charlie thought about what the girl had said about putting her head in her mother’s lap and tasted bile in the back of her mouth. “How’d you get the bruise on your hip?”

  Flora said nothing, but Maude provided, “She snagged her hip on one of the tables at the diner. What’d she tell you?”

  “She told me you were abusing her.”

  Maude recoiled. “I ain’t never fucked a girl in my life.”

  Charlie wondered at a woman more concerned with being called a homosexual than a pedophile. “She told me you were beating her. She blamed you for the bruises.”

  “Florabama Faulkner.” Maude stuck her hands on her hips. “Why would you tell her that?”

  Flora shrugged. “People fight harder when they think you’re helpless.”

  “I would’ve fought for you!” Charlie shouted. “If you’d been honest about your problem to begin with, I still would’ve helped you.”

  “Not like you did in there,” Flora said. “You would’a been trying to cut a deal, not helping me take a walk. You got your code, like you said—you don’t wanna suffer the ramifications of being a dirty lawyer like your paw.”

  Charlie let the dig at her father slide. “Is that why you told me about your mother dying? To manipulate me? You know my mother was murdered. What happened to my sister. They were real people. They meant something to me. And all you saw about that tragedy was a way to use me. Is my life all just a game to you?”

  Flora looked down. She snubbed her sneaker on the concrete walk. “I’m sorry, Miss Quinn. I know I should’ve been honest. I promise I won’t—”

  “You were playing the Pattersons, too, weren’t you? You were stringing Mark along, letting him think you’d sell him the apartments if he let you move into his house?”

  “He wasn’t going to hold onto his land that long. And I’ve been working with the bank to get that house. I figured I could charge them rent if it came to that.” She shrugged. “You might think I’m a bad person, but I’m not in the business of kicking people out of their homes.”

  Charlie wasn’t interested in land deals or rental agreements. She wanted Flora to say the real reason she’d pulled Charlie into this mess. “Your grandfather said he was going to rehab. He’s the executor of the trust. If he sobered up, you couldn’t bribe him with meth anymore.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Maude hissed. “Stupid bastard left for the clinic an hour ago.”

  Flora said, “That don’t matter, Meemaw. The thing about Paw is, there’s always something he wants.” She gave Charlie a pointed look. “Everybody has a price. Whether it’s meth or cookies or a state approved highway access point, all you gotta do is dangle it in front of ’em and they’
ll jump as high as you say.”

  Charlie felt the implied dig. Her price had been exactly zero.

  “I tried to do this easy,” Flora said. “I was being honest when I said I didn’t want to get Meemaw and Paw into trouble. I need the money now. Not in two years. Not while I’m waiting for Paw to fall off the wagon. This town is about to take off. More people are coming up from Atlanta. We’ll get liquor sales approved any day now. The economy’s on the upswing. Right now is the time to buy.”

  Charlie said, “You’re pretty convincing—except for the part where you turned into a drug dealer.”

  “Three million dollars,” Flora told her. “That’s the amount of money that was in the trust after the lawyers got paid. It’s down to less than nine hundred grand, last time I checked. Putting it into land is the only investment that makes sense. Land never drops in value.”

  Charlie said, “Your mother wouldn’t have wanted this.”

  “You didn’t know my mama.”

  “No, but I know what mothers are like,” Charlie said. “My mother loved me with her last breath, Flora. Her last breath. You were with your mom when she died, same as I was. I know she was the same way with you. She wanted you to do good things.”

  “She wanted me to survive,” Flora countered. “That’s what she told me with her last breath, right before that semi near about took off her head. She was yelling at me, telling me to get out of this shitty place and make something of myself no matter who I had to step over to get there. You can’t do that with nine hundred grand.”

  “You can if you don’t drive a fifty-thousand-dollar Porsche.”

  “It was sixty-eight thousand,” Flora countered. “And it was leased, ’cause that’s better for the taxes. Driving a flashy car is part of the cost of doing business. You’ve gotta put on a show for people. Success breeds success.”

  “You sold meth to kids. You hooked your own grandfather—” Charlie ran out of words. Telling the conniving shit that she was hurting people seemed like a vast waste of time. Flora knew she hurt people. That was part of the fun.

  Charlie had her keys in her hand. “Don’t ever try to get in touch with me again. Don’t even think about asking for my help. Or my father’s. I’m finished with you.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Miss Quinn. I’ll figure something out.”

  “I bet you will.” Charlie wanted to leave, but she could not let it go. She hadn’t felt this angry, this used, in a long time. “I was really worried about you. I spent my whole day trying to figure out how to help.”

  “You did help me. You got me outta that mess in there. And you were right about letting them talk, because they told me a lot with their questions.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “That they don’t really have a case. That if it comes down to it, Paw and Oliver look guiltier than I do, just like I meant it to look. That I can wind things down for a while, wait out Mr. Coin’s interest, and start back up again when I’m ready.” She shrugged. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter to me what I’m selling. People want what they want, and if you’re willing to give it to them, there’s profit to be made.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “And you’re a good person, Miss Quinn. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.” Flora grinned, showing her teeth. “You’re honest and fair. Friendly and helpful. Considerate and—”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Charlie walked toward her car before she got charged with assaulting a minor.

  She’d be damned if she let a teenage meth queen humiliate her with the Girl Scout oath.

  7

  Charlie sat at the kitchen table with a leftover cinnamon bun and a ginger ale. She did not know which one her stomach needed more. Frankly, it did not matter. She was too exhausted to lift her arms to pick up either of them. She could only sit in her chair staring blankly at the salt and pepper shakers on the table.

