“Where was Judith when the shooting started?”
Ben said, “In her room. She heard the gun go off. She was supposed to lock the door and hide in the corner at the back of her classroom, but she ran out into the hallway because she knew the first bell was about to ring and she wanted to warn the kids not to come. I mean, if she could do it without being shot. She wasn’t thinking about her own safety, she said.” He looked at Charlie again. “There was a lot of that going around.”
Sam told him, “Boats are very expensive to maintain.”
“I’m not looking for a yacht.”
“There’s insurance, docking fees, taxes.”
Charlie could not listen to her estranged sister talk to her estranged husband about boats. She stared blankly at the road. She tried to work out what had just happened. Ben resigning—that was something she couldn’t deal with right now. She concentrated instead on the conversation with Sam. Ben had prattled on like a jailhouse snitch. Sam had been more circumspect. Kelly pregnant. The gun missing. Charlie had been at the school when the shooting occurred, she had been a witness to part of what played out, but she was more in the dark than either of them.
Ben leaned over to look at Sam. “You should take over the Wilson case.”
Sam laughed. “I couldn’t afford the pay cut.”
He slowed down for a tractor on the road. The farmer was taking up both lanes. His combine was down. Ben beeped the horn twice and the man edged over enough for him to pass on the median.
Ben and Sam resumed their idle boat chatter. Charlie found herself going back to Sam’s questions, trying to see where they led. Sam had always been faster at solving puzzles. Faster at most things, to be honest. She was certainly better in the courtroom. Charlie had been in awe yesterday, and she had also called it right the first time. Sam had looked like the quintessential Victorian Dracula, from her stylish clothes to her air of entitlement, to the way she had unhinged her jaw and swallowed Ken Coin like a plump rat.
Sam asked, “How many bullets were fired?”
Charlie waited for Ben to answer, but then she realized Sam was talking to her. “Four? Five? Six? I don’t know. I’m a really bad witness.”
Ben said, “There’s five on the tape. One in—”
“The wall, three in Pinkman, one in Lucy.” She leaned back over to look at Ben. “How about near Mrs. Pinkman’s room? Anything near her door?”
“I have no idea,” he admitted. “The case is only two days old. They’re still doing the forensics. But there’s another witness. He said that he counted six shots, total. He’s been in combat. He’s pretty reliable.”
Mason Huckabee.
Charlie looked down at her hands.
“What about the audio?”
“There’s a really shaky cell phone call from the front office, but that was made after the shooting stopped. The audio you want came from an open mic on the cop in the hallway. That’s where Coin got the thing about ‘the baby.’” Ben added, “None of the gunshots were captured. We—at least I—don’t have the coroner’s report. There could be one more bullet inside the bodies.”
Sam said, “I think I want to look at that video again.”
“I can’t access it. I was kind of frank in my resignation letter,” Ben said. “I’m pretty sure I won’t get a referral.”
Charlie wanted to crawl under the covers in her bed and go to sleep. They had a mortgage. They had a car payment. Health insurance premiums. Car insurance. Property taxes. All the bills from three years ago.
“I’ll be your referral.” Sam had her hand deep in her purse, a leather bag that would likely pay for all of their bills. She pulled out Ben’s Enterprise USB. “Does Dad have a computer?”
“He’s got a great TV,” Ben said. They had bought Rusty the same model that they had at home. This had been four years ago, before Colorado. Before the boat.
Ben slowed the truck. They were at the HP, but he didn’t turn into the driveway. Blood had stained the red clay an oily black. This was where her father had fallen the night he’d walked to the end of the driveway to get the mail.
Ben said, “They think the uncle stabbed Rusty.”
“Faber?” Sam asked.
“Rick Fahey.” Charlie remembered Lucy Alexander’s uncle from the press conference. “Why do they think it’s him?”
Ben shook his head. “I’m way out of the loop on that one. I heard some gossip at the office, then Kaylee was complaining about getting called out late the night Rusty was stabbed.”
“So they needed someone to talk to a possible suspect,” Charlie said, pretending that the way he’d casually dropped the name of the woman Charlie thought he was cheating with hadn’t driven a knife into her own gut. “I think Dad saw whoever did it.”
“I do, too,” Sam said. “He spun a yarn to me about how there is value in forgiveness.”
“Can you imagine,” Charlie said. “If Dad had lived, he probably would’ve offered to represent Fahey.”
No one laughed because they all knew that it was possible.
Ben put the gear in first. He made the turn into the driveway, driving slowly to avoid the ruts.
The farmhouse came into view, paint chipping, wood rotting, windows crooked, but not otherwise altered since the Culpeppers had knocked on the kitchen door twenty-eight years ago.
Charlie felt Sam shift in her seat. She was steeling herself, strengthening her resolve. Charlie wanted to say something that would bring her comfort, but all she could do was hold onto Sam’s hand.
Sam asked, “Why no security bars and gates here? The office is a fortress.”
“Dad said that lightning doesn’t strike twice.” Charlie felt the lump come back into her throat. She knew that the over-abundant security at the office was for her sake, not Rusty’s. Of the handful of times she had been to the HP over the years, she had inevitably stayed out in her car, laying on her horn for Rusty to come out because she did not want to go inside. Maybe if she had visited more, her father would have taken better measures to keep the place secure.
Ben said, “I can’t believe I was here last weekend, talking to him on the porch.”
Charlie longed to lean against him, to put her head on his shoulder.
“Brace yourselves,” Ben said. The wheels bounced into a pothole, then hit a deep rut, before smoothing out. He started to pull to the parking pad by the barn.
“Go to the front door,” Charlie said. She did not want to go through the kitchen.
“‘Goat fucker,’” Sam said, reading the graffiti. “The suspect knew him.”
Charlie laughed.
Sam did not. “I never thought I would come back here.”
“You don’t have to.” Charlie offered, “I could go inside and look for the photo.”
The set to Sam’s jaw said she was determined. “I want us to find it together.”
Ben looped the truck around to the front porch. The grass was mostly weeds. A kid from down the street was supposed to keep it mowed, but Charlie was ankle-deep in dandelions when she stepped out of the truck.
Sam held her hand again. They had not touched each other this much when they were children.