Faith picked at the stitching on the steering wheel. She thought about Will, the devastated look on his face when Charlie said the gun was registered to Angie. The only thing worse than his expression was Sara’s. Amanda had sent them all away to give Will and Sara some privacy, but there had been a long line to sign out of the crime scene at the front door and Faith had managed to catch the gist of their discussion.
Sara was a better woman than Faith. If Faith had found out that her lover’s ex was rifling through her things—not just rifling, but stealing—Faith would’ve burned down his fucking house.
‘Faith?’ Amanda had clicked back onto the line. ‘Have you heard from Will?’
‘Yeah, we had a long conversation about his feelings while he braided my hair.’
‘I’m not in the mood for your humor.’ Amanda had let an uncharacteristic edge of concern enter her tone. Will’s weird, Flowers-in-the-Attic-y relationship with Angie paled in comparison to the dysfunctional freak show he had with Amanda. She was the closest thing he’d ever had to a mother, if you were constantly afraid that your mother would smother you in your sleep.
Amanda said, ‘Will left after he found the Jane Doe. Just disappeared. I have no idea where he is. He’s not at home. He’s not answering his phones.’
Faith knew he didn’t have a car at the scene. ‘Did he get a ride from Sara?’
‘She was already gone when the Jane Doe was found.’
‘I suppose that’s one small blessing.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure he’s working on a new way to screw that up.’
Unfortunately, Faith was equally certain. ‘Do you think Angie’s dead?’
‘We can only hope.’ Amanda sounded like she meant it. ‘I sent Collier to help you search Harding’s place.’
‘I don’t need his help.’
‘I don’t care. Hold on again.’ Amanda’s voice was muffled as she barked an order to an unseen underling. She told Faith, ‘I’ve managed to force a meeting with Kip Kilpatrick’s team at four o’clock. Get Collier started at Harding’s, then head over to the hospital. I don’t want you spending too much time with him.’
Faith felt her hackles rise. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means he’s your type.’
Faith was too stunned to laugh. ‘Does he drive a sixty-thousand-dollar truck and live in his mother’s trailer?’
Amanda chuckled. The phone clicked again. She had hung up.
Faith stared at the phone. There was not much to recommend having your godmother as your boss. Actually, there was a lot that advised against it.
She set the alarm on her phone to go off in an hour. In her experience, the surgeons at Grady were always faster than they predicted, and Faith wanted to be standing by Jane Doe’s bed when she finally came round. You only got one chance to surprise a witness, and considering how close this case cut to home, Faith wasn’t going to blow it.
She put her hand on the car key but didn’t turn off the engine. The air conditioning was too precious to cut a second too short. She looked at the tennis court, which, un-mesa-like, was over a hill and up several steps. She looked at Harding’s front door, which was considerably closer. There was a fake-looking rock in the low-maintenance yard that likely contained a spare key. The search warrant was probably sitting in the fax machine inside the manager’s office. She could go ahead and get started.
Faith was getting out of her car when Collier pulled up in a black Dodge Charger. Aerosmith leaked out of the closed windows. There was a figurine of a grass-skirted, half-naked Hawaiian girl stuck to the dashboard. His wheels skidded across the asphalt as he braked, threw the gear into reverse, and backed into the space beside Faith’s Mini.
He gave her the once-over as he got out of the Charger, the same as he had this morning. He seemed appreciative, even though she was wearing her GBI regs—dark blue shirt, khakis and a thigh holster because the uniform was unflattering enough without adding two inches of Glock on her hip.
‘What’s that?’ She pointed to the two round Band-Aids wrapped around the top of his right ear. Blood had dried into the crevices.
‘Cut myself shaving.’
‘With a machete?’
‘My Epilady broke.’ He glanced into the back of Faith’s car, taking in the baby seat and scattered Cheerios.
She laid it all out in the open. ‘I have a one-year-old and a twenty-year-old.’
‘Uh, yeah. You were APD for fifteen years before you jumped ship. Never married. Graduated from Tech. Your mom was on the job. Your dad was an insurance agent, rest in peace. You live two streets over from your mom in a house your grandmother left you, which is how you can live in a nice neighborhood on a state salary.’ He pushed up his sunglasses. ‘Come on, Mitchell. You know cops gossip like bitchy little girls. I already know everything about you.’
Faith started up the sidewalk.
‘I’m the second oldest of nine myself.’
‘Jesus,’ Faith muttered, thinking of his poor mother.
‘Dad’s a retired cop. Two brothers are with APD, another two are with Fulton County, another is in McDonough. I’ve got a sister who’s a fireman but we don’t talk about her.’
Faith picked up the fake rock, only to find that it was a real rock.
‘Come on, Mitchell.’ Collier was like a puppy nipping at her heels. ‘I know you checked me out. What’d your mom say?’
Faith made an educated guess. ‘That you’re cocky and prone to mistakes.’
He grinned. ‘I knew she’d remember me.’
Faith thought of something. ‘Where did you take Will?’
He stopped grinning. ‘What’s that?’
‘Will disappeared after he found the Jane Doe in the office building. Where did you take him?’
‘That’s some class-A detective work there, partner. But he didn’t find her. Well, he did, but I was there too. So you could say we both found her.’
‘I’m not your partner.’ Faith knelt down and studied the rocks. All of them looked fake. ‘Are you going to answer me?’
‘I took him to his house.’ Collier shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Don’t ask me why, ’cause I can’t tell you. My sister says I should’a been the fireman ’cause I’m the dumbass who runs into the burning building instead of running away from it.’
‘Do you know why the Jane Doe tried to kill herself?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s a junkie.’
Faith picked up a suspiciously dull rock. This one was a real fake. She slid back the plastic cover, expecting to find the house key.
Empty.
Collier asked, ‘Did your mom tell you I had a wrestling accident in high school?’ He was leaning against the door jamb, his arms crossed. ‘Testicular torsion.’
Faith tossed the empty rock back into the yard.
‘Tragedy, really.’ He ran his fingers through his hair as he squinted into the distance. ‘I’ll never be able to have kids.’ He winked at her, because that was obviously in the script. ‘Hasn’t stopped me from trying.’
‘Hello?’ A hippy-looking woman in flip-flops and a belted yellow shirt dress was walking up the sidewalk. Her long gray hair was loose around her shoulders. She held a stack of papers in one hand and wore a loaded springy keychain on her wrist. ‘Are you the police lady who called?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Faith pulled her ID out of her pocket. ‘I’m Special Agent Faith Mitchell. This is—’
‘Oh, I don’t need to see that, hon. You’ve both got POLICE written on the back of your shirts.’
Faith put away her ID, skipping the lecture about how you could put POLICE on the back of anything these days.
The woman said, ‘Can’t say I’m surprised something bad happened to ol’ Dale. He wasn’t one for making friends.’ Her shoes flip-flopped across the front walk. She banged her fist on Harding’s door. The keys on the springy ring clattered around her wrist. ‘Hello?’ She banged again. ‘Hello?’
Faith asked, ‘Was he living with someone?’
‘No. Sorry, force of habit. I do a lot of wellness checks, and I never enter a house without knocking.’ She extended her hand. ‘I’m Violet Nelson, by the way. The property manager. Sorry I was out so long. I got hung up at the library.’
‘Were you involved in leasing this place to Harding?’