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

  “We need to make this quick.” Amanda handed Faith a stack of papers. She shot Nick a look that sent his foot to the floor. She leaned against the desk, which was generally as close as she ever came to sitting down. “I’ve got to drive to the capitol this morning to brief the head of the oversight committee. One of our victims is in his district. I don’t need his panties in a wad.”

  Will looked down at the pages as Faith flipped through them. He recognized some of the names of the thirteen law enforcement jurisdictions where the bodies had been found.

  Amanda asked Will, “What’s the subpoena you filed this morning?”

  Will told her about his trip to One Museum. “We know from APD that there was nothing from the parking lot, but there’s a camera in the hallway outside Zanger’s apartment. If you could put a rush on the—”

  “I’ll call the judge on my way downtown,” she said. “While you’re waiting, I need you to be my eyes on the Van Dorne autopsy. The second, and I do mean the second, Sara confirms or denies that Shay Van Dorne was murdered, you are to text me. Understood?”

  She didn’t wait for a response. She told Faith and Nick, “Your butts are in your desk chairs this morning. Go through the lists. Make the appointments. Remember, we’re ostensibly reviewing the collection of data regarding missing persons reports. Tread carefully as you feel people out. I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Do it—”

  “Quietly,” Faith said.

  Amanda raised an eyebrow as they locked into a silent battle of the wills.

  Nick said, “Ma’am, if I may?”

  Amanda took her time looking in his direction.

  “I’ve been thinking about Daryl Nesbitt,” Nick said. “I know it’s clear to just about everybody in this building how I felt about Jeffrey Tolliver, but it’s hard for me to think that he got this case so damn wrong.”

  Amanda rolled her hand to keep him talking.

  Nick asked, “What made y’all exonerate Nesbitt so fast?”

  Will realized that he had not been told about Heath Caterino, Beckey’s son. This wasn’t a naysayer situation. Amanda was keeping the information in a tight circle because the boy could be in mortal danger.

  “Good question.” Amanda had always been an agile liar. She barely missed a beat. “Our labs found an old DNA report from the Truong autopsy. We ran it against an envelope that Daryl Nesbitt mailed to Gerald Caterino. There wasn’t a match.”

  Nick pulled at his beard. He was clearly looking for holes in the story.

  Will knew the real story, and he saw a gaping hole that none of them had spotted. “Why are we so sure Daryl is the one who licked the back of the envelope?”

  The office was silent except for the fan on Amanda’s computer.

  “Fu-u-uck.” Faith turned around to look at Will. “Con’s gonna con.”

  “Nick.” Amanda picked up the phone on her desk. She stabbed in a number, telling him, “Go to the prison right now. I want a fresh buccal swab from Daryl Nesbitt in the lab by noon.”

  She waited until Nick was gone to put down the phone. She told Faith, “Speak.”

  “The lab report Gerald Caterino gave me was the original, not a copy. He sent Heath’s buccal swab along with the envelope from Daryl Nesbitt to an AABB-accredited, court-recognized commercial lab. They specialize in paternity cases. The report was definitive. Nesbitt was completely ruled out as Heath’s father.”

  “Will is right. That information is predicated on trusting that Nesbitt is the person who licked the envelope.” Amanda turned to Will. “Thoughts?”

  “Nesbitt’s been in prison for eight years. Cons know more about forensic procedures and DNA than most cops do.”

  Faith added, “He’s a chess player. Even Lena Adams figured that out. Nesbitt strategizes. He works people against each other. We know he’s got access to the internet through contraband phones. He could’ve found out about Heath and done the same math that we all did.”

  Amanda nodded. She had made her decision. “Nesbitt’s DNA is already in our database because he’s a convicted sex offender. We need a clean chain of custody on Heath Caterino’s DNA. I don’t want to file a subpoena for obvious reasons.”

  Faith said, “You want me to ask Gerald Caterino if he’ll volunteer to let me take a swab of his kid’s mouth? The kid he pretends is his own child because he’s terrified Beckey’s attacker will find out?”

