A Faint Cold Fear gc-3

by Karin Slaughter

  He looked down, buttoning and zipping his pants as he said, “Come on, it’s not like we’re gonna have to get married or any—”

  She pushed him hard in the chest. He stumbled back a step but did not fall. Instead of getting the message, he took a step toward her, his face expressionless, no words coming from his mouth as he slammed his hands into her shoulders.

  She hit the wall but stayed upright, shocked by his brute strength. Lena had assumed all along that she could take him, but Ethan’s body was like steel.

  Ethan opened his mouth, probably to apologize. Her palm landed flat against his face. The sound echoed in the room, and before she knew what was happening, he had slapped her back, and hard.

  “Bastard!” She went for him again, this time with her fists, but he caught her hands, easily overpowering her, pushing her against the wall.

  “Lena—” he said, pinning her wrists. She expected pain from the earlier injury, but she was too terrified about what might have happened between them to feel anything except rage.

  She tried to free herself, but he held on easily. Her knife was still in her pocket, though she knew she could not get to it with him holding her hands. She kicked him in the knee, and he bent down reflexively, giving her the opportunity to sucker-punch him full in the face. Ethan finally backed up, his hands over his nose, blood seeping out between his fingers. Lena ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God.” Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her jeans. Her nails scraped the skin on her legs as she pulled down the pants to see what damage had been done. She checked herself for bruises and cuts, then her underwear for telltale stains, even smelled them to see if there was a trace of Ethan anywhere on or near her.

  “Lena?” Ethan said, knocking on the door. His voice was muffled, and she hoped she had broken his nose.

  “Go away!” she ordered, kicking her foot against the door, wishing she were kicking him with the same intensity, wishing she could see him bleeding and in pain.

  He banged back once so hard that the door shook. “Lena, goddammit!”

  “Get out of here!” she screamed, her throat ragged and raw. Had he been inside her mouth? Was she still tasting him?

  “Lena, come on,” he said, moderating his tone. “Please, baby.”

  Lena felt her stomach clench, and she ran to the toilet as she retched, bile sputtering out of her mouth and onto the floor. She sat on her knees, heaving so hard into the bowl that she felt her guts cramp inside her like somebody had put a fist in there.

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to see what was in the toilet, breathing through her mouth, trying not to be sick again.

  The sound of a door bursting open made her look up, but the bathroom door was intact.

  “Up against the wall,” a man’s voice said. She recognized Frank instantly.

  “Fuck you,” Ethan barked back, but she heard a familiar sound as Ethan must have been slammed into the wall. She hoped Frank was hurting him. She hoped he beat the shit out of Ethan.

  Lena wiped her mouth and spit into the toilet. She sat back on her heels, putting her hand to her stomach, listening to what was going on outside the door. Her head was killing her, her heart pounding.

  “Where’s Lena?” Jeffrey said, an edge to his voice.

  “She’s not here, you bastard,” Ethan told them in such a convincing tone that even she believed him. “Where’s your fucking warrant for breaking down that door?”

  Lena put her hand on the sink and slowly pulled herself up.

  Jeffrey asked, “Where did she go?” still using the same worried tone.

  “Out for coffee.”

  Lena looked at herself in the mirror over the vanity. A trickle of blood dribbled from her nose, but it did not feel broken. There was a bruise right under her eye, and she reached up to touch it. Her fingers were a few inches from her face when she stopped. A vivid memory from last night shot through her brain like a current of electricity. She had touched Ethan with this hand. She had reached down into his pants and stroked him while staring into his eyes, watching the effect she had on him, relishing what had seemed like power last night but felt only like something cheap and vile this morning.

  Lena turned on the hot-water faucet, grabbing the soap from the dish. She lathered her hands, then put the foam in her mouth, trying to remember if she had kissed him. She scraped her tongue with her fingernails, gagging as soap went down her throat. She had done this because she was drunk. Fucking drunk. What the hell else would make her do something so fucking stupid?

  Jeffrey knocked softly the door. “Lena?”

