Criminal

by Karin Slaughter

  Will didn’t wait for Faith. He headed back toward the crime scene, where he could see Amanda Wagner was waiting.

  Her arm was in a sling, the only indication that she’d spent the night in the hospital. She stood on the sidewalk dressed in her usual monochromatic skirt, blouse, and jacket. Two burly patrolmen were looking down at her, nodding as she gave them orders. They looked like football players huddled before a snap.

  As Will and Faith approached Amanda, the patrolmen jogged off toward the bystanders, probably to get names and photos so they could run them through the database. Amanda was old school with all her investigations. She didn’t rely on a blood sample or a stray hair to sway a jury. She worked the case until she got a resolution that no logical human being could ever doubt.

  She also didn’t bother with small talk. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Then why did you call me?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t stay away.”

  Amanda didn’t wait for a response. She turned on her heel, heading toward the community building. Will easily matched her brisk pace. Uncharacteristically, Faith kept her distance, trailing several feet behind.

  Amanda said, “We’re covered up in red tape. As you know, this whole area used to be a slum. The state emptied it out for the Olympics. The city got its finger in the pie. Tech got a piece of it. The Parks Department had its say. The Housing Authority. The Historical Register, which is a joke if there ever was one. We’ve got more jurisdictions than news vans. APD is supplementing for now, but it’s our techs and our ME handling the evidence.”

  “I want to sit in on the autopsy.”

  “It’ll be hours before—”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  Will thought it was a terrible idea, but that wasn’t going to stop him. “You need to bring him in for questioning.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  The fact that her voice sounded so reasonable made Will want to punch her. “You read my father’s file.”

  She stopped, looking up at him. “Yes.”

  “You think it’s a coincidence that he got out of prison and a dead student was found dumped at Techwood?”

  “Coincidences happen all the time.” Her usual certainty was showing some cracks. “I can’t bring him in without probable cause, Will. Due process? The Fourth Amendment? Any of these inalienable rights ringing a bell?”

  “That’s never stopped you before.”

  “I’ve found it’s within the purview of rich white men to avoid such unpleasantries.”

  Will realized that she’d backed him into a corner. “Still—”

  “There’s nothing more to say.” Amanda continued walking. “We have a tentative ID on Ashleigh Snyder. They found her purse in the Dumpster. Her credit cards were there but her license was missing. So was her cash.”

  “That sounds familiar.”

  “Bless the Sunshine Laws.” Georgia’s freedom of information act was one of the most liberal in the country. Inmates were especially fond of the law.

  Will said, “He’s staying at the Four Seasons Hotel.”

  “I’m aware of that,” she acknowledged. “We lost track of him for two hours yesterday afternoon, but I’ve made certain that won’t happen again.”

  “He’s been out almost two months.”

  Amanda didn’t immediately answer. “I’ve never understood time off for good behavior. It’s prison. Shouldn’t you be on your best behavior at all times?”

  “No one told me when he got out.”

  “That’s the thing about having a sealed juvenile record, Will. They aren’t allowed to notify you unless you ask them to.”

  “He was supposed to die in there.”

  “I know.”

  One of the patrolmen called out, “Dr. Wagner?”

  Amanda said, “You two go on.” She waited for the cop to join her.

  Will kept walking. Faith had to jog to keep up. She asked, “What was that about?”

  He could only shake his head as they entered the mouth of the parking lot. The ground sloped downward. In the back of the lot, a group of detectives formed a half circle around the body. The woman was in front of a large Dumpster area. Brick walls horseshoed the metal container. The tall metal doors stood open. The lock was hanging off the latch, the ring broken. Someone had already marked it with a yellow tag so it could be catalogued as evidence.

  Will glanced around, feeling watched. Or maybe he was just being paranoid. He scanned the area. The community center was on the opposite side of the parking lot. More apartments edged the perimeter. Their white garage doors were like teeth against the gum of the red brick. There was a playground in the distance, with brightly colored tunnels and swings. The Coca-Cola building loomed on the horizon.

