Broken

by Karin Slaughter

  Gently, she slid her hand under the back of the head. “The skull is fractured.” When she pulled her hand back, it was sticky with blood.

  “Window’s closed,” he pointed out. A sizable puddle covered the floor under the sash. Marty had been in the room after all.

  Sara had noticed, too. “He did you a favor. The rain could’ve flooded the floor and washed away the trace.”

  “Charlie’s not going to be happy.” Will realized he hadn’t told her that a team was coming. “He’s our forensics guy. He’ll probably want to keep the body here until he’s processed the scene.”

  “I’ll let Brock know. Do you want me to do the autopsy?”

  He thought he might be stepping on her toes. “If it’s not too much of an imposition.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  Will didn’t know what to say. He was used to the women in his life making things more difficult, not easier. “Thank you.”

  She asked, “Do you think Jason was Allison’s boyfriend?”

  “They’re close in age. They go to the same school. They both ended up dead by the same killer’s hand. I think it’s not a big leap.” Will asked, “Assuming you hate to hypothesize, what do you think happened here?”

  Sara changed into fresh gloves, telling him, “I assume Jason was at the computer when he was hit with something. Statistically, we can guess a baseball bat. I’ll know pretty quickly. There will be splinters in his scalp.” She pointed to spatter on the wall that Will hadn’t noticed before. Unlike the oak tree by the lake, the white walls of the dorm showed clear signs of the violence that was done. “Medium velocity. I don’t think the blow was meant to kill him. The killer wanted to stun him.” She pointed to the red streaks on the floor. “He was dragged over to the bed and stabbed, but it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why?”

  She looked under the bed. “There should be a lot more blood than this.” She indicated a fleshy chunk on the desk. “Obviously, he bit off his tongue—”

  Will gagged. “Sorry. Keep going.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His voice sounded unnaturally high even to him. “Yes. Please keep going.”

  She gave him a careful look before continuing. “It’s not uncommon with blows to the back of the head for the victim to bite their tongue. Usually it doesn’t come clean off, but it explains the volume of blood on the keyboard. His mouth would’ve been engorged with blood.” She indicated the wall above the desk. “The spatter here is what you’d expect from the baseball bat making contact with the head, but over by the bed is a different story.”

  “Why?”

  “From the position of the wounds, I can tell that major arteries were hit in the chest and neck.” Sara explained, “Think about it this way—Jason’s on the bed. We assume he’s conscious because of the defensive wounds on his hand. He almost lost his finger. He must’ve grabbed the knife by the blade. His heart would’ve been pounding like crazy.” She patted her fist to her chest, mimicking the quick beat. “Spray, spray, spray. All over the wall.”

  Will looked at the wall. She was right. Except for two splotchy-looking stains close to the body, the white paint was hardly marked at all.

  Sara suggested, “Maybe the killer was wearing something like a clean suit. He could’ve put down plastic. He’d have to cover the room, tape the walls. This was really planned.”

  “I think that’s a little complicated.” Will had yet to meet a killer who was that fastidious. “Most killers keep it simple. They’re opportunistic.”

  “I wouldn’t call taking a couple of cinder blocks, a padlock, and a chain to the middle of the woods opportunistic.”

  “I just think you’re making this too complicated. Couldn’t the killer cover Jason’s body with something and stab him underneath?”

  Sara looked at the body. “The stab wounds are closely patterned. I don’t know. What are you talking about? Plastic?” She nodded to herself. “The killer could’ve covered him in plastic. Look at the floor. There’s a drip line here.”

  Will saw the line. It was irregular, following the shape of the bed.

  She said, “Plastic doesn’t absorb. The line wouldn’t be thin like that. It would come off in sheets.”

  “Sheets.”

  Sara leaned down and checked the bed. “Fitted sheet, top sheet.”

  “Blanket?” Will asked. The kid had been freezing cold. It didn’t make sense that he’d go to bed without a blanket.