  She did not answer, scrubbing her hands until they were dark red from the heat and friction. Her injured wrist was twice the size of the other one, but the pain felt good because it was something she could control. An irregular ridge on one of her scars caught under her fingernail, and the blood was welcome. She picked at the opening, trying to rip the skin, wishing she could peel it off.

  “Lena?” Jeffrey knocked louder, sounding concerned. “Lena? Are you okay?”

  Ethan said, “Just leave her alone.”

  “Lena,” Jeffrey repeated, knocking hard on the door. She could not tell if he was worried or angry or both. “Answer me.”

  She looked up. The mirror told the story of what he would see: her vomit in the toilet, her bloody hands dripping in the sink, Lena standing there, shaking with disgust and self-loathing.

  Frank said, “Break down the door.”

  Jeffrey warned her, “Lena, either you come out or I’m coming in.”

  “Just a moment, please,” she called, like he was her date, waiting patiently to go to dinner.

  She slid the pocketknife out of her jeans before buttoning them up again. There was a loose board in the floor of the medicine cabinet, and she slipped the knife underneath it before turning off the water in the sink.

  Lena flushed the toilet as she gargled a mouthful of Scope, spitting out some and swallowing the rest, hoping her stomach could take it. She wiped under her nose with the back of her hand, then wiped the blood off on her jeans. There was no way she could button the cuffs of her shirt, but she knew that the long sleeves would cover any damage.

  When she finally left the bathroom, Jeffrey was standing there, ready to break down the door. Frank stood behind Ethan, pressing Ethan’s face so hard into the wall that blood from his nose was dripping down the Sheetrock. Lena stood in the doorway. She could see past Jeffrey’s shoulder to the sitting area and the small kitchen. She wished there was some way to make them all go into the other room. Lena had a difficult enough time falling asleep at night without having to deal with the memory of their all being in her bedroom.

  Jeffrey and Frank both looked completely shocked to see her, as if she were an apparition instead of the woman they had worked with almost every day for the last decade.

  Without thinking, Frank loosened his grip on Ethan, muttering, “What happened?”

  She covered the bleeding scar on her hand, telling Jeffrey, “You’d better have a warrant.”

  Jeffrey asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Where’s your warrant?”

  His voice was soft. “Did he hurt you?”

  Lena did not answer. She was looking at the clean comforter, the fact that it was barely wrinkled. The material was dark burgundy, and any stains would have been obvious. She let herself breathe, knowing that nothing else had happened with Ethan last night. As if what she knew had happened were not bad enough.

  She crossed her arms, saying, “Get the hell out of my place. You’re trespassing.”

  “We got a call,” Jeffrey said, and it seemed like his resolve was kicking in. He walked over and looked at the pictures she kept tucked into the mirror over the dresser. “Domestic disturbance.”

  She knew that was bullshit. Lena’s room was at the corner of the building, her nearest neighbor a professor who was away at a conference for the week. Even if someo
ne had called, there was no way Jeffrey could have gotten here that fast. He and Frank had probably been outside the dorm and used the scuffle as a reason to break down her door.

  “So,” Jeffrey said, “what’s the trouble?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lena said, keeping a steady gaze on him.

  Jeffrey said, “Your eye, for starters. Did he hit you?”

  “I fell against the sink when you broke down the door.” She gave him a quick smile. “The noise frightened me.”

  “Right,” Jeffrey said. He indicated Ethan with his thumb. “What about him?”

  Lena looked at Ethan, and he managed to return her gaze out of the corner of his eye. Whatever had happened between them last night was just that—between them.

  Jeffrey prompted, “Lena?”

  “I guess Frank did that when he came in,” she told him, not meeting the sharp look Frank gave her. They had been partners before Lena was fired, and she knew Frank well enough to know she had effectively ruined that connection. Lena had broken the code. The way she felt now, so much the better.

  Jeffrey opened one of the top drawers of her dresser, glanced in it, and gave Lena a steady look. She knew he was looking at her ankle sheath, but there was no law against having a sheathed knife in your sock drawer.

  “What are you doing?” Lena demanded as he slammed the drawer closed.

