Karin Slaughter - Faithless

Esther put her hand to her mouth, tears springing into her eyes.

“I’ve just watched a man die that death,” he told them. “I watched him writhe on the floor, gasping for air, knowing full well that he was going to die, probably begging God to go ahead and take him just to release him from the pain.”

Esther dropped her head, crying in earnest. The rest of the family seemed shocked, and as Jeffrey glanced around the room, no one but Lev would look him in the eye. The preacher seemed about to speak, but Paul put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, stopping him.

“Rebecca’s still missing,” Jeffrey reminded them.

“Do you think…” Esther began. Her question trailed off as the implications hit her full force.

Jeffrey watched Lev, trying to read his blank stare. Paul’s jaw had tightened, but Jeffrey didn’t know if this was from anger or concern.

It was Rachel who finally asked the question, her voice quavering at the thought of her niece in danger. “Do you think Rebecca’s been taken?”

“I think somebody in this room knows exactly what’s been going on- is probably a part of it.” Jeffrey tossed a handful of business cards down on the table. “These have all my numbers,” he told them. “Call me when you’re ready to find out the truth.”

Sara lay in bed on her side, looking out the window. She could hear Jeffrey in the kitchen, knocking pans around. Around five this morning, he had scared the shit out of her, jumping around in the dark as he put on his running shorts, looking like an ax murderer in t he shadows cast by the moon. An hour later, he had wakened her again, cursing like a sailor when he accidentally stepped on Bob. Displaced from the bed by Jeffrey, the greyhound had taken to sleeping in the bathtub and was just as indignant as Jeffrey to find them both simultaneously in the tub.

Still, she was somewhat comforted by Jeffrey’s presence in the house. She liked rolling over in the middle of the night and feeling the warmth of his body. She liked the sound of his voice and the smell of the oatmeal lotion he used on his hands when he thought she wasn’t looking. She especially liked that he cooked breakfast for her.

“Get your ass out of bed and come scramble the eggs,” Jeffrey yelled from the kitchen.

Sara muttered something she would be ashamed for her mother to hear as she dragged herself out from under the covers. The house was freezing cold even though the sun was beating down on the lake, waves sending coppery glints of light through the back windows. She grabbed Jeffrey’s robe and wrapped it around herself before padding down the hallway.

Jeffrey stood at the stove, frying bacon. He was wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt, which set off his bruised eye nicely in the morning sun.

He said, “I figured you were awake.”

“Third time’s a charm,” she told him, petting Billy as he leaned up against her. Bob was splayed on the couch with his feet in the air. She could see Bubba, her erstwhile cat, stalking something in the backyard.

Jeffrey had already gotten out the eggs and set the carton beside a bowl for her. Sara cracked them open, trying not to drip the whites all over the counter. Jeffrey saw the mess she was making and took over, saying, “Sit down.”

Sara sank into the stool at the kitchen island, watching him clean up her mess.

She asked the obvious. “You couldn’t sleep?”

“No,” he told her, tossing the rag into the sink.

He was worried about the case, but she also knew that he was almost as troubled about Lena. Their entire relationship, Jeffrey had been in some state of concern for Lena Adams. In the beginning it was because she was too hotheaded on the street, too aggressive with her arrests. From there, Jeffrey had been worried about her competitiveness, her yearning to be the best on the squad no matter what shortcuts she felt she had to take. He had trained her carefully as a detective, partnering her with Frank but taking her under his wing, grooming her for something-something Sara thought the other woman would never get. Lena was too single-minded to lead, too selfish to follow. Twelve years ago, Sara could have predicted he would still be worrying over Lena today. That she was mixed up with that Nazi skinhead Ethan Green was really the only thing that had ever surprised her about the other woman.

Sara asked, “Are you going to try to talk to Lena?”

Jeffrey didn’t answer her question. “She’s too smart for this.”

“I don’t think abuse has anything to do with intelligence or lack thereof,” Sara said.

“That’s the reason I don’t think Cole went after Rebecca,” Jeffrey told her. “She’s too willful. He wouldn’t pick someone who would fight back too much.”

“Is Brad still looking over in Catoogah?”

“Yeah,” he said, not sounding hopeful that the search would yield anything. He skipped on to Cole Connolly as if he had been having a different conversation in his head. “Rebecca would’ve told her mother what was going on and Esther… Esther would have ripped out Cole’s throat.” Using his good hand, he broke the eggs one by one into the bowl. “Cole wouldn’t have risked it.”

“Predators have an innate ability to choose their victims,” Sara agreed, thinking again about Lena. Somehow, the circumstances of her damaged life had taken over, making her an easy target for someone like Ethan. Sara completely understood how this happened. It was all logical; yet, knowing Lena, she was still having trouble accepting it.

“I kept seeing him last night, the panic in his eyes when he realized what was happening. Jesus, what a horrible way to die.”

“It’s the same thing that happened to Abby,” she reminded him. “Only she was alone in the dark and had no idea what was happening to her.”

“I think he knew,” Jeffrey said. “At least, I think he figured it out in the end.” There were two mugs in front of the coffeemaker and he filled them, handing Sara one. She saw him hesitate before taking a sip, and wondered if there would ever be a time when he could drink coffee without thinking about Cole Connolly. In the scheme of things, Sara had a much easier job than Jeffrey did. He was out there on the front line. He saw the bodies first, told the parents and loved ones, felt the weight of their desperation to find out who had taken away their child or mother or lover. It was no wonder that cops had one of the highest suicide rates of any profession.

She asked, “What’s your gut feeling?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, mixing the eggs with a fork. “Lev admitted that he was attracted to Abby.”

“But that’s normal,” she said, then backed up. “Well, normal if it happened the way he said it did.”

“Paul says he was in Savannah. I’m going to check that out, but that still doesn’t account for his evenings.”

“That could just as easily point to his innocence,” Sara reminded him. She had learned from Jeffrey a long time ago that someone who had a pat alibi was generally a person to look at closely. Sara herself couldn’t come up with a witness who could swear Sara had been at home alone all night when Abigail Bennett had been murdered.

“No news on the letter you were sent yet,” he said. “I doubt the lab will find anything anyway.” He frowned. “It’s costing a fucking fortune.”

“Why do it?”

“Because I don’t like the idea of somebody contacting you about a case,” he told her, and she could hear resentment in his tone. “You’re not a cop. You’re not involved in this.”

“They could have sent it to me knowing that I would tell you.”

“Why not just send it to the station?”

“My address is in the phone book,” she said. “Whoever sent it might have worried that a letter would get lost at the station.” She asked, “Do you think it was one of the sisters?”