Leigh felt a pain in her mouth from clenching her teeth. She had to get this over with. She found the powder, another brush. She caked it onto his wound, using her finger to feather out the edges.
“If only she had called the police, or children’s services,” Andrew said. “Think about how many lives she could’ve saved.”
“Jacob is my second chair,” Leigh said, because talking about work was the only way to keep herself from screaming. “He’s my associate. I mentioned him the other day at Bradley’s. Jacob will be handling the procedural side, but I’ll let him interview some of the prospective jurors if it seems like they’ll respond better to a man. You need to cut the bullshit around him. He’s young, but he’s not stupid. If he picks up on anything—”
“Harleigh.” Andrew pushed out her name in a long, low sigh. “You know, you really are quite beautiful.”
His hand touched her leg.
Leigh reeled away from him. Her chair scraped across the floor. She was on her feet, back to the wall, before she let herself process what had just happened.
“Har-leigh,” Andrew stood up from the table. The toothy grin was back, the one that said he was enjoying everything about this moment. His footsteps shuffled across the floor. “What’s the perfume you’re wearing? I really like it.”
Leigh started to shake.
He leaned in closer, inhaling her scent. She could feel her hair brushing his face. His hot breath was in her ear. There was nowhere to go. Leigh’s shoulder blades were stabbing into the wall. All she had was the make-up brush that she still clenched in her hand.
Andrew looked into her eyes, watching her carefully. His tongue darted out between his lips. She felt the pressure of his knee pushing against her clenched legs.
That’s okay little girl don’t be scared of your ol’ pal Buddy.
A loud boom of laughter came from the other side of the door. The sound echoed through the hallway. She struggled to remind herself that she was not trapped inside of the yellow Corvette. She was in a tiny conference room inside the Superior Court for DeKalb County. Her associate was outside. Her assistant was nearby. Sheriff’s deputies. Prosecutors. Colleagues. Detectives. Cops. Social workers.
They would believe her this time.
She asked Andrew, “Does Linda know you’re a rapist like your father?”
A subtle change crossed his face. “Does your husband know you’re a murderer?”
Leigh stared all of her hate into him. “Get the fuck away from me before I start screaming.”
“Harleigh.” His toothy grin returned. “Don’t you know by now that I love it when a woman screams?”
She had to slide along the wall to get away from him. She felt her legs shaking as she walked to the door. Opened it. Went into the nearly deserted hallway. Two men stood near the elevators. Another pair was entering the men’s room. Liz was sitting on a bench against the wall. She had her iPad on her lap, her phone in her hand. Leigh walked toward her, hands clutched into fists because she didn’t know what to do with all of the adrenaline in her body.
Liz said, “Jacob’s in the courtroom going through the questionnaires. We’re ten minutes out.”
“Good.” Leigh looked down the hall, trying to banish her anxiety. “Anything else?”
“No.” Liz didn’t return to her electronics. She stood up. “Actually, yes.”
Leigh couldn’t take one more bad thing. “What’s wrong?”
“It just occurred to me that I’ve never seen you upset. Like, your hair could be on fire and you’d ask me to bring a glass of water when it’s convenient.” She glanced at the conference room. “Do you need me in there? Or Jacob? Because he creeps me the hell out, too.”
Leigh couldn’t worry about her emotions being on full display. Her legs could still feel the pressure of Andrew’s knee trying to pry them apart. She didn’t want to go back into that room again, but the only thing worse than being alone with Andrew was giving him an audience.
She was saved the decision by the sight of Dante Carmichael getting off the elevator. The prosecutor had brought a team. Miranda Mettes, his second chair, was on his right. On his left was Barbara Klieg, the detective in charge of the Tammy Karlsen investigation. Taking up the rear were two uniformed DeKalb County police officers.
“Shit,” Leigh whispered. She had only looked at Andrew’s mugging story and his failed ankle monitor as individual pieces. Now she saw them as a whole. Another woman had been violently attacked. Andrew had been connected to the case. They were here to arrest him.
