The Will Trent Series 5-Book Bundle

by Karin Slaughter

  Mrs. Levy from next door left them cookies on the doorstep, but she never came in. Occasionally, someone would leave religious tracts in the mailbox that Evelyn burned in the fireplace. Their only visitor the entire time was Amanda, who didn’t have the option of dropping off her de facto sister-in-law’s social calendar. She would sit in the kitchen with Evelyn and talk in a low voice that Faith couldn’t hear. After Amanda left, Evelyn would go into the bathroom and cry.

  It was no wonder that one day Zeke came home from school not with a busted lip but with a copy of his enlistment papers. He had five more months to go until graduation. His ROTC service and SAT scores had already lined up a full ride to Rutgers. But he took his GED and entered the pre-med program almost a full year ahead of schedule.

  Jeremy was eight years old the first time he met his uncle Zeke. They had circled each other like cats until a game of basketball had smoothed things over. Still, Faith knew her son and she recognized his reticence toward a man he felt wasn’t treating his mother right. Unfortunately, he’d had a lot of opportunity over the years to hone this particular emotion.

  Zeke dropped his chair back onto the floor, but still did not look at her.

  Faith chewed the nutrition bar slowly, forcing herself to eat despite the nausea that gripped her stomach. She looked out the sliding door and saw the kitchen table, Zeke’s posture, straight as a board, reflected back. There was a glow of red beyond the glass. One of the detectives was smoking.

  The phone rang, and they both jumped. Faith scrambled to answer the cordless just as the detectives came in from the backyard.

  “No news,” Will told her. “I was just checking in.”

  Faith waved away the cops. She took the phone with her into the living room, asking Will, “Where are you?”

  “I just got home. There was a jackknifed trailer on 675. It took three hours to clear.”

  “Why were you down there?”

  “The D&C.”

  Faith felt her stomach lurch.

  Will didn’t bother with small talk. He told her about his prison visit, Boyd Spivey’s murder. Faith put her hand to her chest. When she was younger, Boyd had been a frequent guest at family dinners and backyard barbecues. He’d taught Jeremy how to ride a bike. And then he’d flirted so openly with Faith that Bill Mitchell suggested the man find an alternative way to spend his weekends. “Do they know who did it?”

  “The security camera happened to be out in that one section. They’ve got the place in lockdown. All the cells are being tossed. The warden’s not hopeful they’ll find much of anything.”

  “There was outside help.” A guard must have been bribed. No inmate would have the time it took to disable a camera mounted inside a prison corridor.

  “They’re talking to the staff, but the lawyers are already on scene. These guys aren’t your everyday suspects.”

  “Is Amanda all right?” Faith shook her head at her stupidity. “Of course she’s all right.”

  “She got what she wanted. We get a back door into your mom’s case because of this.”

  The GBI had jurisdiction over all death investigations inside state prisons. “I guess that’s some kind of positive news.”

  Will was quiet. He didn’t ask her if she was doing okay, because he obviously knew the answer. Faith thought of the way he had held her hands that afternoon, making her pay attention as he coached her on what to say. His tenderness had been unexpected, and she’d had to bite the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood so that she wouldn’t break down and cry.

  Will said, “Do you know that I’ve never seen Amanda go to the bathroom?” He stopped himself. “Not in person, I mean, but when we left the prison, she pulled over at the gas station and went inside. I’ve never seen her take a break like that. Have you?”

  Faith was used to Will’s odd tangents. “I can’t say that I have.” Amanda had been at those family dinners and barbecues with Boyd Spivey. She had joked with him the way cops do—questioning his manhood, praising his progress on the force despite his lack of mental prowess. She wasn’t completely made of stone. Watching Boyd die would’ve taken something out of her.

  Will said, “It was very disconcerting.”

  “I can imagine.” Faith pictured Amanda at the gas station, going into the stall, shutting the door, and allowing herself two minutes to mourn a man who had once meant something to her. Then she’d probably checked her makeup, fixed her hair, and dropped the key back with the gas station attendant, asking him if they locked the bathroom door to keep someone from cleaning it.

