“Why wouldn’t you, darlin’,” she said, her voice soft and sad. “Why the hell wouldn’t you.”
The girl laid a hand on Janelle’s arm. “I’m sorry about what happened to you,” she said. “Really, really sorry.”
Janelle moved her arm, reached for a tissue. “Story of my life,” she said. “This damned thing’s just one more chapter.” She blew her nose, then turned away and folded into herself, collecting herself. When she turned back, she saw that the girl had picked up her pencil and pad and started drawing. Janelle frowned. “I haven’t told you what he looks like yet.”
The girl turned the pad to show her the drawing. It was a sketch of Janelle herself, nothing but a few quick lines, but somehow it captured everything that mattered; somehow it revealed Janelle to herself: a worn and wary beauty, her cheek stitched together, her soul pulling apart. “Damn,” Janelle breathed. “You are an artist, girl. What’d they say your name was, hon? Jenny?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m Janelle, and I’m not quite as old and broken-down as I look. So stop calling me ‘ma’am’, or I might have to turn you across my knee. Got it?”
Jenny grinned. “Yes’m,” she said slyly, the m audible enough to be heard but faint enough to deny. Janelle felt the skin of her face moving, tugging at the stitches in her cheek. After a moment, she recognized the movement as a smile.
“OKAY, TAKE A LOOK, see if this is anywhere close.” Jenny laid the tablet on the table and slid it across to Janelle.
Janelle hesitated, looking in the girl’s eyes. The girl smiled shyly, shrugged slightly, in a no-promises sort of way. For some reason, Janelle found the gesture reassuring—its combination of helpfulness and humility. She picked up the sketch and looked down, then drew a quick gasp as a wave of panic swept over her, tumbling her in its grip. “Son of a bitch,” she breathed.
CHAPTER 30
Brockton
I’D BARELY BEGUN RAKING—my lawn’s first dusting of red-orange maple leaves—when Kathleen opened the front door and called to me. “Bill, there’s a Detective Kittredge on the phone for you. He says it’s important.” I laid down the rake and hurried inside.
“You were right, Doc,” he said without any preamble. “We just found two more bodies in the woods behind Cahaba Lane. Deeper in. Several hundred yards away from the woman with no feet.” I wasn’t surprised to hear there were more victims, but I was surprised to hear that one of them was a man.
I took no satisfaction in being right; in fact, I hated it. I would much rather have heard that the search was a wild-goose chase, my nightmare not a premonition but simply the product of an overheated imagination. Two more dead, I thought. Please, God, let these be the last. I prayed it, but I didn’t expect it.
Kittredge gave me directions to the scene; this time, we’d go in from the back side, by means of a different road. “Brace yourself, Doc,” the detective added. “It’s bad. The worst I’ve seen. The woman—”
“Don’t tell me,” I interrupted. “I want to see it with fresh eyes. No preconceptions.”
“You got it. See you soon.”
Tyler met me at the stadium; we tucked an extra body bag in the back of the truck and headed east along the river, along Neyland Drive and Riverside Drive. I could have done that stretch of road in my sleep; Riverside dead-ended at the pig farm where I’d warehoused bodies until recently. A mile before the farm, we turned left onto Holston Hills Road, which paralleled the Holston River. We passed a mile of woods and farm fields, then crossed the river at Boyd’s Bridge, zigzagging eastward on a series of progressively smaller roads. Normally I liked back roads; this time, though, the roads seemed to be leading us somewhere sinister. Leading us into the heart of darkness.
Neither of us had spoken since leaving the stadium. “You’re quiet,” I said finally. “You pissed off because we’re working on Saturday?”
There was a pause before he answered. “I’m tired,” he said. “I was up late. Writing up my research notes.”
“Uh-huh. Did your research notes give you that hickey?” Tyler had mentioned that Roxanne was in town for the weekend, and I suspected they’d made the most of their night.
“No comment.” He was pissed off. Not surprising, I thought. He hasn’t seen her in weeks, and I’m dragging him off to a death scene.