  If he squinted at the view back across the interstate, he could pick out the familiar salmon-colored façade of the Four Seasons Hotel.

  “Another case solved by the glorious GBI.” Leo Donnelly laughed around the cigarette in his mouth. As usual, the homicide detective was dressed in a tan suit that was probably already wrinkled when he picked it up off the floor this morning. His new partner, a young guy named Jamal Hodge, nodded at Faith.

  Leo winked at her. “Lookin’ good across the chest, Mitchell. I guess you’re still nursing?”

  “Fuck off, Leo.” Faith took her notebook out of her purse. “When’d the call come in?”

  Leo pulled out his own notebook. “Four thirty-eight in the cheery a.m. Janitor comes on shift, sees her and freaks. His name’s Otay Keehole.”

  “Utay Keo,” Jamal corrected.

  “Lookit Poindexter here.” Leo shot him a nasty look. “Ooo-Tay is a student at Tech. Twenty-four years old. Lives with his baby mama. No priors.”

  Faith asked, “How’s he look for this?”

  Jamal supplied, “Not likely.”

  Leo made a show of closing his notebook. He took a drag on his cigarette, staring at Jamal. “Janitor’s two years out of Cambodia. Works off his student visa. Voluntarily submitted to fingerprinting and DNA. No record. No motive. I’m sure he’s popped a few whores in his day—who hasn’t?—but he doesn’t even have a car. Took the bus here.”

  Will asked, “You ID’d the victim off her credit cards?”

  Jamal held out his hands, indicating Leo should answer.

  “We’re pretty sure it’s Snyder,” Leo said. “Face is a mess, but the blonde hair is a giveaway.”

  Will asked, “Have you notified the family?”

  “Mom’s dead. Daddy’s flying back from a business trip in Salt Lake. Should be here this afternoon.”

  Jamal added, “We asked for dental records.”

  “Great, thanks,” Faith mumbled. She was probably thinking about the father’s long flight home, the moment at the morgue when his life would forever be changed.

  They all turned back to the Dumpster. The crowd had dispersed so the crime scene techs could begin the arduous process of cataloguing the scene.

  Will looked down at the woman’s twisted body. Long blonde hair draped across her face. She was on her back. Her arms were turned, wrists open to the sky. Her face was a bloody pulp, probably unrecognizable to even her closest friends. Her fingernails were painted bright red. Blood glued her clothes to her skin. Will could guess what was underneath the tight T-shirt and flowered skirt.

  Leo said, “Here’s something you don’t see every day: guy pummeled her gut until her intestines shit out. You can’t find that kind of thing on YouTube.” He chuckled to himself. “At least, not until I figure out how to work the camera on my phone.”

  “Lord help us,” Jamal muttered. He headed toward Charlie Reed, the GBI crime scene investigator.

  “Come on, Hodge,” Leo called to his back. “It’s funny.”

  Faith said, “Smart, Leo. You really want to piss off the deputy chief’s grandson?”

  Will glanced at Faith. Her voice sounded a little shaky. She h
ad never been good around bodies, but through sheer determination she held her own. One crack in her shell and Leo or someone like him would turn Faith into a joke every squad room was laughing about by morning roll call. Faith had once told Will that working with Leo was like watching a wind-up monkey that couldn’t quite get the cymbals to meet.

  Will knew better than to ask if she was okay. Instead, he knelt beside the body, keeping his distance so he wouldn’t taint the area. The crime scene photographers weren’t waiting for the sun. Their digital cameras and computers were laid out on a folding table. One of the women turned on the diesel generator. The xenon lights flickered. The victim’s hand showed stark against the asphalt. Her red manicured nails glistened as if they were still wet.

  Faith asked Leo, “What’s this building? Is it still a community center?”

  “Dunno.” Leo shrugged. “Guess they named it after that guy on the radio.”