“Harleigh?” Andrew was holding up her personal cell phone. “Who’s Walter? He’s been trying to call you.”
Leigh grabbed the phone out of his hand. She warned him, “Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
His eyebrow rose up. He thought this was all a joke. “Are you worried about your family, Harleigh?”
“Collier,” Dante called. “I need to talk to your client.”
Leigh gripped her phone so tightly that she felt the edges press against the bones in her fingers. They were all watching her, waiting. The only thing she could think to do was to show them the bitchy litigator they were expecting. “Go fuck yourself, Dante. You’re not going to talk to him.”
“Just trying to clear some things up,” Dante said, as if he were being entirely reasonable. “What’s the harm in a few questions?”
“No,” Leigh said. “He’s not—”
“Harleigh,” Andrew interrupted. “I’d be happy to answer any questions. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Barbara Klieg had been silently taking photos of Andrew’s wounds with her phone. “Looks like you’re trying to hide some fairly nasty cuts and bruises there, pal.”
“You’re right, pal.” Andrew’s smile was chilling. He was completely unafraid. “As I told my lawyer, I was attacked on my morning jog yesterday. It must’ve been a junkie looking for a quick buck. Isn’t that what you said, Harleigh?”
Leigh bit her lip to keep herself from losing it. The stress was going to split her in two. “Andrew, I’m advising you to—”
“Did you file a report?” Klieg asked.
“No, officer,” Andrew said. “Given my recent interactions with the police, I didn’t feel it would be worth my while to ask for help.”
“What about last night?” Klieg said. “Your ankle monitor was off for over three hours.”
“A fact I immediately reported to my probation officer.” His gaze found Leigh, but not out of desperation. He wanted to watch her squirm. “My lawyer can confirm that she was also informed. Isn’t that right?”
Leigh said nothing. She looked down at her phone. Maddy’s school crest was on the back. She knew that Andrew had seen it.
Are you worried about your family, Harleigh?
Walter was right. Leigh had been a fool for thinking that she could keep this monster packed inside a separate compartment.
Klieg asked Andrew, “Can you account for your whereabouts between the hours of five and seven thirty last night?”
“Andrew,” Leigh warned, silently begging him to stop. “I am advising you to remain silent.”
Andrew ignored the advice, telling Klieg, “My wedding ceremony was held at my home yesterday evening. I let the caterers in around five thirty. My mother arrived promptly at six to make sure everything was running smoothly. I’m sure you know my probation officer, Teresa Singer, showed up around six thirty to reset my ankle monitor. Guests were already arriving by then for cocktails and light hors d’oeuvres. Then Sidney and I walked down the aisle around eight. Does that satisfy your inquiry?”
Klieg exchanged a look with Dante. Neither one of them was happy with his answer. There were too many potential witnesses.
Andrew offered, “I can show you the photos I took on my phone. I’m sure the metadata will support my alibi. Everything is time and location stamped.”
Leigh remembered Reggie telling her that metadata could be faked if you knew what you were doing. She went from hop
ing Andrew would shut up to praying he knew what the hell he was doing.
Klieg said, “Let’s see the pictures.”
“Andrew,” Leigh said, but only because it was expected of her. He was already reaching into his inside jacket pocket.
“Here we go.” He angled the screen so that everyone could watch him scroll through the photos. Andrew posing with a line of caterers behind him. Standing beside Linda as she held up a flute of champagne. Andrew helping to hang a banner that read CONGRATULATIONS MR. & MRS. ANDREW TENANT!
The photos were compelling, but what was absent told the real story. There were no solitary pictures of cakes and decorations. No guests standing alone at the front door. No Sidney in her wedding dress. Every photo contained Andrew and, at every angle, you could see the scrapes and bruises on his face and neck.
Klieg said, “How about I take your phone and let our experts look at it?”
Leigh gave up. Andrew was going to do whatever he wanted. Trying to warn him wasn’t worth the effort it took to open her mouth.
