“Maybe he could’ve stopped it—for Jason, at least.” Will added, “Then again, people don’t see what they don’t want to see.”
“Denial doesn’t hold up as a good excuse. Darla could’ve killed me. She would’ve killed me if the bank hadn’t given out.”
Will didn’t look up because he didn’t want Sara to know what he was thinking. Instead, he leaned down to scratch Bob’s ear. “Frank’s ex-wife is with him. At least he’s not going to die alone.”
“Small comfort.”
“I think it is,” he countered. “Some people don’t get that. Some people just—” Will stopped himself before he started to sound like a blubbering child. “Anyway, I don’t think I’m ever going to find out what really happened this week.”
“Do you need to?”
“I don’t guess so. Nothing will bring Tommy back, but at least his name is clear. Darla’s not going to hurt anyone else. Frank’s in his own prison.”
“And Lena gets away clean yet again.”
She didn’t sound as bitter as she had before. “We’ll see.”
Sara laughed. “You want to make a bet?”
Will tried to think of a clever wager, something that involved him taking her to dinner when they got back to Atlanta, but he was too slow.
She said, “Brock called this morning. He found Lena’s Toyota key in Darla’s front pocket. I guess she was planning on taking Lena’s car and leaving town.”
He remembered the Celica’s sliced tires. Someone at the station had given Lena a parting gift. “Darla must’ve seen you get out of your car and decided to upgrade her ride.” Will had always known that the killer was good at improvising. “Did Hare say what made him check the files for Tommy’s name?”
“He’d seen Tommy in the clinic a couple of times. It’s not unusual for kids that age to still go to their pediatrician, but Tommy was there a lot, at least once a week. Hare got curious after the suicide and checked the paperwork for Tommy’s name.” Sara pulled the leash as Billy tried to pee on the side of Will’s car. “He confirmed what Darla said. He was going to the ethics committee to report the protocol breach.”
“That’s good, right? He was doing the right thing.”
“I suppose, but he’s not going to stop running trials.” She gave a rueful laugh. “Let me correct that: he’s going to stop running trials out of my building, but he’s still going to keep running them.”
“Did you find out what he was testing?”
“An antidepressant. They’re going to try again next spring with a different dosage.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“It’s a billion-dollar business. One in every ten Americans is on antidepressants, even though placebo studies show a lot of them get absolutely no benefits whatsoever.” She nodded back at the house. “Hare’s inside, which is why I took the dogs for a two-hour walk in the freezing cold.”
“Your folks aren’t mad at him?”
She sighed heavily. “Oh, my mother will forgive him anything.”
“I guess that’s what families do.”
She seemed to think about what he said. “Yeah, they do.”
“I talked to Faith this morning.” She’d sent so many baby pictures to Will’s phone that the memory was almost full. “I’ve never heard her happy before. It’s weird.”
“Having a baby changes you,” Sara told him. “Obviously, that’s not something I’ve learned from personal experience, but I can see it with my sister.”
Bob leaned against his leg. Will reached down and scratched him. “I guess I—”
“I was raped.”
Will kept his mouth closed because he didn’t know what to say.
“In college,” she continued. “That’s why I can’t have children.” He’d never noticed how green her eyes were, almost emerald. “It took years for me to tell my husband. I was ashamed. I wanted to think it was behind me. That I was strong enough to get past it.”
“I don’t think anyone could ever say you’re not strong.”
“Well. I’ve had my bad days.” She let out Billy’s leash as he sniffed around the mailbox. They both stared at the dog as if he was far more fascinating than reality dictated.
Will cleared his throat. The moment was too awkward. It was also cold outside, and he guessed Sara didn’t want to stand in front of her parents’ house all day watching him struggle to come up with something meaningful to say. “I should start packing my stuff.”
“Why?”
“Well …” Will was tongue-tied, and painfully stupid. “The holiday. Your family. I’m sure you want to be with them.”
“My mother’s cooked enough for fifty. She’d be crushed if you didn’t stay.”
He couldn’t tell if the offer was genuine or if she was just being polite. “My front yard’s kind of a mess.”
“I’ll help you when we get back to Atlanta.” She smiled mischievously. “I’ll even show you how to use a backhoe.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Will, it’s not imposing.” She took his hand. He looked down, tracing his thumb along her fingers. Her skin was soft. He caught the scent of her soap. Just being close to her like this made him feel warm, like that empty place in his soul might have the chance of being filled one day. He opened his mouth to tell her that he wanted to stay, that he wanted nothing more than to get two thousand more questions from her mother and watch her sister’s sly smile as she glanced back and forth between them.
And then his cell phone chirped in his pocket.
She wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”
“Probably another baby picture from Faith.”
She gave him that same flirty smile. “Let me see.”
Will felt incapable of denying Sara any request. He used his free hand to find his phone. He’d seen Emma Lee Mitchell from every conceivable angle, and he was sure she was a sweet baby, but at the moment she looked like an angry red raisin in a pink knit hat.
Sara flipped open the phone. Her smile quickly faded. “It’s a text.” She showed him the phone, then seemed to realize herself. She turned it back and read aloud, “‘Diedre finally died. Come home.’”
Will felt a sudden pang of grief. “Angie’s mother.” He looked down at her hand. She was still holding his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Will hadn’t cried since he was sixteen, but he felt tears threatening to come. He struggled to speak. “She’s been on life support since I was a kid. I guess she finally …” His throat was so tight he could barely swallow. Angie claimed to hate her mother, but she had visited her at least once a month for the last twenty years. Will had gone with her many times. The experience was awful, heart wrenching. He had held Angie so many times while she sobbed. It was the only time she let her guard down. The only time she surrendered herself to Will.
He suddenly understood Lionel Harris’s words about the power of a shared history.
“Sara—”
She squeezed his hand. “You should go home.”
Will struggled to find the right words. He was torn between wanting to be with Sara and needing to be with Angie.
Sara leaned in close, pressing her lips to his cheek. The wind draped her hair across his face. She put her mouth to his ear and told him, “Go home to your wife.”
So he did.
EPILOGUE
LENA STOOD IN THE CEMETERY LOOKING DOWN AT JEFFREY Tolliver’s headstone. It seemed stupid to put flowers on an empty grave, but the things inside that coffin were more tangible than a jar of ashes. Brad had contributed a paper target from his first qualifying round at the police academy. Frank had put in his citation book because Jeffrey was always yelling at him for being late with the reports. Lena had donated her gold shield. The one she carried up until three weeks ago was a duplicate. Dan Brock had slipped it in with the other items because they both knew there was no way she could do it herself.
All the businesses on Main Street were closed the day Jeffrey’s coffi
n was lowered into the ground. Jared hadn’t attended the funeral either. His resemblance to his father had been brought to his attention years before. He didn’t want to distract the mourners. He didn’t want to bring Sara that sort of pain.
He wanted to be in town, though. He wanted to feel close to his father, to see the place where Jeffrey had lived and loved. He’d met Lena outside the diner. She was sitting on the curb, thinking about all the things she had lost. At first, she’d thought Jared was Jeffrey. Of course she’d thought he was Jeffrey. He was more than a spitting image. He was a walking ghost.
Maybe part of Lena was drawn to him because of the resemblance. She had worshipped Jeffrey too much to ever consider anything romantic. He was her mentor. He was her hero. She had wanted to be the same kind of cop he was. The same kind of person. She hadn’t realized until he was gone that he was just a man.
“Why aren’t you at the funeral?” Jared had asked her.
And Lena had told him, “Because I’m the person who killed your father.”
Jared had spent two hours listening to Lena pour her heart out, then another two hours arguing about how it wasn’t really her fault. His youth made him passionate, a staunch defender of his quickly formed opinions. He had just signed up for the police academy. He hadn’t yet seen the horrors of the world. Hadn’t yet figured out that there was such a thing as a truly irredeemable person.
Was she irredeemable? Lena didn’t want to think so. She had a fresh start ahead of her. A clean slate on which to write the rest of her life. The police review board had returned a verdict of no fault in Tommy Braham’s suicide. Will Trent’s report was long on supposition and short on evidence, especially since Lena had never gotten around to taping that confession. Gordon Braham was moving to Florida to be closer to his wife’s people. He had filed a class-action lawsuit along with Jason Howell’s mother against Hareton Earnshaw and the drug company that had sponsored the trials. He’d signed a paper indemnifying the Grant County force in exchange for an undisclosed sum.
Lena had gone through two operations and a week in the hospital, but the damage to her hand was surprisingly limited considering the hell she’d gone through fighting off a nasty staph infection. Therapy was bringing movement back to her fingers. She was right-handed anyway. All her left hand needed to do was hold up her badge when she was making an arrest. And she would be making a lot of them soon. Gavin Wayne had called two days ago to let her know the job on the Macon force was still available. Lena had told him yes without a second thought.
She was a cop. It was in her blood. Her nerve had been tested. Her resolve had faltered. But she knew without any doubt that there was nothing else in the world that she wanted to do.
She leaned down and placed the flowers on Jeffrey’s grave. He was a cop, too. Not the same kind of cop as Lena, but different paths could still lead to the same destination. Jeffrey would understand that. He had always given her the benefit of the doubt.