  Will said, “She probably sees urinating as a weakness.”

  “Most people do.” Faith sat back on the couch. He had given her the best gift she could possibly receive right now: a moment of distraction. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being there today. For getting Sara to come. For telling me what to—” She remembered that the phone was tapped. “For telling me that everything was going to be okay.”

  He cleared his throat. There was a short silence. He was awful at this sort of thing, almost as bad as she was. “Have you thought about what they were looking for?”

  “That’s all I can think about.” She heard the refrigerator door open and close. Zeke was probably making a list of foods she shouldn’t stock in the house. “What’s next?”

  He hesitated.

  “Tell me.”

  “Amanda and I are going down to Valdosta first thing.”

  Valdosta State Prison. Ben Humphrey and Adam Hopkins. They were talking to everyone from her mother’s old team. Faith should’ve expected this, but the news of Boyd’s death had thrown her off. She should’ve known that Will was going to reopen the case.

  Faith said, “I should keep this line open in case someone calls.”

  “All right.”

  She hung up the phone because there was nothing more to say. He still thought her mother was guilty. Even after working with Faith for almost two years, seeing that she did things the right way because that was the kind of cop her mother had raised her to be, Will still thought Evelyn Mitchell was dirty.

  Zeke loomed in the doorway. “Who was that?”

  “Work.” She stood up from the couch. “My partner.”

  “The asshole who tried to put Mom in prison?”

  “The very same.”

  “I still don’t know how you can work with that douche.”

  “I cleared it with Mom.”

  “You didn’t clear it with me.”

  “Should I have sent the request to Germany or Florida?” He stared at her.

  Faith wasn’t going to explain herself to her brother. It was Amanda who had asked her to partner with Will, and Evelyn had told Faith to do what was best for her career. She didn’t have to point out that it was not a bad idea to get out of the Atlanta Police Department, where Evelyn’s forced retirement was considered either a coast or a crime depending on whom you asked. “Did Mom ever talk to you about the investigation?”

  “Shouldn’t you ask your partner about that?”

  “I’m asking you,” Faith snapped. Evelyn had refused to discuss the case against her, and not just because Faith could’ve been called as a potential witness. “If she said something, even something that was a little off but you didn’t think about it at the time …”

  “Mom doesn’t shop talk with me. That’s your job.”

  There was the same tinge of accusation in his voice, as if Faith had the power to find their mother and was simply choosing not to exercise it. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine, too late to be doing this. “I’m going to bed. I’ll send down Jeremy with some sheets. The couch is pretty comfortable.”

  He nodded, and Faith saluted his dismissal. She was halfway up the stairs when he spoke. “He’s a good kid.” Faith turned around. “Jeremy. He’s a good kid.”

  She smiled. “Yeah, he is.” She was almost to the top of the stairs when the other shoe dropped.

&
nbsp; “Mom did a good job.”

  Faith continued up the stairs, refusing to take the bait. She checked on the baby. Emma smacked her lips when Faith leaned down to kiss her forehead. She was in that deep, blissful sleep that only babies know. Faith checked the monitor to make sure it was on. She stroked her hand down Emma’s arm, letting the baby’s tiny fingers wrap around her one, before leaving.

  In the next room, Jeremy’s bed was empty. Faith lingered at the door. She hadn’t changed his room, though it would’ve been nice to have an office. His posters were still on the wall—a Mustang GT with a bikini-clad blonde leaning over the hood, another with a half-naked brunette draped across a Camaro, a third and fourth showing concept cars with the ubiquitous big-bosomed model. Faith could still remember coming home from work one day to find his “Bridges of the Southeastern United States” posters replaced with these gems. Jeremy still thought that he’d cleverly tricked her into believing that puberty had brought on a sudden interest in automobiles.

  “I’m in here.”

