Indelible (15 page)

“All we have are questions,” he told her. “I'll get you into the autopsy, okay? We'll talk to Bobby and Jess tomorrow, okay? Just give me some time to figure out what the hell is going on here before you help send my best friend to the goddamn electric chair.”

She would not even look at him, but he could feel her anger ringing in his ears clear as a bell.

“Sara—”

Hoss knocked on the front door and Jeffrey put his hand on the knob, as if he could keep him out. The old man gave him a look through the window
that cut right into Jeffrey, and he felt like he was fifteen years old again, caught red-handed right outside the Ben Franklin with a transistor radio he had not paid for.

Sara reached for the knob and Jeffrey opened the door.

“Hey there.” Hoss held out his hand and Jeffrey shook it, surprised by the grip. The man's hair had gone completely gray and the lines on his face were deeper, but other than that, he looked exactly the same.

Hoss said, “Damn shame to see you again under these circumstances, Slick.” He tipped his hat to Sara. “Ma'am.”

Sara opened her mouth to speak but Jeffrey interrupted her, saying, “Hoss, this is Sara Linton. Sara, this is Sheriff Hollister.”

Hoss gave her one of his rare smiles. “I hear you doctored Robert for us. Thank you for taking care of my boy.”

Sara nodded, and Jeffrey could tell she was waiting for the right moment to have her say. She was still so angry that her whole body seemed to vibrate with it.

Hoss told her, “We can get your statement tomorrow morning. I know it's been a hard night for you.”

Jeffrey held his breath, waiting for her to explode.

Sara cleared her throat, like she had trouble finding her voice. She surprised him by saying, “Tomorrow will be fine.” With barely more than a glance at Jeffrey, she asked him, “Do you think Nell would mind if I stayed on her couch tonight?”

Jeffrey looked at the ground, letting out a slow breath of relief. “No.”

Hoss volunteered one of his deputies, saying, “Why don't you drive the lady over to Possum's?”

Jeffrey recognized the man from church back when May Tolliver was capable of staying sober enough on Sundays to force her son to get some religion. He said, “Thanks, Paul.”

Paul tipped his hat, giving Jeffrey a suspicious look—the same suspicious look Jeffrey had been getting since he was old enough to walk. To make matters worse, Sara gave it to him, too, walking out of the house without saying another word.

Hoss watched her go, not bothering to hide an appreciative look. Even in a pair of faded striped pajamas, Sara was an attractive woman. “Tall drink of water.”

Jeffrey said, “She's upset,” knowing exactly how Hoss would take his words.

“Not the kind of thing a woman should see,” he agreed. “Jessie okay?”

“She's on the couch,” Jeffrey said, then added, “Sleeping,” feeling like he was ten years old again and lying for his mother.

Hoss nodded, and Jeffrey knew he understood that Jessie's sleep was induced by something other than exhaustion. “I called her mama to come over and fetch her to the house. You know Faith's the only person who can calm that girl.”

He turned back to his other deputy, who had a camera around his neck and a bright red toolbox in his hand. The man looked about twelve years old and was probably what passed for a crime scene tech
around here. Jeffrey suppressed a wince of recognition as Hoss told the deputy, “Reggie, hang out around here for Jessie's mama. We'll be right back.”

Reggie put down his toolbox, giving a respectful “Yes, sir.”

Hoss stepped into the house, glancing around the front room. There were photos on the walls, most of them of Jeffrey, Possum, and Robert back during high school. Nell and Jessie were in some, but for the most part, it was the three men. A group photo showed Jeffrey and Robert's high school football team with a huge banner behind it announcing “State Champs.” Sitting poolside yesterday, Possum had told Sara about their final winning game against Comer High, embellishing in a way that made Jeffrey embarrassed and sad. Possum had always been the ultimate spectator.

Hoss asked, “What the hell happened here tonight?”

“Let me take you back to the room,” Jeffrey told him, not exactly answering the question. “Sara and I were in the street when we heard Jessie scream.” He chewed the inside of his mouth as they walked down the hallway, lies of omission eating a hole in his stomach.

As usual, Hoss saw right through him. “Something wrong, son?”

“No, sir,” he answered. “It's just been a long night.”

Hoss slapped Jeffrey hard enough on the back to make him cough; it was his way of showing other men affection. “You're tough. You'll get through this.” He stopped outside the door of the bedroom. “Christ a'mighty,” he muttered. “What a mess.”

“Yeah,” Jeffrey answered, trying to see the scene the way Hoss was, for the first time. The ceiling fan overhead was still whirring, but he could tell it had been off when the man was shot; the blades had interrupted the blood spray pattern on the ceiling. There was a streak of blood where the switch for the fan had been turned on, probably by Robert. That made sense. He would have turned on the lights to see how badly he was wounded after the gunplay. It also made sense that there would be a lag between the last two shots. Robert had been handling guns since he was eight. He knew better than to fire into the dark. He had probably let his eyes adjust, tried to tell where Jessie was. Knowing her, she was standing helpless in the corner. It would be just like Robert to take his time.