  Sara opened the closet door. “Nothing.” She started on the drawers. “I think you’re right. It must have been something absorbent that—”

  Will walked down the hallway to the bathroom. The lights were off, but he found the switch by the door. The fluorescents flickered overhead. Green light bounced off the blue tiles. Will had never lived in a dorm, but he’d shared a communal bathroom with fifteen other boys until he was eighteen years old. They were all the same: sinks in the front, showers in the back, toilets on the side.

  He found a wadded-up blanket in the first stall. Blood coated the blue cotton, making it stiff as cardboard.

  Sara came up behind him.

  He told her, “Simple.”

  WILL LOOKED FOR the house with the swing set that marked the turn on Taylor Drive. Though the route was familiar, he was loath to take it. Searching Allison Spooner’s room was a necessary chore, but Will’s instincts told him that Jason Howell’s dorm room held more promising leads. Unfortunately, Will wasn’t a crime scene technician. He didn’t have the credentials or equipment to process such a complicated scene. He would have to wait for Charlie Reed and his team to drive over from the Central GBI lab. Two students were already dead and Will had no idea what was motivating the killer. Time was definitely not on his side.

  Still, there were procedures to be followed. He had dropped by the station to pick up the warrant to search the Braham house. While he was there, he’d sent Faith the list Marty Harris had printed out of all the students in the dorm. She didn’t have time to do all the background checks, but she was going to get started on them now and send the rest of the list to Amanda’s secretary before she went to the hospital.

  The police station had been oddly quiet. Will guessed they were all either on the street or at the hospital with Brad Stephens, who was still in a medically induced coma. Still, something was going on. The patrolmen milling around the desks hadn’t glared at Will with the expected hatred. Marla Simms had handed him the fax without having to be asked. Even Larry Knox had stared at the floor as he walked to the coffee machine to refill his cup.

  There were two cars parked in front of the Braham house. One was a police cruiser. The other was a four-door Ford pickup. Will parked behind the truck. Exhaust drifted up from the tailpipe. He could see two figures in the cab. Lena Adams was in the passenger seat. A man was behind the wheel. His window was down, even though the rain hadn’t let up. He held a cigarette in his hand.

  Will went to the driver’s side. His hair was plastered to his head. He was freezing. His socks were still soaking wet.

  Lena made the introductions. “Gordon, this is the agent from Atlanta I told you about. Will Trent.”

  Will shot her a glance that he hoped conveyed his intense level of irritation. Lena was being investigated for her part in Tommy’s death. She had no business talking to his father. “Mr. Braham, I’m so sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances.”

  Gordon held the cigarette to his mouth. He was crying openly, tears streaming down his face. “Get in.”

  Will climbed into the back seat. There were a couple of fast-food bags on the floor. Work orders with the Georgia Power logo were stacked in an open briefcase on the seat opposite. Even with the open window, smoke hung in the air like a shroud.

  Gordon stared ahead at the road. Raindrops popped against the hood of the truck. “I can’t believe my boy would do any of this. It’s not in his nature to be hurtful.”

  Will knew there was no use wasting time with kindnes
s. “Can you tell me what you know about Allison?”

  He took another hit off the cigarette. “Paid her rent on time. Kept the house clean. I gave her a discount for doing the laundry, looking after Tommy.”

  “Did he need looking out for?”

  Gordon glanced at Lena. “He knows, right?”

  Will answered, “I know that he was slow, Mr. Braham. I also know that he held down several jobs and was well respected in town.”

  The man looked down at his hands. His shoulders shook. “He did, sir. He worked real hard.”

  “Tell me about Allison.”

  Gordon’s composure came back slowly, but his shoulders were still slumped. When he moved the cigarette to his mouth, it looked as if his hands were weighted down. “Was she raped?”

  “No, sir. There were no signs of that.”

  He let out a ragged, relieved breath. “Tommy had a crush on her.”

  “Did she feel the same way?”

