Karin Slaughter - Broken

“At least we know they’ve all met each other,” Will said. “What else?”

“There aren’t any Julie Smiths in town. I checked the phone directory. There are four Smiths—three in Heartsdale, one in Avondale. I called all four numbers. None of them know a Julie or are related to a Julie. Are you going to tell me who she is?”

“No,” Will said, but only because he didn’t know the answer himself. “Have you heard from Allison’s aunt yet?”

“Nothing. I called the Elba detective a few minutes ago. He seemed annoyed to hear from me again, said he’d call when he had something to say.”

“Annoyed because he thought you were pushing him?”

“He doesn’t strike me as the type who likes a woman telling him what to do.”

He should try Will’s job. “What else?”

“I’ve talked to the neighbors, everybody but Mrs. Barnes, who lives there.” She pointed at the yellow ranch house across the street. There was an old Honda Accord parked by the mailbox. “There’s no mail in the box, her newspaper’s been taken in, and her car isn’t in the carport, so I assume she’s out doing chores.”

“What about the Accord?”

“I looked in the windows. It’s spotless. I can run the tag through the computer.”

“Do that,” he told her. “What did the other neighbors say?”

“Exactly what our guys found when they canvassed the street yesterday. Tommy was great. Allison was quiet. None of them socialized; this is a pretty old street. Not a lot of kids.”

“Any criminal activity?”

“Not a lot. There are two foreclosures. The kid at the end of the block was caught joyriding in his mama’s Cadillac two weeks ago. Two houses over, there’s an ex–crack addict living with his grandparents. He’s been clean as far as we know. Three doors the other way is a Peeping Tom who’s in a wheelchair. He doesn’t get out as much as he used to since his father took the ramp off the front porch.”

“And this seemed like such a nice neighborhood.”

“Only two people were home when Brad got stabbed.” She pointed to a house two doors down from the Barnes residence. “Vanessa Livingston. She was late for work because her basement flooded. She was waiting on her contractor and looking out the window right when Brad was stabbed.”

“And she saw …?”

“Exactly what I saw. Brad was chasing after Tommy. Tommy turned. He had the knife here.” She held her hand at her waist. “Brad was stabbed.”

“And the second neighbor?”

“Scott Shepherd. Professional gambler, so he’s on the computer all day. He didn’t see anything until after the fact. Brad on the ground. Me beside him.”

“Frank apprehending Tommy?”

She pursed her lips. “You want to talk to Shepherd?”

“Is he going to tell me that Frank was beating Tommy or is he going to tell me that he can’t remember?”

“He told me that he didn’t see Frank. He went into the house and called the station.”

“Not 911?”

“Scott’s a volunteer fireman. He knows the direct number for the station.”

“Lucky for you.”

“Yeah, I feel really lucky right now.” Lena flipped her notebook closed. “That’s all I’ve got. Gordon says there’s a spare key under the mat. I guess I should go home and call around for a lawyer.”

“Why don’t you help me instead?”

She held his gaze. “You just told me I’m going to lose my badge.”

“You’ve still got it in your pocket, right?”

“Don’t bullshit me, man. There’s only two other days in my life I can think of that were worse than this one—the day my sister died and the day I lost Jeffrey.”

“You’re a good detective when you want to be.”

“I don’t think that’s going to matter anymore.”

“Then what’ve you got to lose?”

Will walked up the driveway, listening for Lena’s steps behind him. He didn’t really need her help, but Will hated to be lied to. Frank Wallace was knee-deep in this crap, and seemed content to let one of his officers take the fall for his own bad leadership. Will didn’t feel any loyalty to Lena, but the thought of a drunk, crooked cop running this town’s police force did not sit well with him.

Will found the key under the front doormat. He was opening the door when Lena joined him on the porch steps.

He asked, “Have you heard anything about Detective Stephens?”

“No change. I guess that’s good.”

“Why didn’t you call Chief Wallace about the body in the dorm?”

She shrugged. “Like you said, I’m only a good cop when I choose to be.”

Will pushed open the front door. Lena went in first. Her hand was high on her side, a motion she probably didn’t realize she’d made. Will had seen Faith take this same stance many times. She’d been a beat cop for ten years. There were some things your muscles couldn’t unlearn.

The living room was right off the entrance. The furniture was old and sad, duct tape keeping the stuffing in the cushions. The carpet was an orange shag that went into the hallway. Will could feel it clinging to his shoes as he walked back to the kitchen. The carpet gave way to yellow linoleum. Gordon hadn’t bothered to update anything except the stainless steel microwave that rested on top of an old Formica table.

“Dishes,” Lena said. Two plates, two forks, and two glasses were in the drainer in the sink. Allison had shared a meal with someone before she died, then cleaned up after herself.

Lena pulled a paper towel from the roll and covered her hand so she could open the refrigerator. There was a line of blue painter’s tape down the middle. Store-brand sodas filled each shelf. There was no food except for a dried-up orange and a Jell-O pudding cup. Lena opened the freezer. The same taped line split the compartment, but the moisture had weakened the adhesive. One side was stacked full of frozen dinners. The other had a box of Popsicles and some ice cream sandwiches.

Will used the edge of his palm to raise the lid on the kitchen trashcan. He saw two empty boxes of Stouffer’s French bread pizza. “I’ll ask Sara about stomach contents.”

“Tommy would’ve had more time to digest.”

“True.” He used the toe of his shoe to push open a pair of louvered doors, expecting to find a pantry but finding a toilet, small shower, and even smaller sink. The bathroom was by the back door. He assumed this was the toilet tenants used when they rented the garage. It certainly looked like a young man had used the facilities. The sink was filthy. Hair clogged the shower drain. Towels were strewn on the floor. A pair of dingy-looking briefs was wadded up in the corner. There was one sock on the floor, a footie that went up to the ankle. Will imagined the other sock was slowly making its way through Pippy’s digestive track.

Will realized Lena wasn’t behind him anymore. He walked through the dining room, which had a glass table and two chairs, and found her in a small study off the family room. The room looked hastily abandoned. Stacks of papers lined the floor—magazines, old bills, newspapers. Gordon must have been using this as a dumping ground for all the paperwork associated with his life. Lena checked the desk drawers. From what Will could see, they were piled with more invoices and receipts. The lone bookshelf in the room was bare and dusty except for a plate that contained a moldy, unrecognizable piece of food. A glass was beside it, the liquid dark and murky.

The carpet showed tracks from a vacuum cleaner but it still had the same grungy feel as the rest of the house. There was an ancient-looking computer monitor on the top of the desk. Lena pressed the power button, but nothing happened. Will leaned down and saw that the thing was not connected to a power supply. Or a computer.