  Will stood up too quickly. He fought a wave of dizziness. “Clark Howell was the publisher of The Atlanta Constitution.”

  “No shit?” Leo asked.

  “He’s chock-full of fascinating trivia today,” Faith said. “Do you have any leads?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Faith put her hands on her hips. “Don’t be an asshole, Leo. You know this is a state case. Do you have any leads, or should I ask Jamal?”

  Leo reluctantly offered, “I made some calls, checked with downtown. There’s nobody on our books what would knock the shit out of a girl like this.” He laughed at his own joke. “Literally.”

  “She have any enemies?”

  “Y’all should know more about that than me.”

  “What about a drug problem?”

  Leo sniffed, rubbing his nose. “Nothing serious, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Coke or meth?”

  “She’s a student. What do you think?”

  “Meth,” Faith said. “And watch the generalities, Leo. My kid goes to Tech. He doesn’t hit anything harder than Red Bull.”

  “Sure.”

  “Faith,” Amanda called. She was at the edge of the parking lot, waving them over. Faith shot Leo a nasty look as they headed toward Amanda.

  Leo yelled at their backs, “No, don’t thank me, Officers. It was my pleasure.”

  Amanda was digging around in her purse when they joined her. She pulled out her BlackBerry. The case was still cracked from her fall. She scrolled through her emails while she talked. “Patrol found a jogger who saw a suspicious green minivan circling the area shortly after four this morning.”

  “He just came forward?” Faith looked at her watch. “Was he jogging for two hours?”

  “That sounds like a good question to start with. He lives there, apartment two-six-twenty.” Amanda indicated the building across the street. “Make sure you get him on paper. All the t’s crossed and i’s dotted.”

  Will said, “I’ll talk to him.” He made to go, but Amanda stopped him.

  “Faith, you do this.”

  Faith gave him a look of apology before heading toward the apartment building.

  Amanda held up a finger, silencing Will. She read a few more emails before dropping her BlackBerry into her purse. “You know you can’t work this case.”

  “I don’t see how you’re going to stop me.”

  “This has to look good on paper. We can’t have it falling apart in court.”

  “It held up in court the last time and he still got out.”

  “Welcome to the criminal justice system. I rather thought you were familiar with it by now.”

  Will stared across the interstate. Rush hour was gearing up. Cars were starting to clog the fourteen lanes. He saw a sign for one of the Emory hospitals. Sara had gone to Emory University. Grady was part of their teaching system. She would be getting ready for work right now. Showering, drying her hair. Will usually walked the dogs before he left. He wondered if she missed that.

  Amanda said, “Give me time to do this right, Will. It has to be done right.”

  Will shook his head. He didn’t care about the means, just the end. “We need to work his case from the beginning.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing?” she asked. “I’ve had two teams on this since I found out. We’re dealing with a thirty-plus-year time gap in a city that tears itself down every five years. His old stomping ground is currently a twelve-story office complex.”

  “I’ll check it. Faith can go with me.”

  “It’s already been checked top to bottom.”

  “Not by me.”

  She wasn’t looking at him. Like Will, she was staring over the interstate. “Motive, means, and opportunity.” It was Amanda’s mantra.

  Will said, “You know he’s got all three.”

  She gave a tight nod of her head. If Will hadn’t been watching, he would’ve missed it. He studied her profile. She seemed to be as tired as he was. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her makeup was caked into the creases around her eyes and mouth.

  She said, “I have to say, I love what you did with the basement.”

  Will’s hands clenched. The cuts opened up along his fingers.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  His jaw popped when he opened his mouth to speak. “Why were you there?”

  “That’s a very interesting question.”

  “How long have you known about my father?”

  “You work for me, Will. It’s my job to know everything about you.”

  “Why did that reporter call you?”

  “It makes for a good story, I suppose—your chosen path of law and order. Your rise from the ashes. Atlanta’s symbol is the phoenix. What a fitting dovetail.”