  Will said, “I can—”

  “I’ll do it,” Faith said. “Will’s on the exhumation. He’s waiting for the subpoena on the security footage. We’ve both got jobs to do.”

  “Good,” Amanda said. “I’ll put another team on the call lists. You can follow up with them when you’re back.”

  Faith dropped the papers on the coffee table.

  Will’s body tensed as she left. He didn’t know if he wanted to stop her or go with her.

  Amanda said, “Wilbur, in this moment, it is immaterial whether or not Daryl Nesbitt’s DNA matches Heath Caterino’s. What we have in front of us is an exhumed body that might offer new clues and a subpoena that could allow us access to a video that reveals the face of a killer.”

  Will knew a dismissal when he heard it. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the stairs. His muscles were still tensed, but the short burst of urgency had come to a screeching halt. All that he was left with was anxiety. He didn’t like the idea of Faith being alone. He was irritated that he hadn’t thought to verify the DNA from the lab test. He was anxious, because Amanda was right. Nesbitt hadn’t murdered fifteen women and terrorized five others in the last eight years.

  So who had?

  Someone with intimate knowledge of the crimes. Someone who was connected enough to Daryl Nesbitt to frame him. Someone who was clever enough to cover his tracks. Someone who had a collection of hairbands, combs, brushes, and ties.

  Acolyte? Copycat? Nutjob? Murderer?

  Two days out, Will was asking the same questions they’d had back in the prison chapel.

  He exited through the door at the bottom of the stairs. The morgue was behind the headquarters building in a metal structure that looked like a hangar. The wind whipped at his jacket as he walked up the sidewalk. Will kept his eyes on the ground. There wasn’t much to look at in the sky. Dark clouds. Thunder. He could feel tiny slivers of rain stabbing at his face.

  A black mortuary van was parked at the loading dock. Both sets of doors were open. Gary was helping the driver transfer Shay Van Dorne’s casket onto a rolling table. When Will had thought about the exhumation, he had visualized broken chunks of dirt and debris, maybe a Crypt-keeper hand sticking through rotted wood. The metal casket was pristine, the black paint still mirror-glossy. The only indication that it hadn’t just come off the display room floor was the string of cobwebs hanging off one of the corners. A spider had managed to get sealed inside the vault.

  Will walked through the front lobby of the morgue. Glass windows looked into the autopsy suite. Two medical examiners were already at work. They were dressed in yellow aprons and blue scrubs. White surgical masks. Colorful hats. Off-white exam gloves.

  Sara was in a tiny room at the end of a long hallway. Crime scene photos served as art on the walls. The back office was meant to be a temporary workspace for anyone who needed it. Desk. Phone. Two chairs. No window.

  Will slowed his pace so he could take her in.

  Sara’s arms were stretched out to the desk. She was staring down at her iPhone. She’d changed into scrubs. She was wearing glasses. Her long, auburn hair was pinned up in a loose bun on the top of her head. Will studied her profile.

  I can see where her heart is.

  Will should be ashamed of himself, because Sara had literally gotten down on her knees and repeatedly said that she loved Will and that she had chosen Will, but none of that had meant nearly as much as Nick Shelton casually stating that Will held Sara in the palm of his hand.

  She still had not seen him. She put down her phone. He watched her open the top
desk drawer. She found a tube of lotion. She started to smooth it onto her hands, then along her bare arms.

  Will had lingered long enough for a guy who kept telling himself he was not a serial killer. He announced his presence by telling Sara, “Amanda wants me to witness the autopsy.”

  She smiled up at him. Not her usual smile. Unsure.

  She said, “Mom found an email address for Delilah Humphrey. I don’t know what to say.”

  Will didn’t know what to say either. He had to find a way to put things right with Sara. This disconnection was dragging on too long. He took the chair beside the desk. He let his knee touch her leg.

  Sara looked down, but the leg touch didn’t seem to be enough.

  “My, uh—” Will cleared his throat. He held out his uninjured hand. “My skin is a little dry, too.”