“The password is six ones.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh, acknowledging the simplicity. “Anything else, officer?”
Klieg was clearly disappointed, but she made a show of pulling an evidence bag out of her blazer pocket and holding it open so that Andrew could drop in his phone.
Dante spoke to Leigh. “I need a private moment.”
The sick feeling welled back up. He was going to offer Andrew another deal and Andrew was going to tell her to pass because he was always three steps ahead of her.
Leigh followed Dante into the conference room. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall as he closed the door. He had a folder in his hands. Leigh was sick and tired of men showing her the abhorrent contents of their folders.
Dante said nothing. He was probably expecting her to start this off with another Go fuck yourself, but Leigh was out of fucks. She raised her personal phone. There were two missed calls from Walter. He had probably signed the divorce papers. He had probably changed his mind about letting her say goodbye to Maddy. He was probably on his way out of town.
She told Dante, “We’re expected in front of the judge in five minutes. What’re you offering?”
“Felony murder.” He dropped the file on the table.
Leigh could see the edges of glossy, color photographs peering out. If he was trying to shock her, he was too late. Cole Bradley had predicted this forty-eight hours ago—
Peeping Tom turns into rapist. Rapist turns into murderer.
“When?” She knew that determining time of death could be more art than science. “How do you know she was murdered between five and seven thirty last night?”
“She called her family at five. Body was found in Lakehaven Park around seven thirty.”
Leigh knew there was a lake at the country club near Andrew’s house. She had to assume the body had been left just like the others—at another park that was a fifteen minute walk from where he lived. She pressed together her lips, trying to figure out how Andrew had pulled this off. On the surface, his alibi was solid. The metadata on the photos would place him at his house. Sidney would back up anything he said. Linda was the outlier. Leigh didn’t know if Andrew’s mother would swear under oath that the champagne flute photo had been taken at the indicated time. And then there were the cuts and bruises on Andrew’s face and neck.
Something occurred to her.
She told Dante, “It takes two to three hours for that kind of dark coloring to come up. You saw the pictures on his phone. The marks on Andrew’s neck were turning purple by the time the caterers showed up at five thirty. The cut on his jaw had stopped bleeding.”
“What about these photos?” Dante opened the file folder. He started slapping down the crime scene photos on the table. The dramatic flourish was unnecessary. Leigh was too jaded to be shockable, and what he was showing her was nothing she had not seen before.
A woman’s face beaten so badly that her features were indistinguishable.
Teeth marks surrounding the open wound where a nipple used to be.
A cut to the left thigh just over the femoral artery.
The metal handle of a knife sticking out between her legs.
“Stop.” Leigh recognized Andrew’s handiwork. She asked the same question she had been asking every man in her life lately. “What do you want from me?”
“That’s probably what the victim said when your client was raping and killing her.” Dante held the last photo between his hands. “You know he did this, Collier. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. It’s just us girls in here. Andrew Tenant is guilty as hell.”
Leigh wasn’t so sure—at least not this time. The coloring of the bite marks was bothering her. She had worked so many domestic violence cases in private practice that she could probably qualify as an expert witness. “You said the victim had a phone call with her family at five. If you’re saying Andrew attacked the victim right after the call, then got home by five thirty to let the caterers in—or at the very latest he was home by six thirty when his parole officer showed up to reset his ankle monitor—explain the dark coloring of the marks on his neck.”
“I think you mean teeth marks, but so what?” Dante shrugged. “You get your expert to testify to one thing and I get my expert to testify to another.”
“Let’s see it.” Leigh nodded for him to put the last photo on the table. Dante had been holding it back for a reason.
He bypassed the flourish as he placed the photograph in front of her.
Another close-up. The back of the victim’s head. Chunks of her straight black hair were missing. The scalp showed deep gouges where something sharp and brutal had been used to cut deep into the roots.