Hoss looked out the window, saying, “Screen's been knocked out.” Jeffrey didn't know if he meant from the inside or the outside, but Jesus Himself could not drag him back into the room. Jeffrey would look around outside when Hoss was gone.

Hoss asked, “What'd Robert say?”

Jeffrey tried to think of how to answer, but Hoss waved him off. “I'll get it from the horse.” Jeffrey's expression must have registered his surprise, because he added, “You can give your statement tomorrow when you bring your girl in.”

From the way Sara was looking at Jeffrey when she left the house, he was not sure whether or not he would have a girl tomorrow, but he did not volunteer that information. Instead, he watched Hoss walk around the room, felt his gut constricting every time he thought about what he was keeping
back. This was the main reason Jeffrey had never seriously pursued a life of crime. Unlike Jimmy Tolliver, guilt could and did keep Jeffrey up at night. He hated lying—maybe because his childhood had been riddled with lies. His mother would not admit his father was ever guilty of the crimes that put him in jail, and his father denied his mother had a problem with her drinking. Meanwhile, Jeffrey had told some whoppers of his own to anybody who would listen. He had left Sylacauga so he could stop being that person. The minute he got back, he had returned to his old ways. It was like slipping back into a pair of familiar shoes.

“Son?” Hoss said. He was still by the window. Jeffrey noticed he was standing on one of Jessie's bloody footprints. A few of her little white pills had been crushed under his heel.

“Sir?” Jeffrey said, thinking Hoss must have been as distraught as he was. Everybody showed it in different ways.

“I said it looks pretty straightforward to me,” Hoss said. He nudged the dead man's foot with the toe of his boot, and Jeffrey felt like he had been kicked in the gut seeing the casual way Hoss was dealing with this man's death. That was how it had always been for Hoss, though. There were good guys and bad guys, and to protect one, you did what you had to do to the other. He had always been hard on Robert and Jeffrey, but he was the only man in town allowed to say anything bad about them.

Hoss squatted down, looking at the corpse. Greasy blond shoulder-length hair covered most of the face. Still, Hoss asked, “Recognize him?”

“No, sir,” Jeffrey said, kneeling down for a better look. He was still in the doorway, and down close to the carpet, he could see backsplatter fanning from the body. The edges of the fan led to where Jeffrey knelt. Robert must have been trying to find the light when he was shot.

“Luke Swan.” Hoss stood, looping his thumb in his belt.

The name was familiar to Jeffrey if not the face. “We went to school with him.”

“He dropped out before y'all graduated,” Hoss said. “Remember?”

Jeffrey nodded, though he didn't. His high school life had been spent in an insulated clique of football players and cheerleaders. Luke Swan was hardly the athletic type. He looked like he weighed ninety pounds wet.

“Been in and out of trouble ever since,” Hoss said, a sad note to his voice. “Drugs, alcohol. He's slept off more than a couple of good times at the station.”

“Did Robert ever arrest him?”

Hoss shrugged off the question. “Hell, Slick, we only got eight deputies on the street any given shift. All of us have seen the boy one time or another.”

“He ever do anything like this before?” Jeffrey asked. When Hoss shook his head, he added, “Armed B&E is a big step up from just getting in and out of trouble.”

He crossed his arms. “You saying something? Should I be concerned?”

Jeffrey looked at the body. He still could not see all of the man's face, but the thin blue lips and small build gave him a youthful quality. “No, sir.”

Hoss came toward him, not bothering to look where he was walking. He told Jeffrey, “That lady of yours seemed like she had something to say.”

“She's a coroner in our town.”

He gave a low whistle, impressed, but not for the obvious reason. “Y'all can afford a full-time coroner?”

“She's part-time,” Jeffrey told him.

“She charge much?”

Jeffrey shook his head, though he had no idea what Sara made. Judging by her house and her car, she made a hell of a lot more money than he did. Of course, it was a lot easier to make money when you came from it. Jeffrey had seen the truth of that his entire life.

Hoss tilted his head toward the body. “Think she'd do this one for us?”

Jeffrey felt his chest tighten again. “I'll ask her.”

“Good.” He turned back around, looking at the room. He said, “I want to get this mess cleared up and Robert back on the street as soon as possible.”

Then, as if to put an end to any further discussion, he reached over and turned off the light.