  He shook his head. “No. And he knew it. I taught him early on to be careful around girls. Look but don’t touch. He never had any trouble. Girls saw him like a puppy dog. They didn’t see that he was a man.” He repeated himself, “He was a man.”

  Will gave him some time before asking, “Allison was living in the house?”

  He lit a new cigarette off the old one. Will could feel the smoke clinging to his wet hair and clothes. He made an effort not to cough.

  Gordon said, “She rented the garage at first. I didn’t want to let her. That’s no place for a girl to be living. She started talking about discrimination, said she had lived in worse, so I told her fine. I figured she’d move out in a month.”

  “How long had she been renting from you?”

  “Almost a year. She didn’t want to live in the dorm. Said all the girls there were boy crazy, staying up too late. She knew how to flirt to get what she wanted, though. Had Tommy wrapped around her little finger.”

  Will didn’t address the tone of blame in the father’s voice. “She wasn’t living in the garage, though.”

  He didn’t answer immediately. “That was Tommy. He said it wasn’t right for her to be out there when it was so cold, having to run back and forth to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He changed rooms with her. I didn’t know until after the fact.” He blew out a dark plume of smoke that wreathed around his head. “I told you, she had him wrapped around her finger. I should’ve put my foot down, paid more attention to what was going on.” He inhaled sharply, fighting his emotions. “I knew he had a crush on her, but he’d had crushes before. He liked the attention she was giving him. He didn’t have a lot of friends.”

  Will knew he couldn’t tell the man details about an active case, especially one that could result in a nasty lawsuit. But he felt for the father, wished he could give him some words of comfort about his son. Instead, he asked, “Did you spend much time at home?”

  “Not much. Mostly, I’m at my girlfriend’s house. Tommy didn’t know, but we were planning on getting married in the spring.” He exhaled sharply. “I was gonna ask him to be my best man once I got back from Florida.”

  Will gave the man a few minutes to collect himself. “Did you know Allison’s boyfriend?”

  “Jay. James.”

  Will guessed, “Jason?”

  “That’s right.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “He wasn’t around much. I didn’t let her have anybody sleep over. Wasn’t right for a girl that age to be fooling around.”

  “Did Tommy know Jason?”

  He shook his head, but said, “I guess. I don’t know. I wasn’t involved in his life as much as when he was little. He was grown. He had to figure out how to be on his own.” His breath caught as he tried to inhale some smoke. “I know my son. He would never hurt anybody. I know what he did to Brad, but that’s not my boy. I didn’t raise him that way.”

  Lena cleared her throat. “I saw what happened, Gordon. Tommy was running, but then he turned around. Brad didn’t have time to slow down. I don’t think your son meant to stab him. I think it was an accident.”

  Will chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if she was lying to help the man feel better or telling the truth.

  Gordon seemed to have the same question. He wiped his eyes again. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me that.”

  Will asked, “Was Tommy acting differently lately?”

  He swallowed hard. “Frank called me a week ago about some mess he’d gotten into. One of the neighbors got mad at him. He never yelled at people before. Never had a temper. I sat him down and talked to him. He said they were giving him grief about Pippy barking too much.” Gordon blew out some smoke. “He loved that stupid dog.”

  “Did he drink?”

  “Never. He hated the taste of beer. I tried to get him used to it, thought we could sit around on Saturdays, have some brews and watch the game together, but it never took. He got bored. Basketball was his sport. He couldn’t keep up with all the rules for football.”

  “Did he have any friends? Was anyone giving him trouble lately?”

  “He never met a stranger,” Gordon answered. “But I don’t think there was anybody specific he was close to. Like I said, he was into Allison, and she was sweet to him, but more like you’d be with a little brother.”

  “Did they hang out much?”

  “I wasn’t here to see it. He talked about her a lot. I won’t deny that.”

  “When is the last time you spoke with your son?”

  “I guess the night he …” Gordon didn’t finish the sentence. He took a hit off his cigarette. “He called because he needed permission to use the credit card. He thought Pippy swallowed one of his socks. I told him to take her to the vet.”

