The Silent Wife: From the No. 1 Sunday Times bestselling author comes a gripping new crime thriller (Will Trent Series, Book 10)

by Karin Slaughter

  All he could risk telling her was, “Right.”

  Tommi’s chest rose as she inhaled deeply on the cigarette. She held the smoke in her lungs. She finally looked up. Her eyes still did not meet Jeffrey’s. Her gaze fell somewhere behind him. Smoke plumed out of her mouth. “I was a junior.”

  Her tone was monosyllabic. There was something final about the way she spoke about herself in the past tense.

  “I was walking back from the campus gym. I don’t know what time it was. It was dark.” She put the cigarette to her lips. He could see her fingers were stained from nicotine. “I heard someone behind me. He was swinging something at my head. I didn’t see what it was. It was hard. I was stunned. He grabbed me. He dragged me into his van. He tried to get me to drink something.”

  Jeffrey found himself leaning forward, ears straining to hear.

  “I choked on it. Coughed it up.” She put her hand to her neck. “It was in a bottle. The liquid.”

  Jeffrey watched tears roll down her face. He started to reach for his handkerchief, but Sara pulled a tissue from her sleeve.

  Tommi didn’t wipe her eyes. She clenched the tissue in her fist.

  She said, “It was Gatorade. Or another sports drink. The blue flavor. It made my neck sticky.”

  Jeffrey saw the quiver in her fingers as she touched her neck to show him where.

  “He was mad that I spit it out. He hit me on the back of the head. He told me not to fight back. I didn’t fight back.”

  She shook a cigarette out of the pack and tried to light a new one off the old. Her shaking hands were barely able to make the connection.

  She placed the smoldering cigarette between her lips.

  She said, “Then we were in the woods. I woke up in the woods. I guess I swallowed some of the Gatorade. It knocked me out. Then I came to. He was sitting there. Waiting. Then he saw that I was awake. He covered my mouth with his hand, but I wasn’t screaming.”

  She inhaled again on the cigarette. She let the smoke sit in her lungs, puffing out with each new word. “He told me not to move. That I couldn’t move. That he wanted me to act like I was paralyzed.”

  Jeffrey felt his lips part. He tasted the sharp burn of nicotine in the air.

  “He had this thing. Like a knitting needle. At the back of my neck. He said he would paralyze me forever if I didn’t comply.”

  Jeffrey’s eyes found Sara’s. He couldn’t read her expression. It was like she was trying to make herself disappear.

  “I didn’t move. I let my arms fall to my sides. I forced my legs to stay straight. He wanted me to keep my eyes open. I kept my eyes open. He didn’t want me to look at him. I didn’t look at him. It was dark. I couldn’t see anything. I could only feel … ripping. Tearing.”

  The cigarette dangled between her lips. Smoke curled into her face.

  “Then he finished. Then he cleaned me down there. It burned. I was cut. Bleeding. He wiped my face. My hands. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t move. I kept pretending. He dressed me. He buttoned my shirt. He pulled up my underwear. He zipped up my jeans. He told me if I told anybody, he would do it to someone else. If I kept quiet, he wouldn’t.”

  Sara bent her head. Her eyes were closed.

  “I tried not to look at him,” Tommi said. “I thought if I couldn’t identify him, he would let me go. And he did. He left me in the woods. On my back. I stayed there. He told me to act paralyzed. I was still paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I don’t know if I was breathing. I thought I was dead. I wanted to be dead. That’s it. That’s what happened.”

  Jeffrey was still looking at Sara. He had questions to ask, but he didn’t know how.

  Sara took a breath. She opened her eyes. She asked, “Tommi, do you remember what color the van was, or anything about it?”

  “No,” she said, then, “It was dark. The van was dark.”

  Sara asked, “How about the general location where you were left in the woods?”

  “No.” She tapped ash off the cigarette. “I don’t remember getting up. I don’t remember walking back to campus. I must have taken a shower. I must have changed my clothes. The only memory I have after is thinking I had started my period. And being happy, because …”

  She didn’t have to explain why she had been happy about getting her period.