  She found him in her room. Jeremy was lying on his stomach, head at the foot of her bed, feet in the air, iPhone in his hands. The sound on the TV was muted but the closed captioning was on.

  She asked, “Everything okay?”

  He tilted the iPhone in his hands, obviously playing a game. “Yeah.”

  Faith remembered the fertile girlfriend. It was strange she wasn’t here. They were usually attached at the hip. “Where’s Kimberly?”

  “We’re taking a break,” he said, and she almost sobbed with relief. “I heard you and Zeke yelling.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  He tilted the phone the other way.

  She said, “I’ve been wanting one of those.” He got the hint and put the device in his pocket. “I know you heard the phone ring. It was Will. He’s working with Aunt Amanda.”

  He stared at the TV. “That’s good.”

  Faith started to untie his sneakers. In typical teenage boy logic, he’d thought keeping his feet raised off the bed would stop debris from raining down. “Tell me what happened when Zeke got here.”

  “Dude was being an asshole.”

  “Tell me like I’m your mother.”

  She saw him color slightly in the glow of the TV. “Victor stayed with me. I told him he didn’t have to, but he said he wanted to, so …”

  Faith untied his other sneaker. “You showed him Emma’s picture?”

  He kept staring at the set. Jeremy had really liked Victor—probably more than Faith had, which was only part of the problem.

  She told him, “It’s all right.”

  “Zeke was kinda shitty—I mean rude—to him.”

  “In what way?”

  “Just kinda poking his chest out and pushing him around.”

  Just being Zeke. “Nothing happened, right?”

  “Nah, Victor’s not the type.”

  Faith assumed as much. Victor Martinez worked in an office, read The Wall Street Journal, wore bespoke suits, and washed his hands sixteen times a day. He was about as passionate as a box of hair. It was Faith’s lot in life that she would only ever be able to fall in love with the kind of man who would wear sleeveless T-shirts and punch her brother in the face.

  She slid off Jeremy’s shoe, frowning at the state of his sock. “Toes go on the inside, college boy.” She made a mental note to get him more socks when she ordered his underwear. His jeans were looking ratty, too. So much for the three hundred dollars left in her checking account. Thank God they had suspended her with pay. Faith was going to have to dip into savings just to keep her son from looking like a hobo.

  Jeremy rolled over onto his back to face her. “I showed Victor Emma’s Easter picture.”

  She swallowed. Victor was a smart man, but it didn’t take a genius to do the math. Even without that, Faith was blonde and fair. Emma had her father’s dark coloring and rich brown eyes. “The one where she’s wearing the bunny ears?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s a good one.” Faith could see the guilt well up in him like water spilling out of a glass. “It’s all right, Jay. He would’ve found out eventually.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell him?”

  Because Faith was just the right mixture of emotionally stunted and controlling, which was something Jeremy would find out when his future wife screamed it in his face. For now, Faith said, “It’s not something I’m going to talk to you about.”

  He sat up to face her. “Grandma likes Will.”

  Faith guessed he’d overheard her conversation with Zeke. “She told you that?”

  He nodded. “She said he was an all right guy. That he treated her fairly, and that he had a hard job to do but he wasn’t mean about it.”

  Faith didn’t know whether her mother had been assuaging Jeremy’s concerns or revealing her true opinion. Knowing her mother, it was probably a mixture of both. “Did she ever talk to you about why she retired?”

  He tugged at a loose thread on the bedspread. “She said she was the boss, so it was her fault for not noticing what was going on.”

  This was more than she’d ever told Faith. “Anything else?”

  He shook his head. “I’m glad Aunt Amanda has Will helping her. She can’t do everything by herself. And he’s really smart.”

  Faith stopped his hand and held it until Jeremy looked up at her. The television offered the only light in the room. It gave his face a green cast. “I know you’re worried about Grandma, and I know there’s nothing I can say to make this better for you.”

  “Thanks.” He was being sincere. Jeremy had always appreciated honesty.

