Karin Slaughter - Fallen

Geary asked, “The man in the kitchen?”

“He was dead when I entered the house.”

“The one in the bedroom?”

“He had my mother’s revolver pointed at another man’s head. I was protecting the life of the hostage.”

“And the man in the yard?”

“The hostage. He took the revolver after I shot the first man. The front door was breached and my attention was diverted. He ran into the backyard with the gun, which he fired at two young girls. I had my shot and I took it to save their lives.”

Geary glanced at his brass window dressing as he decided what to do. The two men seemed unsure themselves, but ready to back up the boss without question. Will felt himself tense, because this was the part where things either went down hard or easy. Perhaps an overriding loyalty to Evelyn Mitchell persuaded the man to take a softer approach. He told Faith, “One of my officers will drive you to the station. Take a moment to collect yourself if you need to.”

He started to put his hat back on, but Amanda stopped him.

“Mike, I feel the need to remind you of something.” She gave him that same sweet smile as before. “The GBI has original jurisdiction over all drug cases in the state.”

“Are you telling me you’ve found evidence that narcotics are a factor in these shootings?”

“I’m not telling you much of anything, am I?”

He glared at her as he put his hat back on. “Don’t think I’m not going to find out why you’ve been wasting my time.”

“That sounds like a wonderful use of your resources.”

Geary stomped toward the door, his minions scrambling after him. Outside, Sara was coming up the front porch steps. She quickly put her hands behind her back, hiding the blood sugar monitor she had borrowed.

“Dr. Linton.” Geary took off his hat again. His men followed suit. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name earlier.” Will assumed this was because Sara hadn’t offered it. Obviously, someone else had filled him in. “I knew your husband. He was a good cop. A good man.”

Sara kept her hands behind her back, twisting the plastic monitor. Will recognized the look she gave the men—she didn’t want to talk. For Geary, she managed a dry “Thank you.”

“Please let me know if I can ever be of assistance.”

She nodded. Geary put on his hat, and the gesture was mimicked like a wave at a football game.

Faith spoke as soon as the door was closed. “The Texicano in the yard said something to me before he died.” Her mouth moved as she tried to remember what she’d heard. “ ‘Alma’ or ‘al-may.’ ”

“Almeja?” Amanda asked, giving the word an exotic sound.

Faith nodded. “That’s right. Do you know what it means?”

Sara opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out, Amanda provided, “It’s Spanish slang for ‘money.’ It means ‘clams.’ Do you think they were looking for cash?”

Faith shook her head and shrugged at the same time. “I don’t know. They never really said. I mean, it makes sense. Los Texicanos means drugs. Drugs mean money. Mom worked in narcotics. Maybe they think she …” Faith glanced at Will. He could practically read her mind. After his investigation, a lot of people thought that Evelyn Mitchell was just the kind of cop who had stacks of cash lying around her house.

Sara took advantage of their silence. “I should go.” She handed Faith the blood sugar monitor. “You need to follow your schedule religiously. Stress is going to make it harder. Call your doctor and talk about your dosage, whatever adjustments you need to make, what signs you need to look for. Are you still seeing Dr. Wallace?” Faith nodded. “I’ll call her service on my way home and tell her what happened, but you need to be on the phone with her as soon as possible. This is a stressful time, but you have to stay on your routine. Understood?”

“Thank you.” Faith had never been easy with gratitude, but her words were more heartfelt than anything Will had ever heard come from her mouth.

Will asked Sara, “Are you going to do a tox screen for Geary?”

She directed her words to Amanda. “Faith works for you, not APD. They need a warrant to draw her blood and I’m guessing you don’t want to go to the trouble.”

Amanda asked, “Hypothetically, what would a tox screen find?”

“That she wasn’t intoxicated or impaired by any of the substances they test for. Do you want me to do a blood draw?”

“No, Dr. Linton. But I appreciate your help.”

She left without another word, or even a glance Will’s way.

Amanda suggested, “Why don’t you go check on the merry widow?”

Will thought she meant Sara, then logic intervened. He walked to the back of the house to find Mrs. Levy, but not before seeing Amanda pull Faith into a tight hug. The gesture was shocking coming from a woman whose maternal instincts were more closely related to those of a dingo.

Will knew that Faith and Amanda shared a past that neither woman ever talked about or even acknowledged. While Evelyn Mitchell was blazing a trail for women in the Atlanta Police Department, Amanda Wagner was doing the same in the GBI. They were contemporaries, about the same age, with the same ball-breaking attitudes. They had also been lifelong friends—Amanda had even dated Evelyn’s brother-in-law, Faith’s uncle—a detail Amanda had failed to mention to Will when she assigned him to investigate the narcotics squad that was headed by her old friend.

He found Mrs. Levy in the back bedroom, which seemed to have been turned into a catchall for whatever struck the old woman’s fancy. There was a scrapbooking station, something Will only recognized because he had worked a shooting in the suburbs where a young mother had been murdered while she was pasting crinkle-cut photographs of a beach vacation onto colored construction paper. There was a pair of roller skates with four wheels. A tennis racket leaned against the corner. Various types of cameras were laid out on the daybed. Some were digital, but most were the old-fashioned kind that used film. He guessed from the red light over the closet door that she developed her own photographs.

Mrs. Levy was sitting in a wooden rocking chair by the window. She had Emma in her lap. Her apron was wrapped around the baby like a blanket. The little geese were reversed across the hem. Emma’s eyes were closed as she sucked fiercely on the bottle in her mouth. The noise reminded Will of the baby in The Simpsons .

“Why don’t you have a seat?” the old woman offered. “Emma seems to be perking up just fine.”

Will sat on the bed, careful not to jostle the cameras. “It’s a good thing that you just happened to have a bottle for her.”

“It is, isn’t it?” She smiled down at the baby. “Poor lamb missed her nap with all this excitement.”

“Do you have a crib for her, too?”

She gave a raspy chuckle. “I assume you’ve already looked in my bedroom.”

He hadn’t been that bold, but Will took this as an opening. “How often do you watch her?”

“Usually just a few times a week.”

“But lately?”

She winked at him. “You’re a smart one.”

He was more lucky than smart. It had struck him as odd that Mrs. Levy just happened to have a baby bottle lying around when Emma needed it. He asked, “What’s Evelyn been up to?”

“Do I look rude enough to pry into someone’s business?”

“How can I answer that without insulting you?”

She laughed, but relented easily enough. “Evelyn never said, but I’m assuming she had a gentleman friend.”

“For how long?”

“Three or four months?” She seemed to be asking herself a question. She nodded her answer. “It was just after Emma was born. They started out slowly, maybe once a week or every two, but I’d say in the last ten days it’s been more frequent. I stopped keeping a calendar when I retired, but Ev asked me to watch Emma three mornings in a row last week.”