  Sara took a shallow breath. “Do you remember what he cleaned you with?”

  “A washcloth. It smelled like bleach. My hair was—” She looked down at the cigarette. “Down there, my hair was bleached.”

  “Did he take the washcloth with him?”

  “He took everything.”

  Sara looked at Jeffrey. If there was anything else he wanted, now was the only time he was going to be able to get it. “Tommi, Jeffrey has just a few more questions, okay? Just a few.”

  Jeffrey received the order loud and clear. He worked to keep his tone soft. “Before this happened, did you feel like you were being watched?”

  She rolled the cigarette in the ashtray. “It’s hard to think about my other self. To think about the before. I don’t—I don’t know that person anymore. I don’t remember who she was.”

  “I understand.” Jeffrey looked at the back of the house. He could see Tommi’s mother standing at the kitchen sink. She was watching them carefully, every muscle in her face tensed. “Do you remember if anything was missing? A personal item, or—”

  She looked him in the eye, startled.

  “Can you—”

  The back door banged open. A large man in work coveralls filled the doorway. He had a wrench gripped in his hand.

  Jeffrey was standing, hand on his gun, before the man could get a word out.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” the man demanded. “Get the fuck away from my daughter.”

  Jeffrey tried, “Mr. Humphrey—”

  Sara grabbed Jeffrey’s hand. The contact was enough to break him out of the moment.

  “Who are you?” Humphrey walked down the steps. “Why are you bothering her?”

  “I’m a police officer,” Jeffrey said.

  “We don’t need no fucking cops.” Humphrey swung the wrench as he crossed the yard. “This is a private matter. You can’t make her talk to you.”

  Jeffrey looked back at Tommi. She was trying to light another cigarette, acting as if nothing was happening around her.

  “Get out of here, asshole.” Humphrey kept coming toward them.

  Jeffrey longed for him to swing the wrench. This man had clearly terrorized his family. His wife was afraid of him. His daughter was already broken.

  “Jeff.” Sara’s hand tightened around his. “Let’s go.”

  He reluctantly let her steer him around the side of the house. By the time they reached the front yard, Jeffrey was calculating how he could go back.

  “Stop,” she jerked his hand like she was heeling a dog on a leash. “You’re not making it better. You’re making it worse.”

  “That man—”

  “Is heartbroken. He’s trying to protect his daughter. He’s doing it in the wrong way, but he doesn’t know what else to do.”

  Jeffrey watched Tommi’s mother close the curtains on the front window. The woman was sobbing.

  “Stop.” Sara let her hand slip out from his. “Beating up that girl’s father will help you, but it won’t do a damn thing to help her.”

  Jeffrey leaned against his palms on the roof of his car. He felt so fucking useless. He wanted to find the monster who had destroyed that girl and break him like a stick over his knee.

  Sara crossed her arms. She waited.

  He said, “Did you know that? What she said about the rapist holding the knitting needle to the back of her neck?”

  “Not when it happened. She told me just now, before you got here.”

  “You never asked her for details when you were treating her? When I could do something about it?”

  “No,” Sara said. “She didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “This was five months ago, right
? After our divorce was finalized? Were you trying to punish me? Is that what this is all about?”

  “Get in the car. I’m not doing this in the street.”

  Jeffrey got into his car. Sara slammed her door so hard that the chassis shook.

  She asked, “Do you honestly believe I would hold back something like this out of spite?”

  Jeffrey looked back at the house. “You should’ve made her file a report, Sara.”

  “I wasn’t going to force a woman who had just been brutally raped to do anything except exactly what she needed to do to feel safe.” Sara leaned up, blocking his view of the house. “Except for going to medical appointments, Tommi hasn’t walked more than ten yards into the backyard since it happened. She can’t sleep at night. She cries if her father is late getting home from work. She’s triggered by sounds, smells, anything from the sight of the mailman to the neighbor she’s known for twenty years. What happened to her in the woods is Tommi’s story to tell. She has a right to not speak about it.”

