“You’re in charge of the search,” Jeffrey told Frank. “I’ve got something to do.”
Frank nodded, probably guessing where Jeffrey had to go.
Jeffrey told Chuck, “Have the mother in the library for me to talk to in an hour.” He indicated Lena with his thumb. “If I were you, I’d take Lena to do the notification. She’s had a lot more experience at this kind of thing than you have.”
Jeffrey let himself look at Lena again, thinking she would be appreciative. From the way she looked back, he could tell she didn’t think he’d done her any favors.
Jeffrey always kept a spare shirt in his car, but no amount of rubbing would get all the blood off his hands. He had used a bottle of water to clean his chest and upper body, but his fingernails were still rimmed with red. His Auburn class ring was caked in it, dried blood around the numbers from his football jersey and the year he would have graduated if he’d stuck around. Jeffrey thought about the famous line from Macbeth, knowing guilt was magnifying the blood, making it seem worse than it really was. Tessa should never have been on that hill. Three seasoned cops with guns less than a hundred feet away, and she’d been stabbed nearly to death. Jeffrey should have protected her. He should have done something.
Jeffrey pulled into the Linton driveway, parking behind Eddie’s van. Dread filled him like a virus as he forced himself to get out of the car. Since Sara and Jeffrey’s divorce, Eddie Linton had made it clear that he thought Jeffrey was no better than a piece of shit smeared onto his eldest daughter’s shoe. Despite this, Jeffrey felt a real affinity for the old man. Eddie was a good father, the kind of father Jeffrey had wanted when he was a kid. Jeffrey had known the Lintons for over ten years, and, during his marriage to Sara, he’d felt for the first time in his life like he belonged to a family. In a lot of ways, Tessa was like a little sister to him.
Jeffrey took a deep breath as he walked up the driveway. A cool breeze brought a chill, and he realized he was sweating. Music was coming from the back of the house, and Jeffrey decided to walk around rather than knock on the front door. He stopped suddenly, recognizing the song on the radio.
Sara did not like a lot of fuss and formality, so their wedding had been held at the Linton house. They’d exchanged vows in the living room, then had a small reception for family and friends in the backyard. Their first dance as husband and wife had been to this song. He could remember what it had felt like to hold her, feeling her hand on the back of his neck, lightly stroking the nape, her body close to his in a way that was at once chaste and the most sensual thing he’d ever felt. Sara was a terrible dancer, but either the wine or the moment had conferred upon her some kind of miraculous coordination, and they had danced until Sara’s mother reminded them they had a plane to catch. Eddie had tried to stop her; even then he did not want to let Sara go.
Jeffrey pushed himself to move again. He had taken one daughter away from the Lintons that long-ago day, and he was about to tell them they might have lost another.
As Jeffrey rounded the corner, Cathy Linton was laughing at something Eddie had said. They were sitting on the back deck, oblivious as they listened to Shelby Lynne and enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon the way most everybody else in Grant County was doing today. Cathy sat in a sling-back chair, her feet propped up on a stool as Eddie painted her toenails.
Sara’s mother was a beautiful woman with just a little gray in her long blond hair. She must have been close to sixty, but she still had a lot going for her. There was something sexy and down-to-earth about Cathy that Jeffrey had always found appealing. Though Sara insisted she was nothing like her mother—tall where Cathy was petite, curvy where Cathy was almost boyishly thin—there were a lot of things the two women shared. Sara had her mother’s perfect skin and that smile that made you feel like you were the most important thing on the planet when it was directed at you. She also had her mother’s biting wit, and she knew how to put you in your place while making it sound like a compliment.
Cathy smiled at Jeffrey when she saw him, saying, “We missed you at lunch.”
Eddie sat up in his chair, screwing the top back onto the fingernail polish, grumbling something Jeffrey was glad he could not hear.
Cathy turned up the music, obviously remembering it from the wedding. She sang along in a low, throaty voice, “I’m confessin’ that I love you . . .” with such a joyful teasing in her eyes, her eyes that looked so much like Sara’s, that he had to look away.