  She pulled him up from the bed and wrapped her arms around him. His shoulders were thin. He was gangly, not yet the man he was going to be no matter the fact that he ate his weight in macaroni and cheese every day.

  He let her hug him for longer than usual. She kissed his head. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “That’s what Grandmamma always says.”

  “And she’s always right.” Faith squeezed him closer.

  “Mom, you’re suffocating me.”

  Reluctantly, she let him go. “Get some sheets for Uncle Zeke. He’s going to sleep on the couch.”

  Jeremy slid his feet back into his sneakers. “Has he always been that way?”

  Faith didn’t pretend to miss his meaning. “When we were little, every time he had to fart, he would run into my room and tear it loose.”

  Jeremy started laughing.

  “And then he said if I told on him, he’d gorge himself on beans and cheese and then hold me down and do it in my face the next time.”

  That sent him over the edge. He bent over, holding his stomach as he brayed like a donkey. “Did he do it?”

  Faith nodded, which made him laugh even harder. She let him enjoy her humiliation a little longer before nudging him on the shoulder. “Time to go to bed.”

  He wiped tears from his eyes. “Man, I’ve got to do that to Horner.”

  Horner was his dorm mate. Faith doubted anyone would notice one more noxious odor in their shared quarters.

  “Get Zeke a pillow from the closet.” She pushed him out of the room. He was still laughing as he walked down the hallway. It was a small price to pay to see the worry momentarily absent from her son’s face.

  Faith pulled back the comforter on her bed. Dirt from Jeremy’s sneakers was smeared into the sheets. She was too tired to change the bed. She was too tired to put on her nightgown or even brush her teeth. She slipped off her shoes and got into bed wearing the same GBI regs she’d put on at five o’clock that morning.

  The house was quiet. Her body was so tense that she felt like she was lying on a board. Emma’s soft snores came through on the baby monitor. Faith stared up at the ceiling. She’d forgotten to turn off the television. Light flashed like a strobe from the action movie Jeremy had been watching.

  Boyd Spivey was dead. It seemed impossible to grasp. He was a big
guy, larger than life, the sort of cop you imagined going out in a blaze of glory. He was the exact opposite of his partner. Chuck Finn was dour, full of gloomy predictions and terrified that he would be shot in the line of duty. His defense during the investigation was the only one Faith had found credible during the whole mess. Chuck had claimed he was just following orders. To those who knew him, it seemed entirely plausible. Detective Finn was the quintessential follower, which was exactly the personality type that men like Boyd Spivey knew how to exploit.

  But Faith didn’t want to think about Boyd or Chuck or any of her mother’s team right now. The investigation had eaten up six months of her life. Six months of sleepless nights. Six months of worrying that her mother was going to have a heart attack or end up in prison or both.

  Faith made herself close her eyes. She wanted to think of good times with her mother, to recall some moment of kindness or summon the pleasure of her company. What she saw instead was the man in her mother’s bedroom, the black hole in the center of his forehead where Faith had shot him. His hands jerked up. The hostage stared at Faith in disbelief. His mouth gaped open. She saw the silver grill on his teeth, that his tongue was pierced with a matching silver ball.

  Almeja, he had said.

  Money.

  Faith heard the floorboards creak in the hall. “Jeremy?” She pushed herself up on her elbow and turned on the bedside lamp.

  He gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry, I know you’re tired.”

  “Do you want me to take the sheets down to Zeke?”

  “No, it’s not that.” He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket. “Something came up on my Facebook page.”

  “I thought you stopped using that when I made you friend me.” Faith had never been the kind of parent to completely trust her kid. Her own parents had trusted her and look where that had gotten them. “What’s going on?”

  His thumbs moved across the screen as he talked. “I got bored. I mean, not bored, but there was nothing to do, so …”

  “It’s okay, baby.” She sat up in bed. “What is it?”

  “Lots of people have been posting stuff. I guess they heard about Grandma on the news.”

  “That’s nice,” Faith said, though she found it a bit ghoulish and, to borrow a word from her brother, dramatic. “What are they saying?”