Leigh had seen those kinds of wounds only once before in her life. She was ten years old. She was gripping a piece of broken glass, attacking one of Callie’s tormentors on the playground.
I held her down and hacked off her hair until her scalp was bleeding.
Leigh felt sweat roll down her neck. The walls started to close in. Andrew had done this. He had listened to Leigh’s story about punishing the mean little girl and he had played it out in a sick, twisted homage.
Suddenly, a moment of panic gripped Leigh’s heart. Her eyes darted across the photos, but the woman’s arms and legs were not stick-thin. There were no track marks and old scars from needles that had broken off in her veins. Nor did she show the signs of baby fat that Leigh’s own beautiful girl needlessly fretted over in front of the mirror.
“The victim,” Leigh said. “What’s her name?”
“She’s not just a victim, Collier. She was a mother, a wife, a Sunday school teacher. She’s got a sixteen-year-old daughter, just like you.”
“Save the violins for your closing argument,” Leigh said. “Tell me her name.”
“Ruby Heyer.”
15
“Fucking yeah!” Sidney screamed into the air whipping around her convertible BMW. The radio was blaring a song that dropped more n-words than a white nationalist convention. Sidney sang along, her fist pumping toward the sky with every beat. She was drunk as hell from three pitchers of mimosas, stoned out of her mind from the molly Callie had slipped into her last drink, and probably going to lose control of the car if she didn’t put her eyes back on the road.
The BMW fishtailed at a stop sign. Sidney racked the heel of her palm into the horn. Her foot slammed down on the gas. “Outta my way, motherfucker!”
“Woot!” Callie yelled, raising a companionable fist in the air. Despite herself, she was having fun. Sidney was hilarious. She was young and stupid and she hadn’t completely fucked up her life yet, though clearly, she was working on it.
“Fucker!” Sidney yelled at another driver as she blew through a stop sign. “Fuck you in the face, motherfucker!”
Callie laughed as the elderly driver used both hands to flip them off. Her mind was racing. Her heart was a hummingbird. Colors burst in front of her eyes—neon-green tree
s, blazing yellow sun, vivid blue sky, bright white trucks and siren-red cars and flashing yellow lines popping up from the jet-black asphalt.
She had forgotten how fantastic it felt to party. Before she’d broken her neck, Callie had tried coke and molly and bennies and meth and addys because she had thought that the answer to her problems was to make the world spin as fast as it could.
The Oxy had changed that. Callie had known the first time the drug hit her system that what she really needed was to revel in the slow. Like a monkey, her feet had turned into fists. She could hang in one place while the world passed her by. The zen from those early days of opioids had been ludicrously off the chart. And then weeks went by, then months, then years, then her standing-still life had narrowed down solely to the pursuit of more heroin.
She fished out one of the pill bottles from her purse, found another Adderall. She placed it on her tongue. Showed it to Sidney.
Sidney leaned over and sucked the tablet off of Callie’s tongue. Her lips melted into Callie’s. Her mouth was hot. The sensation was electric. Callie tried to make it last, but Sidney slipped away, turning her attention back to the car. Callie shuddered, her body waking up in a way it hadn’t in years.
“God damn!” Sidney yelled, pushing the car to go faster as she slalomed down a residential street. The BMW skidded into a sharp curve. She came to a jarring stop. “Fuck.”
Callie was jerked forward as Sidney pushed the gear into reverse. Tires burned against the blacktop. Sidney backed up several yards, hit the gear again, and they were heading up a long driveway to a giant white house.
Andrew’s house.
Back at the restaurant, Callie had made noises about taking the party to her pretend hotel room, but she’d dropped in the detail that they’d need to keep quiet and Sidney had said the exact words that Callie had teed up—
Fuck being quiet let’s go back to my place.
It shouldn’t have been surprising that Andrew lived in what looked like a serial killer’s murder mansion. Everything was white but for the sugar-cube-shaped shrubs. The place embodied the dead-inside vibe Andrew had exuded inside the stadium tunnel.
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