Karin Slaughter - Fallen

Will finally spoke up. “Why didn’t Evelyn tell me that when I was investigating her?”

Amanda smiled. “She didn’t tell you a hell of a lot about anything when you were investigating her.”

“No,” he agreed. “But she could’ve easily gotten rid of the suspicion if—”

“There was no suspicion,” Amanda interrupted. She directed her words toward Faith. “Your mother was the one who turned in the team. That’s why they called her Almeja. She was a snitch.”

“What?” Faith’s confusion was almost palpable. She looked at Will as if he had the answers. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Amanda said, “Because she wanted to protect you. The less you knew, the safer you were.”

Will said, “Then why are you telling her now?”

Amanda was obviously annoyed. “Because you won’t get off that stupid account, even though I’ve told you time and again that it doesn’t matter.”

Will had put his coffee mug on the counter. He slowly turned the handle so that it was parallel to the backsplash.

Faith asked what Sara was thinking. “How did she find out they were taking money?”

Amanda shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Will answered. He obviously wanted to hear the story so that he could find the holes.

Amanda took a deep breath before starting, “There was a bust on the southside, one of the projects in East Point. Evelyn led the raid team into the apartment. Early morning. The bad guys were still asleep, hungover from the night before, with a pile of money sitting on the coffee table and enough coke to take down an elephant.” Amanda started to smile, clearly enjoying the story. “They rounded them up and perp walked them into the street. They had their hands behind their backs, sitting on their knees, staring at the doors on the squad cars to remind them who was in charge. In comes the media, which Boyd could never resist. He lines up the team for photos, with the bad guys in the background. Charlie’s Angels territory. Your mother always hated that part. She usually left—went back to the office to do the paperwork—when the press came. This time, the street was blocked, so she went back into the apartment and looked around for herself.” Amanda pursed her lips. “First thing she notices is that the cash pile doesn’t look like it did before. She said it was stacked into a pyramid when they busted down the door. You know your mom was always the first one in.” Faith nodded. “She said she noticed the pyramid right off, because Zeke used to—”

“Pyramid everything.” Faith explained, “When he was ten or eleven, he started stacking stuff—books, Legos, Matchbox cars—into pyramids.”

“Your mother thought he was autistic. Maybe she was right.” Amanda continued, “Anyway, she noticed the pile, is the point here. That the pyramid was a square when she went back into the apartment. She started watching the team more closely after that, keeping her ear to the ground, tracking which cases made it and which fell apart because evidence was lost or witnesses went missing. And then when she was sure, she came to me.”

Will said, “You told me the tip was anonymous.”

“Evelyn had to be investigated just like everyone else. These weren’t choirboys we were dealing with. Boyd and the crew were raking in tons of cash. They were also being paid to look the other way. You don’t cut into that kind of business without risking your life. Ev had to be protected. So we decided that we’d call it an anonymous tip and put her through the ringer just like everyone else.”

Faith said, “But they must’ve suspected the tip came from Mom. She was the only one who wasn’t in on it.”

“There’s a big leap between suspecting and knowing.” Her tone became strained. “And Boyd Spivey protected her. He let it be known that she was off limits. He stood up for her at every turn. I suppose that’s why they took him out. They could take the GBI and the APD on their tails, but someone with Boyd’s juice could get to them in ways we can’t.”

Faith was quiet, probably thinking about the dead man who had protected her mother. For her part, Sara was thinking about the time and money that went into putting a hit on a man who lived on death row. The whole thing had been carefully planned and executed by people who knew Evelyn Mitchell’s weak points: Boyd Spivey, her muscle; Faith, her daughter; Amanda, her best friend. This was sounding more and more like a revenge attack and less like a money grab. Sara could tell that Will had made the same connections. But as usual, when he finally spoke, he didn’t make mention of the obvious.

Instead, he asked Amanda, “Did you redact the bank account out of my report?”

“We’re not the IRS.” She shrugged. “No reason to punish someone for doing the right thing.”

Sara could tell Will was angry, but he still said nothing. He didn’t even seethe. He just tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned his back against the counter. She had never had an argument with him. At this point, she wasn’t sure she ever would, but Sara could imagine that it would be a grand exercise in futility.

For her part, Faith seemed oblivious to the holes in Amanda’s story. Considering her blood sugar had been spiking and plummeting like a Ping-Pong ball for the last few days, it was surprising she could even sit up straight. That was why Sara was sure she’d heard wrong when Faith finally spoke.

“They left her finger under my pillow.”

Amanda didn’t blink an eye. “Where is the finger?”

“In my medicine cabinet.” Faith put her hand to her mouth. She looked as if she was going to be sick. Sara jumped up and grabbed the trashcan, but Faith waved her away. “I’m all right.” She took a few deep breaths. Sara got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water.

Faith drank greedily, her throat making gulping sounds.

Sara refilled the glass and put it in front of her. She leaned back against the counter and kept an eye on Faith. Will was leaning a few feet down from her. His hands were still in his pockets. She felt the distance between them like a cold rush of air.

Faith took a sip of water before telling them, “They tried to get Jeremy. I sent him away with my brother. Emma, too. And then I went to the grocery store and the guy cornered me in the bathroom.”

Amanda asked, “What did he look like?”

Faith gave them a very detailed description of his height, weight, clothing, grammar. “I think he was Hispanic. He had blue eyes.” She looked at Sara. “Is that normal?”

“It’s not common, but it’s not rare.” Sara explained, “Mexico was settled by Spaniards. Some of them married Native Americans. Not all Mexicans have brown skin and dark hair. Some have blond hair and lighter skin. Some have blue or green eyes. It’s a recessive gene, but it shows up.”

Amanda asked, “But this guy had blue eyes?”

Faith nodded.

“No tattoos?”

“A snake on his neck.”

It was Amanda’s turn to nod. “We can put that on the wire. At the very least, we can get a list of Hispanic men eighteen to twenty who have blue eyes.” She seemed to remember something. “No luck on the search for tattoo parlors. Whoever did Marcellus Estevez’s tattoo of the archangel Gabriel is either out of state, off the books, or isn’t talking.”

“There was something familiar about him,” Faith said. “I thought maybe I’d arrested him, but he told me no.”

“I’m sure he was telling the truth.” Amanda pulled out her BlackBerry and started typing as she talked. “I’ll have records look through your reports. I know someone in the APD who can sneak in the back door for your cases before you started working with us.”

“I doubt you’ll find anything.” Faith rubbed her temples. “He’s Jeremy’s age. Maybe he knows him. Maybe they went to school together. I don’t know.”