She turned the music down, sensing that something was wrong, probably thinking he was having an argument with Sara. She said, “The girls should be back soon. I don’t know what’s taking them so long.”
Jeffrey made himself walk closer. His legs felt unsteady, and he knew that what he was about to say would change everything. Cathy and Eddie would always remember this afternoon, this time when their lives had been completely turned upside down. As a cop, Jeffrey had done hundreds of notifications, told hundreds of parents and spouses and friends that their loved one had been hurt or, worse, would not be coming home. None had struck him as closely as this one did. Telling the Lintons would be almost as bad as being in that clearing again, watching Sara break down as Tessa bled out, knowing that there was nothing he could do to help either of them.
Jeffrey realized they were staring at him because he had been quiet for too long. He asked, “Where’s Devon?” not wanting to do this twice.
Cathy gave him a questioning look. “He’s at his mama’s,” she said, using the same tone Sara had used less than an hour ago with Tessa: tight, controlled, scared. She opened her mouth to ask the question, but nothing came out.
Jeffrey climbed the steps slowly, wondering how he could do this. He stood on the top step, tucking his hands into his pockets. Cathy’s eyes followed his hands, his bloody, guilt-stained hands.
He saw her throat move as she swallowed. She put her hand to her mouth, sudden tears glistening in her eyes.
Eddie finally spoke for his wife, giving voice to the only question the parent of two children can ask, “Which one?”
3
Lena used her twisted ankle as an excuse to lag behind Chuck, knowing that her temper would flare if he tried to make conversation. She needed a couple of minutes to herself to think about what had happened with Jeffrey. Her mind would not let go of the way he had looked at her. Jeffrey had been angry with Lena before, but never like today. Today he’d actually hated her.
In the last year, Lena’s life had been one long series of fuck-ups, from losing her job to sliding on her ass down the riverbed. No wonder Jeffrey had pushed her off the force. He was right; she was unreliable. He could not trust her because time and time again Lena had proved she did not deserve it. This time she might have cost him the man who’d stabbed Tessa Linton.
“Keep up, Adams,” Chuck tossed over his shoulder. He was a couple of feet in front of her, and she stared at his wide back, willing all her hatred into him.
“Come on, Adams,” Chuck said. “Walk it off.”
“It’s fine.”
“Yeah,” Chuck said, slowing down. He gave her a wet smile. “So . . . guess the chief don’t want you back anytime soon.”
“You either,” she reminded him.
Chuck snorted, as if she’d made a joke instead of pointed out the truth. Lena had never met anyone who was so good at ignoring the obvious.
Chuck said, “He just don’t like me because I dated his girlfriend back in high school.”
“You dated Sara Linton?” Lena asked, thinking that was about as likely as Chuck’s dating the queen of England.
Chuck shrugged casually. “Long time ago. You friends with her or something?”
“Yeah,” Lena lied. Sara was far from a close friend. “She never mentioned it.”
“Sore spot for her,” Chuck covered. “I left her for another girl.”
“Right,” Lena said, thinking this was typical Chuck. He thought that everything that came out of his mouth was believed, and he labored under the false
impression that he was well respected on campus, even though it was common knowledge that the only reason Chuck had gotten his job was his daddy had made a phone call to Kevin Blake, the dean of Grant Tech. Albert Gaines, president of the Grant Trust and Loan, had a lot of pull in town, especially with the college. When Chuck had moved back home after eight years in the army, he walked right into the job as director of campus security with no questions asked.
Answering to a man like Chuck was a bitter pill Lena had to swallow every day. She had not been presented with a lot of choices after resigning her badge. At thirty-four, Lena didn’t know anything other than being a cop. She’d entered the academy right out of high school and never looked back. The only things she was qualified for were flipping burgers or cleaning houses, neither of which appealed.
In the days after Lena left the force, she’d considered going somewhere far away, maybe visiting Mexico and finding her grandmother’s people or volunteering somewhere overseas, but then reality caught up with her, and she realized that the bank did not care if Lena needed a change of scenery—they still expected her mortgage and car payments every month. Even with the paltry disability payments she received from the police department and what little money she’d managed to make from selling her house, things were tight.
