Was it Lucy’s imagination, or was her body healing itself? She was sleeping more deeply now. Those first weeks—months?—she’d had nothing to do but sleep, but back then, every time she found herself nodding off, she’d jerk awake in panic. Now, oftentimes when he came into the room, he had to wake her.
Gentle nudge of the shoulder. Stroke along the cheek. The warm feel of the washcloth. The careful tending of her body. He cleaned her. He prayed over her. He made her whole.
Back on Juice’s corner, the girls would trade stories about the bad johns out there. Who to watch out for. Who you would never see coming. There was the one who stuck a knife in your face. The one who tried to put his whole fist inside you. The one who wore a diaper. The one who wanted to paint your fingernails.
In the scheme of things, was this guy really that bad?
twelve
present day
TUESDAY
The morning sun was just winking open its eye when Will raked back the passenger’s seat in Faith’s Mini. A body had been found, probably the missing Georgia Tech student, and he was wasting time adjusting knobs on a clown car so that his head wouldn’t press against the roof.
Faith waited until he was putting on his seatbelt to speak. “You look awful.”
Will glanced at her. She was wearing her GBI regs: khaki pants, navy blue shirt, and her Glock strapped to her thigh. “Thank you.”
Faith backed the car down the driveway. The wheels bumped over the curb. She didn’t say anything else, which was unusual. Faith tended to chat. She tended to pry. For some reason, she was doing neither this morning. Will should’ve been worried about this, but there were only so many burdens he could take on at once. His useless night in the basement. His argument with Sara. The fact that his father was out of prison. Whatever Amanda was hiding from him. That there was a dead body at Techwood. That he had kissed his wife.
Will put his fingers to his mouth again. He’d wiped off Angie’s lipstick with a paper towel, but he could still taste the bitter chemical residue.
Faith said, “There’s an accident on this side of North Avenue. Do you mind if I take the long way through Ansley?”
Will shook his head.
“Did you not get any sleep last night?”
“Off and on.”
“You missed a place on your—” She touched the side of her cheek. When Will didn’t respond, she flipped down the visor in front of him.
Will stared at his reflection in the mirror. There was a small strip of beard he’d missed with the razor this morning. He looked at his eyes. They were bloodshot. No wonder people kept telling him he looked bad.
“This Techwood murder,” Faith began. “Donnelly was the first responder.”
Will flipped up the visor. Detective Leo Donnelly had been Faith’s partner when she worked homicide with the APD. He was slightly annoying, but his greater sin was mediocrity. “Have you talked to him?”
“No. Just Amanda.” She paused, as if to give Will the opportunity to ask what Amanda had said. After a few silent seconds, she told him, “I know about your father.”
Will stared out the window. Faith had taken more than the long way. There were better routes to bypass North Avenue on the way to Techwood. She had navigated the back roads to Monroe Drive. They were skirting Piedmont Park and heading toward Ansley. It was six o’clock in the morning. There was no accident on North.
She said, “Mama told me last night. She needed me to make a phone call.”
Will watched the houses and apartment buildings go by. They passed the vet’s office where Betty got her shots.
“There’s a guy I used to date way back when. I think you met him once. Sam Lawson. He’s a reporter for the AJC.”
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. Will didn’t want to think about the why behind Evelyn Mitchell’s request. He assumed Amanda was making some kind of Machiavellian move, trying to get ahead of whatever the paper was going to print. Sara read the AJC every morning. She was the only person Will knew who still got the paper delivered. Was this how Sara was going to find out? Will could imagine the phone call. If she called. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe Sara would see this as an easy opportunity to get out of whatever they had started.
Faith said, “That’s how Amanda found out about your father’s parole.” She paused, again anticipating a response. “Sam called her office and asked for a quote. He wanted to know how she felt about him getting out.” Faith stopped at the red light. “He’s not going to run the story. I fed him some details on a biker gang APD busted for running crank out of a charter school. It’s a front-page story. Sam won’t circle back.”
Will stared at the darkened strip of Ansley Mall. The upscale stores weren’t open yet. Their lights glowed in the low dawn. He felt a strange sensation, like he was being driven to the hospital for surgery. Some part of his body would be removed. He would have to recover from that. He would have to find a way to acclimate his senses so they did not feel the gaping hole.
Faith asked, “What did you do to your hands?”
Will tried to bend his fingers. It hurt just flexing them. His ankle throbbed with every beat of his heart. His basement excursion was being felt by every joint in his body.
“Anyway.” Faith swung through the steep curve that took them up Fourteenth Street. “I looked up his case.”
Will was more than familiar with his father’s crimes.
“He dodged a bullet. Furman v. Georgia was in the early seventies.”
“Seventy-two,” Will provided. The landmark Supreme Court case had temporarily suspended the death penalty. A few more years either side and Will’s father would’ve been put to death by the State of Georgia.
He said, “Gary Gilmore was the first man executed after Furman.”
“Spree killer, right? Up in Utah?” Faith loved reading about mass murderers. It was an unfortunate hobby that often came in handy.
Will asked, “Is it a spree if it’s only two people?”
“I think two qualifies so long as the timing is close.”
“I thought that it had to be three.”
“I think that’s just for serial killers.” Faith took out her iPhone. She typed with her thumb as she waited to make an illegal turn onto Peachtree.
Will stared up Fourteenth Street. He couldn’t see the hotel from his vantage point, but he knew that the Four Seasons was two blocks away. That was probably why Faith was making the turn. She knew that his father was staying at the hotel. Will wondered if he was still in bed. The man had been in prison for over thirty years. It was probably impossible for him to sleep late. Maybe he’d already ordered his breakfast from room service. Angie said he used the gym every morning. He was probably running on the treadmill, watching one of the morning shows and planning his day.
“Here we go. Two or more qualifies as a spree.” Faith dropped her iPhone back into the cup holder and turned against the light. “Can we talk about your father now?”
Will said, “Did you know that Peachtree Street is Georgia’s continental divide?” He pointed to the side of the road. “Rain that falls on that side of the road goes to the Atlantic. Rain on this side goes to the Gulf. Maybe I’ve got the sides mixed up, but you get the gist.”
“That’s fascinating, Will.”