  “That’s working really well for her. She’s practically catatonic.”

  “That’s her choice. Do you want to take away her choice?” Sara added, “And what cop at your station right now can you name who would handle her report the way it should be handled?”

  “Fuck this.” He turned the key in the ignition, but he didn’t want to go. “Why are you even here? You told me to stay away from her.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t, and I wanted to prepare her.” Sara added, “You’re welcome, by the way. That’s the worst thing I’ve ever had to do to another woman.”

  “Are you the patron saint of rape victims now?”

  “I’m her doctor. She is my patient.” Sara slammed her fist against her chest. “My patient. Not your witness.”

  “Your patient could’ve told me there was a sadist raping women on campus last year. She could’ve prevented Beckey Caterino from being attacked.”

  “The same way you prevented Leslie Truong from disappearing?”

  “That’s a low blow.”

  “Everything is a low blow,” Sara said. “Everything is awful. That’s life, Jeffrey. You can only do what you can do. You can’t expect Tommi to bear the weight of responsibility for everything bad that has happened. She’s barely taking care of herself. And you can’t solve this by beating up her father as some kind of stand-in for the man who really hurt her.”

  “I wasn’t—” He stopped short of slamming his fist against the steering wheel. “I wasn’t going to hit him.”

  Sara let him stew in his own delusion.

  As annoying as her silence could be, she sometimes used it judiciously. Jeffrey felt the tension start to release from his body. His mind started to clear. This was Sara’s white magic. She made him feel like the world was not going to grind him down into the ground. He would do anything to have these moments last.

  He looked back at the house again. He hoped like hell that Tommi Humphrey would be able to find that same peace one day.

  Sara cleared her throat. “Tommi said the attacker swung something at her head. She didn’t see it, but she was incapacitated by the blow.”

  Again, Jeffrey thought of the crescent-shaped depression on the X-ray of Rebecca Caterino’s skull.

  He said, “A hammer.”

  “Tommi’s not exaggerating about her pubic hair being bleached. I could still smell it on her the next morning, even after she’d showered.”

  Jeffrey nodded for her to continue, because he desperately needed to talk this out.

  She said, “I feel like the attacker was watching her. He saw his chance when she was leaving the gym. He had the hammer with him. He had the bleach-soaked rag prepared to clean off any DNA. Which means he planned everything ahead of time, then waited for his moment.”

  Jeffrey had worked out the same scenario with Caterino. “I think he was watching Beckey, too. She left the library around five in the morning. She had a meeting with Sibyl at seven. If the attacker knew Beckey’s schedule, he could’ve been waiting outside the dorm to follow her. Then, he sees she’s going for a run and he decides to make his move.”

  “So you can assume the assailant is older, more patient. He’s able to blend in around town. He wants to be in control. He’s methodical. Prepared.”

  Jeffrey wanted her to be wrong, because that type of assailant was the hardest to find.

  He asked, “Did you smell bleach on Beckey?”

  “No.” Sara paused, thinking. “What does that mean to you, that five months ago with Tommi, the attacker brought a hammer and the rag with bleach, but yesterday, with Beckey, he used a hammer and probably wiped her down with something unscented?”

  “He’s altering his M.O., learning how to get better.” Jeffrey couldn’t consider the ramifications for the town. “What about the Gatorade?”

  “Blue,” Sara said. “The undigested food blocking Beckey’s throat had a blue color consistent with Gatorade.”

  “So did her vomit.” Jeffrey had thrown away his shirt and pants. He needed to get them out of the trash in case they were needed as evidence. “There must’ve been a drug in the drink.”

  “Rohypnol? GHB?” Sara guessed. “He wanted her to be immobilized. Either one of those drugs would cause loss of muscle control, drowsiness, memory loss, a sense of euphoria.”

  “Date-rape drugs,” he said, because he worked in a campus town and he was very familiar with the substances. “The attacker told her to keep her eyes open. He wanted her to know what he was doing, but he didn’t want her to stop it.”

