Karin Slaughter - Fallen

He asked, “Is that a new outfit?”

She laughed, the sound getting caught in her throat. She’d changed into scrubs. Her clothes were in police evidence.

The corner of his mouth went up in a forced smile. “It brings out the green in your eyes.”

Sara bit her lip to keep tears from falling. She had wanted to call him as soon as it happened. Her cell phone had been in her hands, his number up on the screen, but she had tucked the phone into her purse because Sara knew if she saw Will before she was ready, she would shatter like a delicate piece of china.

Amanda Wagner knocked as she entered the room. “I hate to interrupt, Dr. Linton, but could we have a word with you?”

Anger flashed across Will’s face. “She doesn’t—”

“It’s all right,” Sara interrupted. “There’s not much that I can tell you.”

Amanda smiled as if this was some sort of social gathering. “Anything at all would be appreciated.”

Sara had talked about it so much over the last few hours that she recited the events as if by rote. She gave them the abbreviated version of her statement, not going into a detailed description of the female junkie, which, on paper, had sounded like every junkie Sara had ever seen. Nor did she describe the trash around the Dumpster or the EMTs, or list the procedures she followed. She cut to what mattered: the young man who’d peered at her from behind the curtain. He had punched her in the chest. He had shot her patient twice in the head. He was thin, Caucasian, mid-to-late twenties and wearing a black warm-up jacket and baseball cap. In the short time that elapsed between her first sight of him and his death, he had not uttered one word. The only sound she’d heard was a grunt, and then the air whistling from his neck as his breath seeped out.

She finished, “His hand was gripped around my hand. I couldn’t stop it. He’s dead. They’re both dead.”

Will seemed to have trouble speaking. “He hurt you.”

Sara could only nod, but her mind conjured the image she had seen in the bathroom mirror: an oblong, ugly bruise over her right breast where the man had punched her.

Will cleared his throat. “All right. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Linton. I know you probably want to get home.” He turned to leave, but Amanda made no move to follow.

“Dr. Linton, I noticed a soda machine in the waiting room. Would you like something to drink?”

Sara was taken off guard. “I’m—”

“Will, could you get a Diet Sprite for me and—I’m sorry, Dr. Linton. What did you want?”

Will’s jaw tightened like a ratchet. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that Amanda was trying to get her alone, just like Sara knew that Amanda wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted. She tried to make this easier for Will, saying, “A Coke would be nice.”

He didn’t give in that easy. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He wasn’t happy, but he left the room.

Amanda checked the hallway, making sure Will was gone. She turned back to Sara. “I’m rooting for you, you know.”

Sara didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

“Will,” she explained. “He’s got one too many bitches in his life, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Sara was in no mood to joke. “What do you want, Amanda?”

She got to the point. “The bodies are still downstairs in the morgue. I need you to examine them and give me your professional opinion.” She added, “A coroner’s opinion.”

Sara felt a cold chill at the thought of seeing the man again. Every time she blinked, she could see his expressionless face hovering over her. She couldn’t grip her hand without feeling his fingers wrapped around her own. “I can’t cut them open.”

“No, but you can answer some questions for me.”

“Such as?”

“Drug use, gang affiliations, and whether or not one of them has a stomach full of heroin.”

“Like Ricardo.”

“Yes, like Ricardo.”

Sara didn’t give herself time to think about the request. “All right. I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Will was back. He must’ve run the entire way. He was out of breath again. He held two sodas in one hand.

“There you are,” Amanda said, as if she was surprised to see him. “We were about to go down to the morgue.”

Will looked at Sara. “No.”

“I want to do this,” Sara insisted, though she was not sure why. For the last three hours, all she could think about was going home. Now that Will was here, the thought of returning to her empty apartment was unimaginable.

“We don’t need these.” Amanda took the soda cans and dropped them into the trash. “Dr. Linton?”

Sara led them down the corridor toward the elevators, feeling like a lifetime had passed since she’d made the same walk this morning. A loaded gurney rolled by, EMTs shouting stats, doctors giving orders. Sara held out her arm, guiding Will back against the wall so that the patient could get past. Her hand hovered just in front of his tie. She could feel the silk material sway against her fingertips. He was wearing a suit, his normal work attire, but without the usual vest. His jacket was dark blue, the shirt a lighter shade of the same color.

The cop. Sara had forgotten the cop. “I didn’t—”

“Hold that thought,” Amanda said, as if she was afraid the walls had ears.

Sara fumed at herself as they waited for the elevator. How had she forgotten about the cop? What was wrong with her?

The doors opened. The elevator was packed. It took an interminable amount of time for the old pulleys and lifts to groan into action. They went down a floor and most of the people exited. Two young orderlies rode with them to the sub-basement. They got off and headed toward the stairwell, probably for an illicit tryst.

Amanda waited until they were well beyond earshot. “What is it?”

“There was a man when we came in from the Dumpster. I nearly ran him over. I told him to get out of the way, and he flashed a badge. It looked like a badge. I’m not sure anymore. He acted like a cop.”

“In what way?”

“He acted like he had every right to question me, and he was irritated when I didn’t answer immediately.” Sara gave her a meaningful look.

“Sounds like a cop to me,” Amanda wryly admitted. “What did he want?”

“To know whether or not the patient was going to make it. I told him maybe, even though it was obvious …” Sara let her voice trail off, willing herself to remember. “He was wearing a dark suit, charcoal. White shirt. He was very thin, almost gaunt. He reeked of cigarette smoke. I could smell it even after he left.”

“Did you see which way he went?”

She shook her head.

“White? Black?”

“White. Gray hair. He was older. He looked older.” She put her hand to her face. “His cheeks were sunken. His eyes were heavily lidded.” She remembered something else. “He was wearing a hat. A baseball hat.”

“Black?” Will asked.

“Blue,” she said. “Atlanta Braves.”

“We’ll probably get some nice images of the top of it from the security cameras,” Amanda commented. “We’ll have to share this information with the APD. They may want to see if you can work with a sketch artist.”

Sara would do whatever it took. “I’m sorry I didn’t remember earlier. I don’t know what—”

“You were in shock.” Will seemed ready to say more. He glanced at Amanda, then indicated the double doors at the other end of the hallway. He said, “I think it’s this way.”

In the morgue, Junior and Larry were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there were two gurneys, each with a body, each with a white sheet covering the dead. Sara assumed one was the man she had found outside by the Dumpster and the other was the man who had shot the first, then tried to kill her.