  Her eyebrows knit, but she played along. She massaged lotion onto his hand. He watched her fingers gently smoothing his skin. Will felt the tension in his shoulders start to smooth out, too. His breathing slowed. So did Sara’s. Slowly, finally, the air changed in the windowless room. He could tell she felt it, too. She smiled as she gently squeezed each of his fingers, then used her thumb to follow the lines of his palm. Will’s mother had been into astrology. He had found a palm-reading poster among her belongings. He thought of the names as Sara traced them.

  Life line. Fate line. Head line. Heart line.

  Sara looked up.

  He said, “Hey.”

  She said, “Hey.”

  Like that, the plug slid back into the socket.

  Sara leaned over. She pressed her lips to his palm. She was an unusual woman. She’d had a thing about Jeffrey’s handwriting. She had a thing about Will’s hands.

  He asked, “You want me to help with the email?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She picked up her phone again. “Can I read you what I have?”

  Will nodded.

  Sara said, “There’s the usual reacquaintance stuff. I gave her my cell number in case she doesn’t want to put anything on the record. Then I wrote, ‘I know this is difficult, but I would like to speak with Tommi. Anything she says will be on background, the same as before. Please ask her to get in touch with me, but only if she’s comfortable talking. I understand and respect her right to refuse.’”

  Will thought about Delilah’s reaction when she read the email. There wasn’t a reason for the mother to write back, let alone get her daughter involved. “Should you tell her why?”

  “That’s the part I can’t decide.” Sara put down her phone again. She held onto his hand. “Tommi never believed that Daryl Nesbitt was her attacker. I showed her his booking photo. She said it wasn’t him. No hesitation.”

  Will dropped the same bomb that had sent Nick and Faith careening in opposite directions across the state. “We’re re-testing DNA samples from Nesbitt and Heath Caterino.”

  Sara’s lips parted in surprise. She saw the gaping hole more quickly than Will had. “You think Daryl had someone else to lick the envelope flap.”

  “We know that Nesbitt likes to play games, and he definitely has an ax to grind. I’ve never met a con who didn’t blame somebody else for the mess he was in.”

  “He blamed Jeffrey for the loss of his foot. He sued for damages as part of his lawsuit.”

  “What about the evidence?”

  Sara listed it out. “The hammer matched the brand and set that was found in Nesbitt’s garage. He lived two streets over from the woods. He was familiar with the town. Two victims had his number in their phones. He had no alibi for the attacks. He worked on a construction site near the fire road. He drove a dark van like the one Tommi remembered. Of course, it was doubtful that Tommi would testify. Then there was the shed.”

  Will reminded himself to be careful. He wasn’t going to trample on her dead husband’s memory. At least not to her face. “I understand that he had his back to the wall because of the third missing student, Rosario Lopez. But you take away the fog of war, and that’s not a great case.”

  “You won’t get any disagreement from me. That’s why Jeffrey didn’t push the district attorney to press charges.” Sara explained, “With Nesbitt locked up, he thought more witnesses would come forward, or more evidence would be found. He worked the case for another full year trying to find something, anything, that would hang the attacks on Nesbitt. But no one came forward and he couldn’t make the case, and eventually, Nesbitt managed to add attempted murder to his jacket, so …”

  Gary knocked on the door frame. “Dr. Linton? We’re ready.”

  “I’ll be there in a second.” Sara was back on her phone. She read the words aloud as she typed. “‘Please ask Tommi to call or email me. It is possible that she was right about the photo.’ How does that sound?”

  “It depends,” Will said. “Do you want to scare her?”

  “Shouldn’t she be scared?”

  Will said, “Send it.”

  Sara waited for the email to swoosh before sticking her phone into her back pocket.

  She told Will, “Gary’s never done an exhumation, so it’s going to go slow, okay?”

  “I’m good with slow.”

  She held onto Will’s hand as they walked up the hall. Sara didn’t let him go until they reached the supply cabinet. She took out a yellow apron, blue surgical hat, two face masks.

  She reminded Will, “With Alexandra McAllister, there were incised wounds made by a tool similar to a razor blade or scalpel. The killer knew the blood would lure predators to the body. The nerves in the brachial plexus were cleanly severed. The spinal puncture was masked, but I know what to look for. I should be able to tell you fairly quickly if Shay Van Dorne exhibits the same patterns of damage.”