  He turned and headed toward North Avenue, the bridge over the interstate. Amanda’s stride was half as long as Will’s. She had to work to match his pace.

  She asked, “Where are you going?”

  “To talk to my father.”

  “To what end?”

  “You’ve read his file. You know he has a pattern. He kills one, he keeps one. He’s probably already picked her out.”

  “Shall I put out an APB on a missing prostitute?”

  She was mocking him. “You know he’s looking for another girl.”

  “I told you we’ve got eyes on him. He hasn’t left his room.”

  “Except for yesterday afternoon.”

  She stopped trying to keep up. “You will not talk to him.”

  Will turned around. Amanda never raised her voice. She didn’t scream. She didn’t stamp her foot. She never cursed. She managed to scare everyone by reputation. For the first time in fifteen years, he saw through her. She was nothing, really. An old woman with her arm in a sling and secrets she would carry to her grave.

  She said, “I’ve issued a standing order to have you arrested the minute you step one foot in that hotel. Understood?”

  He stared his hate into her. “I should’ve left you to rot in that basement.”

  “Oh, Will.” Her voice was filled with regret. “I have a feeling that by the end of this, we’re both going to wish you had.”

  thirteen

  Present Day

  SUZANNA FORD

  She missed Dancing with the Stars. She missed Bobo, her little dog who’d died when she was ten. She missed her grandmother, who’d died when Suzanna was eleven, and her grandfather, who’d died a few months later. She missed Adam, the goldfish who’d died the night they brought him home from the store. Suzanna had found him in the tank just floating on his side. His eye was blank. She could see her reflection in it.

  Suzanna called the store to complain.

  “Just flush ’em down the toilet,” the manager said. “Come by tomorrow and we’ll give you a new one.”

  Suzanna had felt uneasy at the prospect. It felt wrong. Did Adam mean nothing? Was he that replaceable? Just plop another fish in the tank and forget he even existed? Call that one Adam, too. Feed him Adam’s food. Let him swim through Adam�
�s secret treasure box and pink coral castle?

  In the end, there was nothing else to do. Suzanna flushed him down the toilet. As the water circled around the bowl, she saw his fin flip up. The glass orb of his eyeball turned to her, and she had seen something like panic.

  In her dreams, Suzanna was the fish. She was Adam One, because of course the temptation was too great—they had gone back the next day and gotten a free Adam Two.

  That was the entirety of the dream:

  Suzanna One, helpless, staring up at the ceiling as she spun, spun, spun quickly down the drain.

  fourteen

  July 14, 1975

  MONDAY

  Amanda leaned against her Plymouth as she waited for Evelyn in the parking garage of the Sears building. The air did not move in the underground facility. The coolness afforded from the poured concrete walls was no match for the scorching heat. Even at seven in the morning, Amanda could feel sweat dripping down her neck and into her collar.

  Neither she nor Evelyn had been up for the barbecue after leaving the morgue on Saturday evening. Hank Bennett. The misidentified girl. The red fingernails. The broken hyoid bone. It was a lot to process, and neither of them seemed up to having a coherent conversation. They’d both talked in monosyllables, Amanda because of the things she’d seen with Pete Hanson, and Evelyn—most probably—because she’d been unsettled about seeing Rick Landry again. No matter their reasons, Evelyn had gone home to her husband and Amanda had gone home to her empty apartment.

  If Sunday brought anything, it was a welcome sense of normalcy. Amanda had cooked breakfast for her father. They’d gone to church. She’d cooked Sunday dinner. All the while, Duke had been notably more cheerful. He’d made a few jokes about the preacher. He was feeling bullish on his case. He’d spoken with his lawyer again. Lars Oglethorpe’s reinstatement was definitely good news for the men Reginald Eaves had fired.

  Amanda doubted it was good news for her.

  Evelyn’s station wagon made a tight turn, the tires squealing against the concrete. She backed into the space beside the Plymouth, calling through the open window, “Did Kenny call you yesterday?”