29
A tongue lapping across her face awakened Katie, and she opened her eyes. It was night, but the sky was full of light.
“Maggie,” she whispered. “Good girl.”
The sound that filled Katie’s ears was that of a locomotive, or maybe a tornado, close by. She tried to sit up, but the pain in her side was so excruciating, it took her breath again. She suddenly realized where she was. She turned her head and looked toward the house. Orange flames were shooting through the roof, reaching at least fifty feet into the air and throwing sparkling embers another thirty feet higher. Katie had managed to push herself a good hundred feet from the house before she passed out, but the heat was so intense, she felt as though she were slowly roasting.
Maggie bolted toward the side of the house and disappeared.
She must be going to check on the others. They must have gotten out.
Katie planted the soles of her feet firmly against the ground and began to push again, dragging herself farther away from the heat. She took shallow breaths in an effort to alleviate some of the pain. She wondered how many of her ribs had been broken in the fall, because every time she took a breath, no matter how shallow, and every time she moved her upper body in the least, it felt as if a butcher knife were being plunged into her side.
She thought briefly of the cowards who did this. It had to be the druggers. Someone had told someone about her visit to the DEA office. She thought of the eyes that watched her as she was leaving, and she wondered whether one of those pairs of eyes was responsible for what was happening now.
Aunt Mary. Lottie. Did they get out? Did they get Luke out? Are they hurt? Dead? No, please God, not dead. Not again.
She shouldn’t have gone off the trail in the park. She shouldn’t have let the druggers see her. She shouldn’t have told Aunt Mary. At the very least, their house was burning because of her.
Katie became aware of headlights coming down the driveway. They drew nearer. She heard a door slam, then heavy footsteps approaching. Someone was kneeling beside her. She looked at the face. It was Mr. Torbett, the nearest neighbor, a friendly, white-haired farmer with the longest fingers Katie had ever seen. Kneeling on the other side of Katie was Mr. Torbett’s wife, Rose.
“Katie!” Mr. Torbett cried. “Dear God, Katie. Are you all right? What happened?”
He reached behind her neck and lifted her head.
No! No! Don’t move me!
Razor-sharp pain shot through Katie’s body.
“The others,” she whispered, and the blackness enveloped her again.
The next time Katie opened her eyes, the woman standing above her was a stranger. She was pretty, middle-aged, with sharp features and hazel eyes. Her black hair was pulled tightly into a bun, and she was wearing white. Katie thought she might be an angel. She was fiddling with a bag of liquid that hung from a stand next to the bed.
“Where am I?” Katie said. Her mouth was dry, her tongue like sandpaper, but she felt as relaxed as she’d ever felt in her life. “Am I in heaven?”
“You’re in the hospital, sweetie,” the nurse said. She moved next to the bed and took Katie’s hand. “But you’re going to be fine.”
Katie smiled at the nurse and looked at her name tag. It said her name was June.
“Am I sick?” Katie said. “How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
Katie thought for a moment, but she couldn’t remember. Truth be known, she didn’t care. She felt as if she were floating. She shook her head slowly.
“You had a little accident,” Nurse June said. “Just go on back to sleep now. We’re going to take good care of you.”
“Do you know Aunt Mary?” Katie said. “She works at the hospital.”
The angel turned away for several seconds. When she turned back, Katie thought she saw a tear slip from her right eye and run down her cheek. She wondered why the woman was crying.
“Yes, honey, I know her.”
“Is she here?”
“You just rest now,” the nurse said. “Your aunt Mary will always be there for you.”
30
It’s after midnight. I’ve already told Caroline that Hannah is missing. She was so upset that I decided not to tell her about the information I’ve learned from Bates, and I didn’t say anything about Ramirez. She’s gone to bed, but I doubt she’s sleeping. Both of us are in a state of semishock, punch-drunk from the emotional and psychological battering we’ve taken over the past week. Ray’s suicide, the news about Judge Green and the possibility that Tommy may have been involved, Hannah’s disappearance, and Caroline’s continuing battle with cancer have left us wondering whether we’ve been infected with some sort of contagious, cosmic disease that we’ve unwittingly passed on to our closest friends.
I’m sitting in my study, flipping through the Tennessee Criminal Justice Handbook. I find the section of the Tennessee Code Annotated I’m looking for:* Section 39-16-503. Tampering with or fabricating evidence. It is unlawful for any person, knowing that an official investigation or official proceeding is pending or in progress, to: (1) Alter, destroy, or conceal any record, document, or thing with intent to impair its verity, legibility, or availability as evidence in the investigation or official proceeding. A violation of this section is a class C felony.
The statute is clear. By burning Tommy Miller’s clothing and shoes after knowing that he was a suspect in a murder investigation, Caroline has committed a crime. She doesn’t realize how serious it is. The penalty for a class C felony in Tennessee for a first-time offender is a minimum of three and a maximum of six years in prison. If Caroline is caught, there’s no doubt in my mind she’ll wind up in jail. She’ll receive the minimum sentence because she’s never been in any kind of trouble, but there isn’t a judge in the state who will grant her probation for destroying evidence in the investigation of a murdered colleague. Even if she gets the minimum sentence and makes parole as soon as she’s eligible, she’ll serve nearly a year in the Tennessee State Prison for Women.
I think about the sentence Caroline is still serving, the one imposed upon her by breast cancer. She’s survived, but she’s been through six months of chemotherapy, nearly two months of radiation therapy, and half a dozen surgeries stretched out over twenty-two months. I’m confident she’ll beat the cancer, but now she’s up against the laws of man and the people who enforce them. If she’s found out, she won’t get any sympathy.
I know she didn’t intend to do anything illegal when she collected Tommy’s clothes and loaned him some of Jack’s, and I’m sure she rationalizes burning the clothing later by telling herself she was merely eliminating the possibility that the clothing could somehow be used to frame Tommy. She believes he didn’t kill the judge. In fact, she’s so firm in her conviction that I wonder whether something else is at play here, perhaps intuition. Caroline has always been intuitive, and her judgments about people have always been spot-on. But even if she’s right about Tommy, it doesn’t change her having made herself vulnerable to the system. If the wrong person finds out what she’s done and can prove it, they’ll steamroll her.
The other problem I have, of course, is my own criminal liability. Now that Caroline’s told me about burning the clothes, because of my position as an assistant district attorney, I could be charged with official misconduct if I don’t report it. Official misconduct is also a felony, although not as serious as tampering with evidence. Then again, perhaps I enjoy the protection of spousal privilege. She’s my wife. They can’t force me to tell them anything she’s said to me, and I didn’t actually see the clothing.