“Daddy,” Sara interrupted, “I’ll see you in the morning.” She hung up the phone before he could get another word in.
Jeffrey asked, “Let me guess, he sends his love.”
Sara ignored the question, not wanting to get into a personal conversation with Jeffrey. This was how he sucked her back in, making her think that he was a normal person capable of being honest and supportive, when in actuality the minute Jeffrey felt like he was back in Sara’s good graces he’d probably run for cover. Or, under the covers, to be more exact.
He said, “How’s Tessa doing?”
“Fine,” Sara said, taking her glasses out of their case. She slid them on, asking, “Where’s Lena?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. “About an hour away. Frank’s going to page me when she’s ten minutes out.”
Sara stood, adjusting the waist of her scrubs. She had showered in the hospital lounge, storing her bloodied clothes in an evidence bag in case they were needed for trial.
She asked, “Have you thought about what you’re going to tell her?”
He shook his head no. “I’m hoping we can get something concrete before I talk to her. Lena’s a cop. She’s going to want answers.”
Sara leaned over the desk, knocking on the glass. Carlos looked up. “You can go now,” she said. Then, explaining to Jeffrey, “He’s going to run blood and urine up to the crime lab. They’re going to put it through tonight.”
“Good.”
Sara sat back in her chair. “Did you get anything from the bathroom?”
“We found her cane and glasses behind the toilet. They were wiped clean.”
“What about the stall door?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I mean, not nothing, but every woman in town’s been in and out of that place. Last count Matt had over fifty different prints.” He took some Polaroids out of his pocket and tossed them onto the desk. There were close-ups of the body lying on the floor alongside pictures of Sara’s bloody shoe and hand prints.
Sara picked up one of these, saying, “I guess it didn’t help matters that I contaminated the scene.”
“It’s not like you had a choice.”
She kept her thoughts to herself, putting the pictures in logical sequence.
He repeated her earlier evaluation. “Whoever did this knew what he was doing. He knew she would go to the restaurant alone. He knew she couldn’t see. He knew the place would be deserted that time of day.”
“You think he was waiting for her?”
Jeffrey gave a shrug. “Seems that way. He probably came in and out the back door. Pete had disconnected the alarm so they could leave it open to air the place out.”
“Yeah,” she said, remembering the back door to the diner was propped open more times than not.
“So, we’re looking for someone who knew her activities, right? Somebody who was familiar with the layout of the diner.”
Sara did not want to answer this question, which implied that the killer was someone living in Grant, someone who knew the people and places the way only a resident could. Instead, she stood and walked back to the metal filing cabinet on the other side of her desk. She took out a fresh lab coat and slipped it on, saying, “I’ve already taken X rays and checked her clothing. Other than that, she’s ready.”
Jeffrey turned, staring out at the table in the center of the morgue. Sara looked, too, thinking that Sibyl Adams was a lot smaller in death than she seemed in life. Even Sara couldn’t get used to the way death reduced people.
Jeffrey asked, “Did you know her well?”
Sara mulled over his question. Finally she said, “I guess. We both did career day at the middle school last year. Then, you know, I ran into her at the library sometimes.”
“The library?” Jeffrey asked. “I thought she was blind.”
“They have books on tape there, I guess.” She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms. “Listen, I have to tell you this. Lena and I kind of had a fight a few weeks back.”
Obviously, he was surprised. Sara was surprised, too. There were not a lot of people in town she did not get along with. But Lena Adams was certainly one of them.
Sara explained, “She called Nick Shelton at the GBI asking for a tox report on a case.”
Jeffrey shook his head side to side, not understanding. “Why?”
Sara shrugged. She still didn’t know why Lena had tried to go over her head, especially considering it was well known that Sara had a very good working relationship with Nick Shelton, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation’s field agent for Grant County.
“And?” Jeffrey prompted.
“I don’t know what Lena thought she could accomplish by calling Nick directly. We had it out. No blood was shed, but I wouldn’t say we parted on friendly terms.”
Jeffrey shrugged, as if to say, What can you do? Lena had made a career out of ticking people off. Back when Sara and Jeffrey were married, Jeffrey had often voiced his concern over Lena’s impetuous behavior.
“If she was”—he stopped, then—“if she was raped, Sara. I don’t know.”
“Let’s get started,” Sara answered quickly, walking past him into the morgue. She stood in front of the supply cabinet, looking for a surgical gown. She paused, her hands on the doors as she played back their conversation in her mind, wondering how it had turned from a forensic evaluation into a discussion about Jeffrey’s potential outrage had Sibyl Adams not just been killed but raped as well.
“Sara?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
Sara felt her anger spark at his stupid question. “What’s wrong?” She found the gown and slammed the doors shut. The metal frame rattled from the force. Sara turned, ripping the sterile pack open. “What’s wrong is I’m tired of you asking me what’s wrong when it’s pretty damn obvious what’s wrong.” She paused, snapping out the gown. “Think about it, Jeffrey. A woman literally died in my arms today. Not just a stranger, someone I knew. I should be at home right now taking a long shower or walking the dogs and instead I’ve got to go in there and cut her up, worse than she already is, so I can tell you whether or not you need to start pulling in all the perverts in town.”
Her hands shook with anger as she tried to get into the gown. The sleeve was just out of her reach, and she was turning to get a better angle when Jeffrey moved to help her.
Her tone was nasty when she snapped, “I’ve got it.”
He held his hands up, palms toward her as if in surrender. “Sorry.”
Sara fumbled with the ties on the gown, ending up knotting the strings together. “Shit,” she hissed, trying to work them back out.
Jeffrey offered, “I could get Brad to go walk the dogs.”
Sara dropped her hands, giving up. “That’s not the point, Jeffrey.”
“I know it’s not,” he returned, approaching her the way he might a rabid dog. He took the strings and she looked down, watching him work out the knot. Sara let her gaze travel to the top of his head, noting a few gray strands in with the black. She wanted to will into him the ability to comfort her instead of trying to make a joke of everything. She wanted for him to magically develop the capacity for empathy. After ten years, she should have known better.