Lena looked across the row of headstones lining the cemetery. She’d already put flowers on her sister’s headstone. Frank Wallace didn’t have a marker yet, but she had brought him some daisies because she knew he liked them. He’d left her some money in his will. Not a lot, but enough for Lena to sell her house at a loss and still pay off her mortgage. She had donated the rest to a nonprofit legal fund established to help cops who got on the wrong side of the law. Something told her Frank would’ve approved.
Not that she needed his approval anymore. Lena was sick of worrying what other people thought about her. Part of looking ahead to her new life required her never to look back. The only things she was taking with her from Grant County were her clothes and her fiancé, neither of which she thought she could live without.
“Ready?” Jared was sitting in his truck. He leaned over and pushed open the door.
Lena slid across the seat so he could put his arm around her. “Are things going to be okay with you and Sara?” He’d had coffee with her this morning. Lena gathered things hadn’t gone well.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jared’s jaw tightened as he put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road. He didn’t like giving bad news. “Aunt Sara will come around.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
He kissed the top of her head. “She just doesn’t know who you are.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
He reached down and turned on the radio. Joan Jett started singing about her bad reputation. Lena stared into the rearview mirror. She could see the road disappearing behind her, Grant County getting smaller with every mile. She wanted to feel something for the place—a sense of loss, a sense of nostalgia. All she felt was relief to have it finally behind her.
Did Sara Linton know Lena? Probably better than anybody else alive. But Jared didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know about the mistakes Lena had made, or the people whose lives she had ruined. Things were going to be different in Macon. This was her clean slate. Her new beginning.
Besides, Lena had never told a man the truth in her life. She wasn’t about to start now.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY APPRECIATION TO THE USUAL SUSPECTS: VICTORIA Sanders, Kate Elton, and Kate Miciak. I’d also like to add Gail Rebuck, Susan Sandon, Richard Cable, Margie Seale, Robbert Ammerlaan, Pieter Swinkels, Silvie Kuttny-Walster, Berit Boehm, Per Nasholm, Alysha Farry, Chandler Crawford, and Markus Dohle. And I guess Angela Cheng-Caplan, if she can handle the love.
Isabel Glusman, thank you for your letters, and Emily Bestler, thank you for raising such a great kid. Dr. David Harper helped me figure out how to kill people. Dr. David Worth helped me figure out eyeballs. Any mistakes are my own. Trish Hawkins was instrumental in giving me insight into the complexities of dyslexia. Debbie Teague, you are such a trouper for sharing your experiences; every time I write about Will, I think of your amazing strength of spirit. Mo Hayder: thanks for all the free research on scuba diving, suckah! To Andrew Johnston I offer my apologies for you know what, and no, there’s no compensation. Same goes for you, Miss Kitty.
Thanks to Beth Tindall of Cincinnati Media for all the usual web crap. Jamey Locastro can arrest me anytime. Fiona Farrelly and Ollie Malcolm were very gracious helping me figure my way around the thing that involves the plot of this story, which I won’t mention here in case people read this before they read the actual book, which they shouldn’t be doing anyway. Thanks also to the folks who helped by discussing this subject matter but didn’t want to be named for obvious reasons. To Speaker David Ralston: I thank you very much for introducing me to some great people. GBI Director Vernon Keenan and John Bankhead, thanks for your time. I will never fire a shotgun again without thinking of our lovely day outside the women’s prison. I hope I’ve honored the work y’all and all the agents and support staff at the GBI do for the great state of Georgia.
My daddy made me soup and cornbread during critical times, which I may have conflated because of the cornbread and soup, which—did I mention?—I will probably need more of. D.A. showed amazing perseverance through this whole process. As always, you are my heart.
To my readers: y’all are the best. For further reading, try the GPZ anthology, check out issue 15.05 of Wired magazine, or, if you really want to get upset, investigoogle Jessie Gelsinger. For those of you with a wild hair, GPGP.net is an interesting site as well. Hey, folks, while you’re online, check me out on Facebook or my website, karinslaughter.com. I love getting letters, but please remember this is a work of fiction.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KARIN SLAUGHTER is the New York Times and #1 internationally bestselling author of ten thrillers, including Undone, Beyond Reach, Triptych, and Faithless. She is a native of Georgia.
Broken is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Karin Slaughter
Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
DELACORTE PRESS is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Slaughter, Karin,
Broken : a novel / Karin Slaughter.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33959-5
1. Linton, Sara (Fictitious character)—Fiction.
2. Policewomen—Fiction.
3. Georgia—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3569.L275B76 2010
813′.54—dc22 2010004424
www.bantamdell.com
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