  “We haven’t found his cell phone.”

  “I made him get one of those pay-as-you-go deals. He had a good job. He was a hard worker. He didn’t mind paying his own way.” Gordon flicked his cigarette out into the street. “I can’t be here anymore. I can’t go into that house. I can’t see his things.” He told Lena, “You can go on in there. Take whatever you like. Burn the place down. I don’t care.”

  Will opened the door, but he didn’t leave. “Did Tommy collect knives?”

  “I never let him near knives. I don’t know where he got one. Do you?”

  Will answered, “No, sir.”

  Gordon shook out another cigarette from the pack. “He liked to take things apart,” the man said. “I’d get to work and try to write my service orders and the pen wouldn’t work. Tommy would take the springs out. I’d find a bunch of them in his pockets when I was doing laundry. Tore up the motor in the dryer once. I thought it was something to do with his problem, but Sara told me he was playing me. He liked practical jokes. Liked trying to make people laugh.” Gordon wasn’t finished. He glanced into the rearview mirror, looking Will in the eye. “I knew early on he was different. I knew I wasn’t gonna have that kind of life with him, the kind of life fathers have with sons. But I loved him, and I raised him right. My boy is not a murderer.”

  Lena put her hand on Gordon’s arm. “He was a good man,” she told him. “He was a very good man.”

  Gordon put the car in gear, making it clear he didn’t want to continue the conversation. Will and Lena got out. They watched the Ford drive up the street.

  The rain had slacked off, but Lena still pulled the hood of her jacket up to cover her head. She took a deep breath and let it go slowly. “Tommy didn’t kill Allison.”

  Will had figured that out a while back, but he was surprised to hear the admission. “What brought about this epiphany?”

  “I’ve spent most of the day talking to people who knew him. The same as I would have done if Tommy was still alive.” She crossed her arms. “He was a good kid. He ended up in trouble the same way a lot of good kids do—he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. And he had a knife in his hands.”

  “I think you mean that he was in the right place at the wrong time. Tommy was in his ap
artment. His garage apartment.”

  She didn’t contradict him. “He stabbed a police officer.”

  “Accidentally, from what I’ve heard.”

  “Accidentally,” she agreed. “And we had no legal right to go into that garage. Brad got the address, but it’s not on the building. I led us here. I was the one who said that the garage was Allison’s apartment. That’s why Brad looked in the window. That’s what started everything.” She took a shallow breath. He could tell she was scared, but determined. “How does this work? Do I make a statement? Do I write out a confession?”

  Will tried to figure out her grand scheme. It couldn’t be this easy. “Let’s back up a second. What are you confessing to?”

  “The false search of the apartment. I guess that’s breaking and entering. My negligence led to a police officer being injured. Two officers. I elicited a false confession. I’m the one who walked Tommy back to the cells. I’m the one who didn’t frisk him. The ink cartridge was from my pen. I had some extra ones, so I changed it out, but Tommy got the cartridge from me. And we both know I’ve been dicking you around all day.” She gave a forced laugh. “So, that’s obstruction of justice, right?”

  “Right,” he agreed. “Are you willing to put all that on paper?”

  “I’ll let you tape it.” She pulled the hood off her head and looked up at Will. “What am I looking at? Jail time?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, but the truth was she had skated a thin line. Her negligence wasn’t willful. The false confession had been taken in good faith. She was cooperating now, even if she’d been recalcitrant before. She wasn’t shifting blame. “In the immediate term, I imagine you’ll be suspended pending a review of my investigation. You’ll have to go in front of the board. They might come down on you hard or they might not. Your pension is probably gone. If it’s not, you could take a hit on years of service, get a period of unpaid leave. If they don’t pull your badge, this is going to be on your record until you die. Finding someone to hire you might prove difficult. And Gordon Braham might bring a civil suit against you.”

  None of this seemed to surprise her. She reached into her pocket. “Do I give you my badge now?”