  Ben had bought them when they moved in together. One was shaped like Pepé Le Pew, the other Penelope Pussycat.

  “Get it?” Ben had asked. “Pepé is the pepper.”

  She let her eyes find the clock on the wall. He was late getting home from work. This was one of his on-call nights. The assistant district attorneys took turns catching after-hours cases. He usually called Charlie to let her know if he was running late. Maybe that was the reason her cell phone had rung outside the diner.

  Charlie forced herself to stand up. It was cheaper if she checked her phone messages through the home phone. She found the cordless by the fridge where she’d left it this afternoon. Dorito-dust fingerprints were still on the numbers. She heard her cell phone ring in her purse and in her ear. She pressed in the code for her mailbox.

  “Hey, babe,” Ben said on the message. “Did you see that call from Visa? Our card number got jacked this morning. Somebody dropped a buttload of cash at Spenser’s. Can you believe that place is still open?”

  Charlie hung up the phone.

  The YWCA bathroom. Her purse spilled onto the floor.

  Flora must have copied the number on the Visa before she put the card back in the wrong place.

  “Jesus.” Charlie sank back into the chair.

  What the hell had happened to her today?

  At the age of thirteen, Charlie had stopped trusting people. You didn’t watch your mother die in front of you without turning into a cynic. Florabama Faulkner had somehow managed to sneak past Charlie’s bullshit detector. The girl was obviously good at deceiving people. Maude had been fooled. Or at least she had let a lot go unchecked. Then again, Ken Coin had seen through the act.

  Which hurt on a lot of levels.

  Was Charlie really that gullible? Or was Flora really that good?

  Ben’s car pulled into the garage. His radio was up so loud that she could hear Bruce Springsteen clearly singing about Philadelphia. Or as clearly as Bruce Springsteen was capable of.

  She closed her eyes. She listened to his car door open and close. The kitchen door open and close. She didn’t open her eyes until his keys clicked onto the hook beside hers.

  “Hey, babe.” Ben kissed the top of her head. He sat down at the table across from her. “I heard you were at the station today.”

  “Did you hear why?”

  “The boss has been uncharacte‌ristically silent, but I Scooby-Doo’d it out that it pertains to those apartments.”

  She nodded, knowing she could not fill in the details. Flora was a budding psychopath, but Charlie couldn’t break attorney—client privilege. Even if the girl deserved it.

  Ben said, “Coin wasn’t happy when he got back from the station, so I am assuming you did a good job.” He picked up the cinnamon bun and took a bite. He watched Charlie as he chewed. “I thought you weren’t going to those apartments by yourself because they’re dangerous?”

  “I’m sorry I lied.”

  “I knew you were lying, but I had to get my objection on the record so I could say I told you so.”

  “You earned it.”

  “I told you so.” He offered her the rest of the cinnamon bun.

  She shook her head.

  He asked, “Can you tell me what’s wrong? No details, just the big picture?”

  “I—” Charlie stopped. Her brain felt too tired to do the acrobatics required to tell him something without telling him everything. “Do you think Belinda and Ryan are happy?”

  “Oh, hell no.”

  “Because of the kids? I mean, the baby and the one on the way?”

  Ben wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t think so. They kind of had the kids because they thought it would fix their marriage, right?”

  “Is that what Ryan said?”

  Ben made a funny face. “You didn’t hear that from me.”

  She said, “Can you blame him for being unhappy? Belinda’s kind of a bitch sometimes. I love her, but—”

  “That’s not fair.” Ben put down the cinnamon bun. “She’s not that different from the way she’s always been. Ryan knew what he
was getting into. If it wasn’t working, then he should’ve told her and given her a chance to fix it. And the same way with him. You work on problems. You don’t tear into each other and try to win.”

  “It’s too late now. They’re stuck with each other.” She added, “At least, Belinda is. She said everything changes when you have kids. That you’re trapped. That your husband treats you differently, looks at you differently.”

  “Well …” Ben seemed dubious, though he clearly thought this was a philosophical conversation because he knew Charlie always took her birth-control pills. “I used to think Ryan was this manly man because he went to war and all that, but the thing is, a man doesn’t treat his wife that way. Or his kids.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s always running her down. You heard it last weekend. His daughter is standing there, and he’s yelling at Belinda like she’s a moron.”

  Charlie remembered. Belinda had just sat there, publicly humiliated, while Ryan loomed over her. For all her tough talk, she never seemed to stand up to him. Maybe because he spent so much time wearing her down.

  Ben said, “If you’ve got problems, I get that. Everybody has problems. But you don’t talk that way in front of your kid. Especially if it’s a girl, because you’re saying it’s okay for men to talk to women that way, and it’s not.”

  Charlie wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.

  He said, “You know, scratch that. It’s the same if you have a boy. He’s going to learn from his dad that it’s okay for boys to be assholes to women.” Ben got up and went to the fridge for a beer. “And another thing, look at how Ryan talks to her when they’re in public. Can you imagine what happens when they’re home?”

  Charlie watched him open the bottle. Ben had never yelled at her. He had raised his voice plenty of times, but he never really yelled at anyone, especially Charlie. Even when they fought, which didn’t happen often but happened enough, he didn’t try to tear her to shreds. He made his point. He said that she was wrong, or unreasonable, or crazy, and she said he was wrong, unreasonable or crazy, and they kept doing that until they ended up having sex or watching a movie.