"Which deputy?"
"Reggie Ray," she said. "Now, there's a good man. He sings in the choir at church sometimes. I swear, that man has a voice like an angel."
Again, Jeffrey held back his opinion, though he wondered why Reggie did not mention before that he had been to Luke Swan's house. Considering Reggie was a deputy, the visit was routine, but still, Jeffrey wondered.
He asked, "Did Reggie find anything?"
"Not that I know of," she said. "You're welcome to go back and look around."
"I appreciate it," Jeffrey told her, patting her shoulder before heading back into the trailer.
He had to close the bifold door to the bathroom to get down the hall, but before he did, Jeffrey saw the filthiest toilet he had ever seen in his life. The walls were molded plastic shaped to look like tiles, and there were splatters of God knew what all around the tiny room. Only a blowtorch could have cleaned it off.
The old woman called, "You see anything?"
"Not yet," Jeffrey said, trying to breathe through his mouth. He pushed back another bifold door, thinking nothing could be worse than the smell in the hallway. He was wrong. Luke Swan's room was a stinking mess. The sheets were pulled back and there was a stiff-looking patch at the center of the twin bed. A single bare lightbulb dangled over the bed, suspended from a wire looped across the ceiling. He could not believe Jessie could be interested in anyone who lived in a place like this. She was too damn picky. He hated to admit it, but Jessie had a little more class.
Two plastic storage boxes by the bed seemed to hold the bulk of Luke Swan's clothes. The plastic was clear, and Jeffrey was thankful he did not have to touch anything to see inside. Spiderwebs and the kind of dirt that took years to accumulate were under the bed, but except for a filthy-looking white sock, there was nothing else there.
The closet had a locker shoved into it, the same kind you would find in a school. Stained underwear and socks were thrown onto the top shelf, shirts and jeans on the bottom. Jeffrey strained to see into the back, not wanting to put his hand into the locker. Just looking at Luke Swan's room made him feel like he had something crawling on him. Finally, he gave up and brushed the clothes out, hoping nothing bit him. Other than a pair of Speedos with a tear in the crotch, he found nothing.
Jeffrey turned around, looking back at the room. He was not about to touch the mattress, even if there was a letter explaining everything that had happened tucked underneath. Reggie would have done that, anyway. If he had found something incriminating, he sure as shit would have thrown it in Robert's face a long time ago.
Using his foot, Jeffrey kicked Swan's clothes back into the closet. After he had shoved everything back in, he changed his mind and pulled it back out. Hoping he did not get some sort of disease, Jeffrey put his hands on either side of the locker and pulled it out from the closet.
The metal made a horrible groaning noise, shaking the whole room, and the old woman called, "You okay in there?"
"Yes, ma'am," he told her, but then, looking behind the locker, seeing what was hidden in the back of the closet, he suddenly was not okay at all.
"How…" he began, but could not ask the question. He could only sit on the nasty bed and stare, his mind reeling for a moment, trying to come up with some kind of explanation or story – something that would help put Robert in the clear instead of pointing the finger right back at him. He kept coming back to the same conclusion, though, and he wanted a drink, several drinks, so bad he could taste the alcohol burning its way down to his belly.
"No," he said, like saying it out loud would make it true. "No," he repeated, but he still could not stop himself from asking, "Robert, what have you done?"
Chapter Twenty-One
3:09 P.M.
"Jared?" Smith said, slamming down the phone. "Who's Jared?"
Sara looked panicked, and Lena tried to distract him, saying, "You said you'd let Marla go."
"Shut up," he told her, sauntering toward Sara. "Who's Jared?" he repeated. "Who is he?"
Sara kept her mouth closed, like she was wondering how far she could push him.
Smith placed the shotgun against her ear. "I'm'a ask you one more time," he said, his accent thicker as his voice dropped a few octaves. "Who's Jared?"
Jeffrey spoke, his voice thick with pain. "Jeffrey's son," he said, but even Lena could hear his uncertainty. He wasn't confirming it, he was asking Sara a question.
"He didn't know," Sara told Smith, her hand pressing to Jeffrey's good shoulder. "Jared has a father who raised him."
Smith pulled the gun away, resting it on his shoulder. "Fucker," he spat, turning around to his accomplice. "You hear that, Sonny? He's got another kid."
Lena was watching Sara, and the other woman's face went slack as if she was having a small seizure. She knew, Lena thought. She knew who they were.
Sonny was pissed that he had been given away, and he snapped. "Thanks a lot, Eric."
Smith ran over to his partner, and they spoke in harsh whispers to each other. Lena strained to hear them, but they were being too careful. She chanced a look back at Marla, and the old lady had a glint in her eye. Lena realized she had been playing the part all along. She glanced down at Marla's hands, trying to see where she had hidden the knife.
"Fuck off!" Smith screamed, and Sonny pushed him hard enough so that Smith stumbled and fell.
Glass and debris scattered as Smith scrambled to get up. He ripped off his mask, which sent a sharp fear through Lena, as if someone had reached into her chest and grabbed her heart. Smith got back in Sonny's face, screaming obscenities, and all Lena could think was that they were all going to die now. He had shown his face. He did not care who saw him, which meant he did not think anyone would be alive to make an ID.
Sara screamed, "Look down! Don't look at him."
Molly did as she was told, but Lena was too late. Smith reeled around, his heavy boots crunching glass. They made eye contact, and Lena thought she had never seen anyone so dead in her life. Smith ran toward the back of the room, gun raised. She tried to grab him but he shrugged her off like a blanket.
"Don't look at his face," Sara repeated, just as Smith slapped her hard enough to knock her over. Still, she told Molly, "Don't look at him. Close your eyes."
Smith kicked Sara's shin, cutting a gash. He demanded, "What are you doing?"
"She hasn't seen you!" Sara screamed back, scrambling to sit up. "Molly hasn't seen you! Close your eyes!" She reached out to Molly, touching her leg before Smith pushed them apart.
"She has two children," Sara said, panic making her voice shrill. "Two boys at home. Let her go. She hasn't seen you."
Molly sat where she had been since this all started. She held Jeffrey's hand in her own, her eyes tightly closed. She might have been praying.
"She hasn't seen you," Sara repeated, her voice shaking. "She hasn't seen you. Let her go."
Smith stared at them, his eyes moving back and forth, and Lena could see him struggling to think this through. He glanced over his shoulder at his partner, but did not invite his opinion.
Lena said, "You could let her go. Let her take Marla."
Smith seemed to consider this, too. "What about my arm?" he asked. He turned back to Molly, who still had her eyes closed. "You said you'd suture it."
"I need the lidocaine," she said. "I need…" She turned and looked at Lena oddly. "Give me thirty-three cc's of the two percent lidocaine." Her tone was sharp, her tongue carving each letter like a razor as she repeated herself, "Thirty-three cc's of two percent."
Sara's confusion came too quickly to hide. Lena saw her brow knit, but Smith obviously knew enough to say, "You trying to put me out?" He pushed her with the toe of his boot. "Huh?"