  He opened the next drawer, where she kept her underwear, and put his hand in, pushing stuff around. He pulled out a black cotton thong she had not worn in years and gave her the same steady look before dropping it back into the drawer. She knew he was looking for similar items to the pair found in Andy Rosen’s room, just as surely as she knew she would never wear a single item in that drawer again.

  Lena tried to keep her tone even when she asked, “Why are you here?”

  He slammed the drawer closed. “I told you yesterday. We found some evidence linking you to a crime.”

  She held out her hands, shocked at how calm she felt. “Arrest me.”

  Jeffrey backed down, as she guessed he would. “We just want to ask you a couple of questions, Lena.”

  She shook her head. He didn’t have enough evidence to arrest her, or she would be sitting in his squad car right now.

  “We can run him in instead,” Jeffrey said, indicating Ethan.

  “Do it,” Ethan challenged.

  Lena hissed, “Ethan, shut up.”

  “Take me in,” Ethan told them. Frank pressed him closer into the wall. Ethan sucked in air but said nothing.

  Jeffrey seemed to be enjoying this. He walked over to Ethan and put his lips close to Ethan’s ear. He said, “Hey, Mr. Eyewitness.”

  Ethan struggled, but Jeffrey easily lifted out his wallet. He thumbed through some photographs in the front and smiled. “Ethan Nathaniel White,” he read.

  Lena tried not to register her surprise, but she couldn’t keep her lips from parting.

  “So, Ethan,” Jeffrey said, putting his hand to the back of Ethan’s head and pressing. “How would you like to spend the night in jail?” He whispered something else in Ethan’s ear that Lena could not hear. Ethan tensed, like an animal wanting to attack.

  “Don’t,” Lena said. “Leave him alone.”

  Jeffrey grabbed Ethan by his shirt collar and threw him onto the bed. “Get your shoes on, boy,” he ordered, kicking the black work boots out from under the bed.

  Lena said, “You don’t have anything to charge him with. I told you I fell against the sink.”

  “We’ll run him down to the station, see what turns up.” He turned to Frank. “The boy just looks guilty, don’t you think?”

  Frank chuckled.

  Lena stupidly said, “You can’t arrest people for looking guilty.”

  “We’ll find something to hold him on.” Jeffrey gave her a quick wink. For as long as she had known him, Jeffrey had never bent the law to this degree. She could see now that he was on a mission to bring her in, no matter who suffered in the process.

  “Just let him go,” she said. “I have to be at work in half an hour. We can talk here.”

  “No, Lena,” Ethan said, standing. Frank pushed him down on the bed so hard the mattress bowed, but Ethan sprang back up, one of his boots in his hands. He was about to slam Frank in the face with it when Jeffrey caught him hard with a kidney punch. Ethan groaned, doubling over, and Lena put herself between the two men, trying to stop a bloodletting.

  The cuff of her shirt had slid up, and Jeffrey was staring at her wrist.

  She dropped her hand, telling them both, “Stop.”

  Jeffrey leaned down and picked up Ethan’s boot, turning it over in his hand. He seemed interested in the tread. “Resisting arrest. That a good enough one for you?”

  “Okay,” Lena said. “I’ll give you an hour.”

  Jeffrey threw the boot hard at Ethan’s chest. He told Lena, “You’ll give me as long as I damn well say.”

  9

  Jeffrey stood in the hallway outside the interrogation room, waiting for Frank. He had been in the observation area, watching Lena through the one-way glass, but the way she stared at the mirror made him uncomfortable, even though he knew she could not see through.

  He had taken Frank to Lena’s apartment this morning, hoping to talk some sense into her. The night before, Jeffrey had rehearsed in his mind how it would go. They would all sit down and talk, maybe drink some coffee, and figure out what was going on. The plan was perfect—except for Ethan White’s getting in the way.

  “Chief,” Frank said, his tone low. He had two cups of coffee in his hands, and Jeffrey took one, even though he already had enough caffeine in his system to make the hair on his arms vibrate.