The college job offered free campus housing and health benefits in lieu of a living wage. Granted, the housing sucked and the health insurance had a deductible so high Lena panicked if she so much as sneezed, but it was a steady job and meant she did not have to move in with her uncle Hank. Moving back to Reece, where Hank had raised Lena and Sibyl, her twin sister, would have been too easy. It would’ve been too easy to take up space at the bar Hank owned and drink away her nightmares. It would have been too easy to hide from the rest of the world, until thirty years had passed and she was still holding down a barstool, the scars on her hands the only reminder of why she’d started drinking in the first place.
Lena had been raped a little over a year ago; not just raped but kidnapped, held in her abductor’s home for days. Her memories from that time were scattered because she was drugged during most of the attack, her mind sent to a safer place while her body was brutalized. Scars on her hands and feet served as a permanent reminder that she’d been nailed spread-eagle to the floor to keep her open to her attacker at all times. Her hands still ached on cold days, but the pain could not match the fear she’d experienced watching the long nails being hammered into her flesh.
Before setting his sights on Lena, this same animal had killed Sibyl, Lena’s sister, and the fact that he was gone now offered no comfort. He still showed up in Lena’s dreams, giving her such vivid nightmares that she sometimes woke in a cold sweat, clutching the covers, feeling his presence in the room. Worse still were the dreams that were not nightmares, when he touched her so softly that her skin tingled, and she woke disoriented and aroused, her body shaking in response to the erotic images her sleeping mind had conjured. She knew the drugs she had been given during the attack had tricked her body into responding, but Lena still could not forgive herself. Sometimes the memory of his touch on her body would cover her like the fine silk of a spiderweb, and she would find herself shaking so hard that only a scalding-hot shower could make her skin feel like her own again.
Lena didn’t know if it was desperation or stupidity that had made her call the college’s counseling center a month ago. Whatever had compelled her, the three and a half sessions she’d managed to attend were a huge mistake. Talking to a stranger about what had happened—not that Lena had actually gotten around to that part of it—was too much. There were some things that were too private to discuss. Ten minutes into a particularly painful fourth session, Lena had gotten up and left the clinic, never to return. At least not until now, when she would have to tell that same doctor that her son was dead.
“Adams,” Chuck said, glancing over his shoulder, “you know this chick?”
Women were always chicks or bitches to Chuck, depending on whether or not he thought they would fuck him. Lena hoped to God he knew she was a bitch, but sometimes she got the feeling that Chuck thought it was just a matter of time before she threw herself at his feet.
She told him, “I’ve never met her.” Then, just in case, she added, “I’ve seen her around campus.”
He looked back at her again, but Chuck was as good at reading people as he was at making friends.
“Rosen,” Chuck said. “That sound Jewish to you?”
Lena shrugged; she’d never given it much thought. Grant Tech was fairly well integrated, and except for one or two assholes who had recently decided to take up spray-painting racial slurs on anything that wasn’t moving, there was an easy balance on campus.
“Hope she’s not—” Chuck made a whistling noise, whirling his finger near his temple. Of course Chuck would assume that anyone working in a mental-health clinic was nuts.
Lena did not give him the satisfaction of a response. She was trying to think whether anyone at the clinic would recognize her. The clinic closed at two on Sundays, but Rosen had agreed to see Lena after hours, probably because of the notoriety attached to Lena’s case. Anyone who could read a newspaper knew the lurid details of Lena’s kidnapping and rape. Rosen had probably been overjoyed to hear Lena’s voice on the line.
“Here go,” Chuck said, opening the door to the counseling center.
Lena caught the door before it closed in her face and followed Chuck into the crowded waiting room.
