“And on the phone with Chief Wallace-”
“I’m sorry,” Sara apologized. “Could you call him Frank? It’s just-”
“You don’t have to explain,” he assured her. “On the phone before, when you said that you didn’t really remember Tommy Braham, that there was no connection with him. Did you feel like Frank was trying to push you into coming to the station?”
Sara finally saw where this was going. “You think he called me after the fact. That Tommy was already dead.” She remembered Frank looking through the cell door window. He had dropped his keys on the floor. Had that all been an act?
“As you know, time of death isn’t an exact science,” Will said. “If he called you right after he found Tommy-”
“The body was still warm,” she remembered. “But the temperature inside the cells was hot. Frank said the furnace was acting up.”
“Had you ever known it to act up before?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t stepped foot in that station in over four years.”
“The temperature was normal when I was there tonight.”
Sara sat back on the couch. These were people who had worked with Jeffrey. People she had trusted all of her life. If Frank Wallace thought Sara was going to cover something up, he was sadly mistaken. “Do you think they killed him?” She answered her own question. “I saw the blue ink from the pen. I can’t imagine they held Tommy down and scraped it across his wrists. There are easier ways to kill someone and make it look like a suicide.”
“Hanging,” he suggested. “Eighty percent of custodial suicides are achieved by hanging. Prison inmates are seven times more likely to kill themselves than the general population. Tommy fits just about every part of the profile.” Will listed it out for her. “He was unusually remorseful. He wouldn’t stop crying. He wasn’t married. He was between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. This was his first offense. He had a strong parent or guardian at home who would be angry or disappointed to learn of his incarceration.”
She admitted, “Tommy was all of those things. But why would Frank postpone finding the body?”
“You’re well respected here. A prisoner killed himself in police custody. If you say there’s nothing hinky about it, then people will believe you.”
Sara couldn’t argue with him. Dan Brock was a mortician, not a doctor. If people got it into their heads that Tommy had been killed at the jail, then Brock would be hard-pressed to disprove the rumor.
“The cartridge from the pen that Tommy used,” Will began. “Tonight, Officer Knox told me that your husband gave them all pens for Christmas one year. That’s a very thoughtful thing to do.”
“Not exactly,” Sara said before she could catch herself. “I mean, he was busy, so he asked me to…” She waved her hand, dismissing her words. She had been so annoyed with Jeffrey for asking her to track down the pens, as if her life was less busy than his. She passed this off by telling Will, “I’m sure there are things you ask your wife to do for you when you’re tied up.”
He smiled. “Do you remember where you got the pens?”
Sara felt another wave of shame crashing down. “I asked Nelly, my office manager at the clinic, to find them online. I didn’t have time to…” She shook her head, feeling like a heel. “I might be able to find the credit card receipt if it’s important. This was over five years ago.”
“How many did you get?”
“Twenty-five, I think? Everyone on the force got one.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. Jeffrey hadn’t given her a budget, and Sara’s idea of an expensive gift had a higher price tag than Jeffrey’s. It all seemed so silly now. Why had they wasted days being angry at each other? Why had it mattered so much?
Will surprised her, saying, “Your accent is different down here.”
She laughed, taken off guard. “Do I sound country?”
“Your mother has a beautiful accent.”
“Cultured,” Sara said. Except for tonight, she had always loved the sound of her mother’s voice.
He surprised her again. “You’ve kind of been dragged into the middle of this case, but in a lot of ways, you’ve put yourself there on your own.”
She felt a blush brought on by his candor.
His expression was soft, understanding. She wondered if it was genuine or if he was using one of his interviewing techniques. “I know this sounds forward, but I’m assuming you had me meet you at the hospital in plain view of Main Street for a reason.”
Sara laughed again, this time at herself, the situation. “It wasn’t that calculated. It must seem that way now.”
“I’m staying at your house. People are going to see my car parked on the street. I know how small towns work. They’re going to think something’s going on between us.”
“But there’s not. You’re married and I’m-”
His smile was more of a wince. “The truth isn’t much help in these types of situations. You must know that.”
Sara looked back at his office supplies. He had separated the rubber bands by color. Even the paper clips were turned in the same direction.
Will said, “Something is going on here. I’m not sure if it’s what you think, but something’s not right at that station house.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know yet, but you need to prepare yourself for some bad reactions.” He spoke carefully. “Cases like this, where the police get questioned. They don’t like that. Part of the reason they’re good at their jobs is because they think they’re right about everything.”
“I’m a doctor. Trust me, it’s not just cops who feel that way.”
“I want you to be prepared, because when we get to the end of this, whether I find out Tommy was guilty, or Detective Adams screwed up, or if I find out nothing was wrong at all, people are going to hate you for bringing me down here.”
“They’ve hated me before.”
“They’re going to say you’re dragging your husband’s memory through the mud.”
“They don’t know anything about him. They have no idea.”
“They’ll fill in the blanks themselves. It’s going to get a lot harder than it is now.” He turned his body toward her. “I’m going to make it harder. I’m going to do some things on purpose to get them mad enough to show their hand. Are you going to be okay with that?”
“What if I say no?”
“Then I’ll find another way to do it that doesn’t upset you.”
She could see that his offer was genuine, and felt guilty for questioning his motives before. “This isn’t my home anymore. I’m leaving in three days no matter what happens. Do what you have to do.”
“And your family?”
“My family supports me.” Sara wasn’t certain about a lot of things these days, but this, at least, was true. “They may not agree with me, but they support me.”
“All right.” He looked relieved, as if he’d gotten the hard part out of the way. “I need to get Julie Smith’s phone number from you.”
Sara had anticipated the request. She took a sheet of folded paper out of her pocket and handed it to Will.
He pointed to the Princess phone beside the couch. “Is this the same line as the house?”
She nodded.
“I wanted to make sure the caller ID was the same.” He picked up the phone and stared at the rotary dial.
Sara rolled her eyes. “My parents don’t exactly embrace technology.”
He started spinning the dial, but the rotary slipped out from under his finger in the middle of the number.
“Let me,” she offered, taking the phone before he could protest. She spun the dial, the motion coming back to her more quickly than she wanted to admit.
Will put the receiver to his ear just as an automated squawk blared down the line. He held the phone between them so they both could hear the recorded voice advising the caller that the line he was trying to reach had been disconnected.