  “Amanda wants me to let her know ASAP.”

  “Does Amanda ever want anything that’s not ASAP?” Sara reached up to Will. She tied the face mask around the back of his neck, saying, “The vault break dissipated most of the odor. You shouldn’t need this, but it’s okay if you do.”

  She dressed herself next, wrapping the apron strings twice around her waist. Tucking her hair beneath the surgical hat. Pulling on exam gloves. Will noted the transformation as she prepared herself for Shay Van Dorne. Sometimes, doctors joked around to make light of what was a very grim situation. Sara never joked. She approached every death investigation with an air of respectful solemnity.

  Gary had rolled the casket into the anteroom. A clear plastic envelope was taped to the lid. Will saw paperwork and what looked like a window crank that you’d use to open an old aluminum window.

  Will loosened his tie. The lights acted as heat lamps boiling the air. They jutted down from the ceiling like robot arms. There were cameras and microphones all around the room, including one that pointed straight down at the casket. A gurney with a folded white sheet and rubber neck block waited for the body. Another table was covered in brown paper to keep the clothes from cross-contaminating. A third table held a magnifying glass and surgical instruments. Gary had laid out a printed copy of Shay Van Dorne’s original accident report. Color photographs from the scene were stacked beside them.

  Will hadn’t downloaded the photos from the server. He looked through them now. Shay Van Dorne had been found on her back in the middle of the forest. She had been dressed in a pair of green khakis and a white knit polo. The clothes were shredded where animals had feasted on her breasts, torso and pelvic area. Her lips and eyelids had been chewed off. Part of her nose was gone.

  “Ready?” Sara waited for nods all around. She tapped a foot pedal to turn on the cameras and mics. Will heard her run through the date, time, introduce herself and announce who else was in attendance.

  He couldn’t help but think of the Leslie Truong video that had played on the ancient VCR last night. Sara had looked so different. Eight years later, even though she was saying basically the same things, she sounded different, too.

  “I’ll perform the preliminary exam in this room, then Gary will take the X-rays, th
en we’ll roll her into the autopsy suite.” Sara was finished with the technicalities. She addressed her next words to Gary. “Most wooden caskets are held closed with a metal clasp. The more expensive models use a lock that requires a hexagonal key.”

  He asked, “Like an Allen wrench?”

  “Exactly.” Sara peeled the plastic envelope off the casket. She tipped out the crank and held it up. “This is a casket key. The shaft is longer, because it unlocks a metal casket. The lock is always at the foot-end, called the foot panel. The panel covering the upper part of the body is called the lid. Can you feel the rubber gasket?”

  Gary ran his gloved fingers along the rim of the lid. “Yes.”

  “The gasket seals the casket, but not hermetically. Remember what I told you about off-gassing during decomposition. If the seal on the casket or vault is too tight, then either or both can explode.” Sara walked to the foot of the casket. “Some states require vaults. Others don’t. Keep in mind that people are forced to make burial decisions at one of the lowest points in their lives, so always remind yourself that whatever they choose to do is the best decision they could make for themselves at the time.”

  Gary said, “My gramma was a Georgia fan, so we got a red-and-black casket with a bulldog on the top.”

  Will wondered if the young man had forgotten about the recording.

  Sara obviously hadn’t. She slotted the key into the hole. She continued the lesson, which was just as much for Gary’s benefit as a future jury’s. “Wooden caskets open with a quarter turn to the left. Metal requires several turns. You’re releasing the clamps that hold down the lid and the foot panel. Ready?”

  Sara didn’t wait for an answer this time. She braced both hands on the crank. She put her shoulder into the turns. The gasket seal cracked. Will heard a rush of air not unlike the swoosh from an iPhone when an email was sent.

  His hand went to the face mask that hung around his neck, but Sara was right. He didn’t need it. The odor he was smelling was the same sickly sweet odor that had emanated from Shay Van Dorne’s body three years ago, when she had been hermetically sealed inside the metal box.