  “Drugging her would take away her awareness. Tommi said he waited for her to wake up in the woods. I’m certain she was still slipping in and out of consciousness. What she told you about the actual physical details of the rape, there’s more to it than that.”

  Jeffrey shook his head. He wasn’t ready to hear the more right now. “What about the knitting needle he threatened Tommi with? Could that be the tool that was used to paralyze Beckey?”

  “No.” Sara explained, “The puncture that we saw on Beckey’s MRI was too small in circumference. He used something else.”

  “He learned to use something else,” Jeffrey said. “You think he has medical knowledge?”

  “I think he has the internet,” she said. “You’re right about him learning, though. The violence from Tommi to Beckey feels like experimentation. He told Tommi to pretend she was paralyzed. He made sure Beckey didn’t have a choice. He wants them to be aware of the rape, but he doesn’t want them to be able to fight back. That’s his kink. He’s had five months to work on perfecting it.”

  Jeffrey stared at the empty street ahead of him. Leslie Truong was still missing. They had combed the woods last night, but that was a lot of territory to cover in the dark. She could be lying out there, trapped in a half-alive, half-dead state.

  He asked Sara, “Are there more girls, former patients, you’re not telling me about?”

  “No.”

  Jeffrey didn’t have time to feel relieved. “There has to be a fantasy element. He strategizes before he acts. He hunts them. He follows them. This man is a predator.”

  “What did you mean when you asked Tommi if she was missing something?”

  “Caterino had a hair clip that was important to her. Apparently, it wasn’t in the place where she usually left it. Leslie Truong was missing a headband, but that feels different. Some clothes were missing, too. She thought her roommates were stealing from her.”

  His phone rang. Jeffrey dreaded looking at the caller ID, but it wasn’t his mother again. It was the station. He answered, “What is it?”

  “Leslie Truong,” Frank said. “A student found her body in the woods.”

  Jeffrey felt like a broken piece of metal had imbedded itself inside his chest. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad,” Frank said. “You need to bring Sara.”

  Atlanta

  13

  Will sat at his desk inside GBI headquarters and tried to focus on the words
on the paper in front of him. He used a six-inch metal ruler to anchor each line, but the letters still switched and bounced around like fleas. He had stopped carrying a notebook years ago. He dictated his observations into his phone, then he printed out the pages, then he used a comb binder to hold them all together. Will had learned the hard way that he shouldn’t trust spellcheck. Proofreading was the last hurdle. Contractions were particularly problematic. Normally, he could recognize familiar phrases and spot where the problems were. Right now, he wasn’t sure he could recognize his own face in the mirror.

  He sat back in the chair. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His back ached. His brain felt bruised. His knuckle started bleeding every time he flexed his fingers.

  He had ended up at Faith’s last night, sleeping in Jeremy’s twin bed on his faded Star Wars sheets. Will’s feet had hung off the end of the mattress. He was reminded of being back in the children’s home. Which was great, because why not pile onto the misery?

  There were not enough lunch trays in the world for him to compartmentalize what had happened with Sara the night before. Will had never put Sara in any category even remotely close to his ex-wife, but suddenly, Sara was doing that thing that Angie had done, the thing that had made him feel crazy and angry and frustrated and self-loathing all at the same time.

  His entire relationship with Angie had been marked by anxiety. She was with him. She was with someone else. She disappeared. She came back. She pushed him to the brink. She jerked him back in line. She had chiseled away at Will since he was eleven years old. There wasn’t one moment of their life together where Will had felt safe.

  And now he felt like he was teetering on the edge with Sara.

  Will had known from the second he’d entered her apartment that he was going to be pissed off when he left. That was why he’d put off seeing her in the first place. From the beginning, nothing had felt right, not even the music Sara was listening to. Paul Simon. Will didn’t know what to do with that. He had thought that he was a pretty good judge of Sara’s moods based on what music she was playing. Dolly Parton meant she was sad. Lizzo got her ready for the gym. Beyoncé accompanied her on a run. She listened to NPR Tiny Desk Concerts when she was doing paperwork, Adele when she was feeling romantic and Pink when she was DTF.