Karin Slaughter - Fallen

“They’re talking to the staff, but the lawyers are already on scene. These guys aren’t your everyday suspects.”

“Is Amanda all right?” Faith shook her head at her stupidity. “Of course she’s all right.”

“She got what she wanted. We get a back door into your mom’s case because of this.”

The GBI had jurisdiction over all death investigations inside state prisons. “I guess that’s some kind of positive news.”

Will was quiet. He didn’t ask her if she was doing okay, because he obviously knew the answer. Faith thought of the way he had held her hands that afternoon, making her pay attention as he coached her on what to say. His tenderness had been unexpected, and she’d had to bite the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood so that she wouldn’t break down and cry.

Will said, “Do you know that I’ve never seen Amanda go to the bathroom?” He stopped himself. “Not in person, I mean, but when we left the prison, she pulled over at the gas station and went inside. I’ve never seen her take a break like that. Have you?”

Faith was used to Will’s odd tangents. “I can’t say that I have.” Amanda had been at those family dinners and barbecues with Boyd Spivey. She had joked with him the way cops do—questioning his manhood, praising his progress on the force despite his lack of mental prowess. She wasn’t completely made of stone. Watching Boyd die would’ve taken something out of her.

Will said, “It was very disconcerting.”

“I can imagine.” Faith pictured Amanda at the gas station, going into the stall, shutting the door, and allowing herself two minutes to mourn a man who had once meant something to her. Then she’d probably checked her makeup, fixed her hair, and dropped the key back with the gas station attendant, asking him if they locked the bathroom door to keep someone from cleaning it.

Will said, “She probably sees urinating as a weakness.”

“Most people do.” Faith sat back on the couch. He had given her the best gift she could possibly receive right now: a moment of distraction. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being there today. For getting Sara to come. For telling me what to—” She remembered that the phone was tapped. “For telling me that everything was going to be okay.”

He cleared his throat. There was a short silence. He was awful at this sort of thing, almost as bad as she was. “Have you thought about what they were looking for?”

“That’s all I can think about.” She heard the refrigerator door open and close. Zeke was probably making a list of foods she shouldn’t stock in the house. “What’s next?”

He hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“Amanda and I are going down to Valdosta first thing.”

Valdosta State Prison. Ben Humphrey and Adam Hopkins. They were talking to everyone from her mother’s old team. Faith should’ve expected this, but the news of Boyd’s death had thrown her off. She should’ve known that Will was going to reopen the case.

Faith said, “I should keep this line open in case someone calls.”

“All right.”

She hung up the phone because there was nothing more to say. He still thought her mother was guilty. Even after working with Faith for almost two years, seeing that she did things the right way because that was the kind of cop her mother had raised her to be, Will still thought Evelyn Mitchell was dirty.

Zeke loomed in the doorway. “Who was that?”

“Work.” She stood up from the couch. “My partner.”

“The asshole who tried to put Mom in prison?”

“The very same.”

“I still don’t know how you can work with that douche.”

“I cleared it with Mom.”

“You didn’t clear it with me.”

“Should I have sent the request to Germany or Florida?” He stared at her.

Faith wasn’t going to explain herself to her brother. It was Amanda who had asked her to partner with Will, and Evelyn had told Faith to do what was best for her career. She didn’t have to point out that it was not a bad idea to get out of the Atlanta Police Department, where Evelyn’s forced retirement was considered either a coast or a crime depending on whom you asked. “Did Mom ever talk to you about the investigation?”

“Shouldn’t you ask your partner about that?”

“I’m asking you,” Faith snapped. Evelyn had refused to discuss the case against her, and not just because Faith could’ve been called as a potential witness. “If she said something, even something that was a little off but you didn’t think about it at the time …”

“Mom doesn’t shop talk with me. That’s your job.”

There was the same tinge of accusation in his voice, as if Faith had the power to find their mother and was simply choosing not to exercise it. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine, too late to be doing this. “I’m going to bed. I’ll send down Jeremy with some sheets. The couch is pretty comfortable.”

He nodded, and Faith saluted his dismissal. She was halfway up the stairs when he spoke. “He’s a good kid.” Faith turned around. “Jeremy. He’s a good kid.”

She smiled. “Yeah, he is.” She was almost to the top of the stairs when the other shoe dropped.

“Mom did a good job.”

Faith continued up the stairs, refusing to take the bait. She checked on the baby. Emma smacked her lips when Faith leaned down to kiss her forehead. She was in that deep, blissful sleep that only babies know. Faith checked the monitor to make sure it was on. She stroked her hand down Emma’s arm, letting the baby’s tiny fingers wrap around her one, before leaving.

In the next room, Jeremy’s bed was empty. Faith lingered at the door. She hadn’t changed his room, though it would’ve been nice to have an office. His posters were still on the wall—a Mustang GT with a bikini-clad blonde leaning over the hood, another with a half-naked brunette draped across a Camaro, a third and fourth showing concept cars with the ubiquitous big-bosomed model. Faith could still remember coming home from work one day to find his “Bridges of the Southeastern United States” posters replaced with these gems. Jeremy still thought that he’d cleverly tricked her into believing that puberty had brought on a sudden interest in automobiles.

“I’m in here.”

She found him in her room. Jeremy was lying on his stomach, head at the foot of her bed, feet in the air, iPhone in his hands. The sound on the TV was muted but the closed captioning was on.

She asked, “Everything okay?”

He tilted the iPhone in his hands, obviously playing a game. “Yeah.”

Faith remembered the fertile girlfriend. It was strange she wasn’t here. They were usually attached at the hip. “Where’s Kimberly?”

“We’re taking a break,” he said, and she almost sobbed with relief. “I heard you and Zeke yelling.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

He tilted the phone the other way.

She said, “I’ve been wanting one of those.” He got the hint and put the device in his pocket. “I know you heard the phone ring. It was Will. He’s working with Aunt Amanda.”

He stared at the TV. “That’s good.”

Faith started to untie his sneakers. In typical teenage boy logic, he’d thought keeping his feet raised off the bed would stop debris from raining down. “Tell me what happened when Zeke got here.”

“Dude was being an asshole.”

“Tell me like I’m your mother.”

She saw him color slightly in the glow of the TV. “Victor stayed with me. I told him he didn’t have to, but he said he wanted to, so …”

Faith untied his other sneaker. “You showed him Emma’s picture?”

He kept staring at the set. Jeremy had really liked Victor—probably more than Faith had, which was only part of the problem.