  “Did the file come in?” Jeffrey asked. The fingerprints from the cup Ethan had used were not much help, but his name and driver’s-license number had hit the jackpot. Not only did Ethan White have a record, he had a parole officer in town. Diane Sanders, his PO, was bringing in White’s sheet herself.

  “I told Marla to send her back here,” Frank said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Sara find anything on the Rosen kid?”

  “No,” Jeffrey said. Sara had performed Andy Rosen’s autopsy right after she finished with Ellen Schaffer. The body held no startling revelations, and, but for Jeffrey and Sara’s suspicions, there was nothing that pointed to murder.

  He told Frank, “Schaffer’s definitely a homicide. There’s no way the two of them aren’t connected. We’re just not seeing it.”

  “And Tessa?”

  Jeffrey shrugged, his mind reeling as he tried to find a connection that would make sense. He had kept Sara awake most of the night trying to figure out how all three victims were connected. Ten minutes had passed before he realized she had finally fallen asleep at the kitchen table.

  Frank looked through the small window in the interrogation-room door, watching Lena. “She say anything?”

  “I didn’t even try,” Jeffrey said. Mostly, he did not know what to ask her. Jeffrey had been shocked to find Ethan in the room when they busted down the door, and then scared as shit when Lena did not immediately come out of the bathroom. For a split second, he had been certain she was lying dead on the floor. He would not soon forget the panic he felt before she finally came out or the horror when he realized that not only had she let that kid hit her, she was covering for him.

  Frank said, “This don’t seem like Lena.”

  “Something’s going on,” Jeffrey agreed.

  “You think she let that punk hit her?” Frank asked.

  Jeffrey took a sip of coffee, thinking about the one thing he did not want to consider. “Did you see her wrist?”

  “Looks pretty bad,” Frank agreed.

  “I don’t like any of this.”

  Frank said, “Here’s Diane.”

  Diane Sanders was of average height and build with the most beautiful gray hair Jeffrey had ever seen. On the surface she was fairly unremarkable, but there was a raw sexuality undernea
th that always took Jeffrey by surprise. She was very good at her job, and despite her caseload she kept on top of all of her parolees.

  She got right to the point. “Do you have White here?”

  “No,” Jeffrey said, wishing he did. Lena had made sure Ethan was given a head start before she would leave her apartment with Jeffrey and Frank.

  Diane looked relieved. “Three of my guys got locked up this weekend, and I’ve been buried in paper. I don’t need trouble from this one. Especially this one.” She held out a thick file. “What are you looking at him for?”

  “Not sure,” Jeffrey said, handing Frank his coffee so he could open the file. The first page was a color photo of Ethan White at the time of his last arrest. His head and face were shaved clean, but he still looked pretty much like the same thug Jeffrey remembered from their earlier meetings. His eyes were dead, staring into the camera as if he wanted to make sure that whoever looked at the picture knew he was a threat.

  Jeffrey flipped past the photo, looking for Ethan’s arrest record. He scanned the details, feeling like someone had hit him in the gut with a brick.

  “Yeah,” Diane said, reading his expression, “he’s been squeaky clean ever since. He keeps up the good behavior and he’ll be off parole in less than a year.”

  “You sure about that?” Jeffrey asked, picking up something in her tone.

  “As far as I can see,” she told him. “I’ve been doing drop-ins on him almost every week.”

  “Sounds like you’re looking for something,” Jeffrey commented. For Diane to be making a special effort to do surprise visits on Ethan said a lot. She was trying to catch him at something.

  “I’m just making sure he stays clean,” she said ruefully.

  Frank asked, “He into drugs?”

  “I make him pee in a cup every week, but those guys never touch drugs. They don’t drink, they don’t smoke.” She paused. “Everything’s either a weakness or a strength with them. Power, control, intimidation—the adrenaline from that gives them their high.”

  Jeffrey took back his coffee and handed Frank the file, thinking that Diane could easily have been talking about Lena instead of Ethan White. He had been worried about Lena before, but now Jeffrey was scared she had gotten herself involved in something she would never be able to get out of.