Karin Slaughter - A Faint Cold Fear

“Makes sense,” Chuck agreed, though anyone with an ounce of intelligence would have asked more questions.

Jeffrey handed the note back to Frank, saying, “When a team gets here, you take the other side of the river. I want a fingertip search if we have to. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Frank told him. “We’ll start at the river and go to the highway.”

“Good.”

Matt had finished his calls and Jeffrey gave him another assignment. “Call over to Macon and see if we can get some dogs out here.”

Chuck crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll get a couple of my people—”

Jeffrey jabbed a finger at the other man. “Keep your people the fuck out of my crime scene,” he ordered.

Chuck stood his ground. “This is college property.”

Jeffrey pointed toward the dead boy on the riverbed. “The only college business you’ve got is finding out who that kid is and telling his mama.”

“It’s Rosen,” Chuck said, defensive. “Andy Rosen.”

“Rosen?” Lena echoed.

Jeffrey asked, “Did you know him?”

Lena shook her head no, but Jeffrey could tell she was hiding something.

“Lena?” he said, giving her the opportunity to come clean.

“I said no,” she snapped, and Jeffrey was no longer sure if she was lying or just dicking around with him. Either way he didn’t have time for her games.

“You’re in charge of the search,” Jeffrey told Frank. “I’ve got something to do.”

Frank nodded, probably guessing where Jeffrey had to go.

Jeffrey told Chuck, “Have the mother in the library for me to talk to in an hour.” He indicated Lena with his thumb. “If I were you, I’d take Lena to do the notification. She’s had a lot more experience at this kind of thing than you have.”

Jeffrey let himself look at Lena again, thinking she would be appreciative. From the way she looked back, he could tell she didn’t think he’d done her any favors.

Jeffrey always kept a spare shirt in his car, but no amount of rubbing would get all the blood off his hands. He had used a bottle of water to clean his chest and upper body, but his fingernails were still rimmed with red. His Auburn class ring was caked in it, dried blood around the numbers from his football jersey and the year he would have graduated if he’d stuck around. Jeffrey thought about the famous line from Macbeth , knowing guilt was magnifying the blood, making it seem worse than it really was. Tessa should never have been on that hill. Three seasoned cops with guns less than a hundred feet away, and she’d been stabbed nearly to death. Jeffrey should have protected her. He should have done something.

Jeffrey pulled into the Linton driveway, parking behind Eddie’s van. Dread filled him like a virus as he forced himself to get out of the car. Since Sara and Jeffrey’s divorce, Eddie Linton had made it clear that he thought Jeffrey was no better than a piece of shit smeared onto his eldest daughter’s shoe. Despite this, Jeffrey felt a real affinity for the old man. Eddie was a good father, the kind of father Jeffrey had wanted when he was a kid. Jeffrey had known the Lintons for over ten years, and, during his marriage to Sara, he’d felt for the first time in his life like he belonged to a family. In a lot of ways, Tessa was like a little sister to him.

Jeffrey took a deep breath as he walked up the driveway. A cool breeze brought a chill, and he realized he was sweating. Music was coming from the back of the house, and Jeffrey decided to walk around rather than knock on the front door. He stopped suddenly, recognizing the song on the radio.

Sara did not like a lot of fuss and formality, so their wedding had been held at the Linton house. They’d exchanged vows in the living room, then had a small reception for family and friends in the backyard. Their first dance as husband and wife had been to this song. He could remember what it had felt like to hold her, feeling her hand on the back of his neck, lightly stroking the nape, her body close to his in a way that was at once chaste and the most sensual thing he’d ever felt. Sara was a terrible dancer, but either the wine or the moment had conferred upon her some kind of miraculous coordination, and they had danced until Sara’s mother reminded them they had a plane to catch. Eddie had tried to stop her; even then he did not want to let Sara go.

Jeffrey pushed himself to move again. He had taken one daughter away from the Lintons that long-ago day, and he was about to tell them they might have lost another.

As Jeffrey rounded the corner, Cathy Linton was laughing at something Eddie had said. They were sitting on the back deck, oblivious as they listened to Shelby Lynne and enjoyed a lazy Sunday afternoon the way most everybody else in Grant County was doing today. Cathy sat in a sling-back chair, her feet propped up on a stool as Eddie painted her toenails.

Sara’s mother was a beautiful woman with just a little gray in her long blond hair. She must have been close to sixty, but she still had a lot going for her. There was something sexy and down-to-earth about Cathy that Jeffrey had always found appealing. Though Sara insisted she was nothing like her mother—tall where Cathy was petite, curvy where Cathy was almost boyishly thin—there were a lot of things the two women shared. Sara had her mother’s perfect skin and that smile that made you feel like you were the most important thing on the planet when it was directed at you. She also had her mother’s biting wit, and she knew how to put you in your place while making it sound like a compliment.

Cathy smiled at Jeffrey when she saw him, saying, “We missed you at lunch.”

Eddie sat up in his chair, screwing the top back onto the fingernail polish, grumbling something Jeffrey was glad he could not hear.

Cathy turned up the music, obviously remembering it from the wedding. She sang along in a low, throaty voice, “I’m confessin’ that I love you . . .” with such a joyful teasing in her eyes, her eyes that looked so much like Sara’s, that he had to look away.

She turned the music down, sensing that something was wrong, probably thinking he was having an argument with Sara. She said, “The girls should be back soon. I don’t know what’s taking them so long.”

Jeffrey made himself walk closer. His legs felt unsteady, and he knew that what he was about to say would change everything. Cathy and Eddie would always remember this afternoon, this time when their lives had been completely turned upside down. As a cop, Jeffrey had done hundreds of notifications, told hundreds of parents and spouses and friends that their loved one had been hurt or, worse, would not be coming home. None had struck him as closely as this one did. Telling the Lintons would be almost as bad as being in that clearing again, watching Sara break down as Tessa bled out, knowing that there was nothing he could do to help either of them.

Jeffrey realized they were staring at him because he had been quiet for too long. He asked, “Where’s Devon?” not wanting to do this twice.

Cathy gave him a questioning look. “He’s at his mama’s,” she said, using the same tone Sara had used less than an hour ago with Tessa: tight, controlled, scared. She opened her mouth to ask the question, but nothing came out.

Jeffrey climbed the steps slowly, wondering how he could do this. He stood on the top step, tucking his hands into his pockets. Cathy’s eyes followed his hands, his bloody, guilt-stained hands.

He saw her throat move as she swallowed. She put her hand to her mouth, sudden tears glistening in her eyes.

Eddie finally spoke for his wife, giving voice to the only question the parent of two children can ask, “Which one?”

3

Lena used her twisted ankle as an excuse to lag behind Chuck, knowing that her temper would flare if he tried to make conversation. She needed a couple of minutes to herself to think about what had happened with Jeffrey. Her mind would not let go of the way he had looked at her. Jeffrey had been angry with Lena before, but never like today. Today he’d actually hated her.