Like most colleges, Grant Tech was seriously underfunded in the mental-health department. Especially in Georgia, where the lottery-backed Hope Scholarship pretty much ensured that anybody who could pencil in a circle got into a state university, more and more kids were coming to college who could not handle the emotional stress of being away from home or having to work. As a technical college, Grant tended toward math nerds and overachievers anyway. These type-A personalities did not take failure well, and the counseling center was practically bulging at the seams from the influx of new students. If their insurance plans were anything like Lena’s, the students had no choice but to turn to the college.
Chuck hitched up his pants as he walked to the counter. Lena could almost read his mind as he looked around the room, taking in the fact that most of the patients were young women wearing cropped T-shirts and bell-bottom jeans. Lena had her own thoughts about the girls, whose worst difficulties probably centered on boys and missing Fido back home. They probably had no idea what it was like to have real problems, problems that kept you up at night, sweating it out until morning came and you could breathe again.
“Hello?” Chuck said, popping his palm against the bell on the counter. Some of the women jumped at the sound, giving Lena a nasty glance, as if they expected her to be able to control him.
“Hello?” He leaned over the counter, trying to see down the hallway.
His voice was so loud in the small room that Lena wanted to put her hands over her ears. Instead she stared at the floor, trying not to look as embarrassed as she felt.
The receptionist, a tall strawberry blonde with an irritated look on her face, finally appeared. She glanced at Lena with no sign of recognition.
“There you are,” Chuck said, smiling like they were old friends.
“Yes?”
“Carla?” Chuck asked, reading her name tag. His eyes lingered at her chest.
She crossed her arms. “What is it?”
Lena stepped in, keeping her voice low. “We need to see Dr. Rosen.”
“She’s in session. She can’t be disturbed.”
Lena was about to take the woman aside and privately explain the situation when Chuck blurted out, “Her son killed himself about an hour ago.”
There was a collective gasp around the room. Magazines were dropped, and two girls walked out the door within seconds of each other.
Carla took a moment to recover from her shock before offering, “I’ll go get her.”
Lena stopped her, saying, �
��I’ll tell her. Just take me to her office.”
The younger woman exhaled with relief. “Thank you.”
Chuck was at Lena’s heels as they followed the girl down the long, narrow hallway. Claustrophobia struck Lena like a sudden flame, and she found herself sweating by the time they reached Jill Rosen’s office. With his usual flair for knowing how to make things worse, Chuck stood close to Lena, almost hovering over her. She could smell his aftershave mixed with the sickly sweet smell of his gum, which he smacked loudly in her ear. She held her breath, turning her head away from him, trying not to be sick.
The receptionist rapped lightly on the door. “Jill?”
Lena pulled at her collar, trying to get more air.
Rosen sounded exasperated as she opened the door, asking, “Yes?” Then she saw Lena, recognition bringing a curious smile. Her mouth opened to say something, but Lena cut her off.
“Are you Dr. Rosen?” Lena asked, aware her voice sounded tinny.
Rosen looked from Lena to Chuck, hesitating for a moment before she turned back to the patient in her office, saying, “Lily, I’ll be right back.”
She pulled the door closed, saying, “This way.”
Lena glared at Chuck before following her, but he still kept close to her heels.
Rosen stopped at an open doorway, gesturing into the room. “We can talk in here.”
Lena had only ever been in the waiting room or Rosen’s office, so she was surprised to find herself in a large conference room. The space was warm and open, with lots of plants, just like Jill Rosen’s office. The walls were painted a soothing light gray. There were chairs covered in mauve fabric tucked under a long mahogany conference table. Large four-drawer filing cabinets filled one side of the room, and Lena was glad to see they were padlocked to keep people from prying.
The doctor turned around, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Jill Rosen had a narrow face and shoulder-length dark brown hair. She was attractive for her age, which was probably early forties, and dressed in an earthy style, with long, flowing blouses and skirts that suited her figure. There was a no-nonsense manner about her that had been very off-putting to Lena, especially when the doctor took it upon herself to diagnose Lena as an alcoholic after only three sessions. Lena wondered that the woman had any patients at all with that kind of attitude. Come to think of it, there was not much to be said for a shrink who couldn’t keep her own son from taking a deep dive into a shallow river.
A Faint Cold Fear gc-3 Page 5