Karin Slaughter - Martin Misunderstood

Martin noted her pretty yellow dress and tried to impress her with his Dutch. ' Het meisje draagt een geile jurk! '

She stared at him, and he felt the skin on his face, wondering if his mother had somehow transferred lipstick on to his cheek without actually touching him.

An said, 'Sit down, Mr Reed.'

He sat.

'We found a body.'

'A prostitute,' Martin supplied. 'A meth addict.'

'She was buried off of-'

'Abernathy Road,' he supplied. 'Have you done something different with your hair?'

She patted the bun self-consciously. 'We found a-'

'Rope,' he said. Why did they always have to go through the motions? 'Tell me about your day.'

'My day?' she echoed, her hand dropping to the table. Martin wanted to reach out and touch her, to caress her gentle hand in his, but the one time he'd tried, An had threatened to Tase him.

Martin spoke openly – prison had made him brazen. 'You know that I am in love with you.'

She gave a sad chuckle. 'Love doesn't pay the rent.'

' Ik wil de hoer graag betalen, ' he offered, thrilled at the way the Dutch tickled his tongue.

She sighed again. 'Mr Reed-'

'I'd pay your rent every day!' he repeated, this time in English (he had trouble with Dutch tenses). 'Oh, An, you must know that I adore you.'

She colored slightly. There was an awkward moment between them. Then another, then another, so that it was more like an awkward five minutes before she asked, 'Did you read that book I gave you?'

'The Danielle Steel?' Martin had never enjoyed flowery romances, and prison was hardly the place to show your feminine side. 'Well, yes, of course I read it. You know I would do anything you asked me to.'

'She married a prison inmate, you know.'

Martin did not recall that from the plot at all. He gently corrected, 'Actually, Marie-Ange was already married to the Comte de Beauchamp when she suspected him of murdering-'

'No, Mr Reed. Danielle Steel the author. She married a prison inmate. Two, actually.' An shuffled her folders, her eyes avoiding his. 'Danny Zugelder was the first, and then the day after she divorced him, she married William George Toth.'

'Well, that's kind of strange,' Martin said, wondering how the jet-setting Steel would even meet criminals in the first place. 'I bet her mother didn't approve.'

'Maybe she did,' An said, smoothing down the hair at the nape of her neck. 'Maybe her mother said something like, "I just want you to be happy."'

Martin had heard his own mother say the same phrase often enough, but in his experience what she really meant was, 'Do what I fucking say you retarded twat.'

An said, 'I imagine her mother was probably happy to hear that her daughter was in love.'

'I imagine,' Martin answered, though he did not buy it for a minute. He certainly would not mind Evie hooking up with a homicidal maniac, but if it was someone he truly cared about – Anther, for instance – he would certainly have a great deal to say about…

Martin cleared his throat, straightened his prison coveralls. 'Married, you say?'

An nodded, flipping through her file folders again. He saw a photo of a decapitated woman in a trench and quickly looked away. (The crimescene photos were still the worst part of his confessions.)

Martin asked, 'How exactly does that work, I wonder?'

'Well, I suppose that they had the prison chaplain perform the ceremony.'

'I suppose,' Martin agreed, even as he pictured the scene in his mind. An would look lovely in a white dress. Maybe they could get some rice from the kitchen – or better yet, perhaps An could bring some from home. The Latino gang running the kitchen was very stingy, in Martin's opinion. God forbid you should want an extra roll. He imagined asking for rice would cause some kind of riot. Shivs at dawn!

'Martin?'

He let the word hang between them for a few seconds. An seldom used his first name, and Martin tried to savor every time as if it was precious. Because it was. Because, as vile and hateful as his mother could be, she was right about one thing: the life Martin had in prison was much better than the one he had when he was living under her roof. He was a murderer in here, which actually earned him a modicum of respect. He had his books. He had a job. And now… was it possible? Was the dream complete… did he actually have Anther?

'I'll never get out of here,' Martin reminded her.

She was looking down, but he could see her smiling at the thought. 'I know.'

'Even if my sentence is commuted, I'll never-'

'I know,' she repeated, looking up at him. 'You'll never be free. You'll never be able to touch me or be with me or…' her voice trailed off. 'We can't really get married, Martin. Not officially.'

'Yes.' He could see that now. An was a detective and Martin was a convicted triple murderer (or would be soon. He had another trial coming up in the spring – the evidence was not pretty). They were cat and dog, oil and water, night and day. There were too many things standing between them; the rice alone was a logistical nightmare.

An's voice was soft, lilting. 'No one can ever know about us, Martin. It'll almost be like you're a figment of my imagination.' Her face had colored again, a beautiful shade of red that made the winter-time eczema around her nostrils almost disappear. An asked, 'Do you know what I'm saying, Martin? Do you understand what I mean?'

' Ja ,' he told her. And it was true. Martin finally understood.

Karin Slaughter grew up in a small south Georgia town and has been writing short stories and novels since she was a child. She is the author of the Grant County series of international bestsellers Blindsighted , Kisscut, A Faint Cold Fear, Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege , and the bestselling thrillers set in Atlanta, Triptych and Fractured . She is also the editor of Like A Charm , a collaboration of British and American crime fiction writers. She lives in Atlanta.