S
ara woke in a sweat, her head spinning as she sat up too fast. She looked frantically around the room, trying to remember where she was. The Auburn memorabilia was almost comforting. Even the orange and blue blanket Nell had given her last night was a welcome sight. She sat back on the couch, tucking the blanket up around her neck as she adjusted to the quiet sounds of the neighborhood. Coffee was brewing in the kitchen, and somewhere, a car horn beeped.

Sara pulled her legs up, resting her chin on the top of her knees. She had not dreamed about Atlanta in a long time, but seconds ago, she had been back there—back in that bathroom at Grady Hospital where she had been raped. Her attacker had handcuffed her arms behind her and defiled Sara in ways she could still feel if she let her mind stay there long enough. Then he had stabbed her in the side and left her to bleed to death.

At the memory, her throat constricted again, and
Sara closed her eyes, trying to breathe through her emotions.

“You okay?” Nell asked. She stood in the doorway with a cup of coffee in her hand.

Sara nodded, trying to find her voice.

“Possum's gone to open the store. Jeffrey went to check on Jessie. He's a fool if he thinks she'll be out of bed before noon.” She paused when Sara did not respond. “He said to tell you to be ready to go at eight-thirty.”

Sara looked at the clock on the mantel. It was half past seven.

Nell said, “Coffee's ready when you are,” and left Sara alone in the room.

Sara sat up, hitting her toe on her suitcase. Jeffrey had put it there a few hours ago while she pretended to sleep. He had sneaked in like a thief, and she had watched him go, wondering exactly what she had gotten herself into. Jeffrey Tolliver was not the man she thought he was. Even Cathy Linton would have been surprised by his behavior last night. Sara had felt threatened, and at one point she had been frightened enough to think that he would actually hit her. She could not let herself get involved with someone like that. There was no denying that she had feelings for Jeffrey, maybe she was even in love with him, but that did not mean she had to put herself in a situation where she was afraid of what might happen next.

Sara pressed her lips together, looking at the framed magazine cover of Jeffrey on the wall. Maybe being back home had altered him in some
way. The man Sara had seen last night was nothing like the Jeffrey Tolliver she had grown to know over the last few months.

She found herself trying to reason out his behavior. Prior to this, there had been nothing in his personality that would have pointed to last night's outburst. He was frustrated. He had punched the wall, not her. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe the circumstances had brought him to the edge, and she had done nothing but help push him over. He had grabbed her arm, but he had also let it go. He had warned her not to talk, but when the sheriff came, he had done nothing to stop her. In the light of day, Sara could understand his anger and frustration. Jeffrey was right about one thing: Alabama was a death-penalty state, and not just a death-penalty state, but almost as gung-ho about it as Texas and Florida. If Robert was found guilty, he could be looking at the electric chair.

Though she was punch-drunk from lack of sleep, Sara tried to go over in her mind again what she had seen in Robert's bedroom last night. She was no longer certain about what she had heard in the street, nor was she sure about the sear pattern she had seen when Robert had removed his hand. He had been fast about it, and had done a very good job of smearing blood around the wound. What it came down to was that Sara had to ask herself why he had gone to such great lengths to cover the entrance wound if there was nothing to hide.

If she was correct, the muzzle of the gun that shot Robert had been placed at an upward angle against
the skin. The hot metal had seared a V-shaped impression of the muzzle into the flesh. Either the person who shot him had been in an inferior position, squatting or kneeling, or Robert had held the gun to his own side and pulled the trigger. The second theory would explain why so little damage was done. The abdomen contained seven major organs and around thirty feet of intestines. The bullet had managed to miss them all.

Sara would have voiced her suspicions to the sheriff last night, but after taking one look at the man, she knew that, like Jeffrey, he was going to do everything he could to give Robert the benefit of the doubt. Clayton “Hoss” Hollister screamed good ol' boy, from his nickname to his cowboy boots. Sara knew exactly how his kind operated. Her father certainly wasn't part of Grant's network of powerful old men—he hated doing favors because he
had
to—but Eddie Linton played cards with most of them. Sara had learned how they worked her first week as coroner, when the mayor explained to her that the county had an exclusive contract to order all their medical supplies through his brother-in-law's company, no matter how much he charged.

Today, Sara wanted to see Robert's wound again, and even if Jeffrey wouldn't—or couldn't—keep his promise to let her do the autopsy, she wanted to watch while whoever was in charge examined the slain man—or victim, depending on how you looked at it. After that, all she wanted to do was get the hell out of Sylacauga and away from Jeffrey. She needed time and some distance so she could get her head
together and figure out exactly how she felt about him in light of last night's explosion.

Sara tested her weight on her feet. Her soles were bruised from the impromptu run last night, and something sharp had taken a chunk of skin out of her heel. She would stop to buy Band-Aids once she got on the interstate.

Nell offered a faint smile when Sara limped into the kitchen. “Kids won't be up for another hour.”

Sara tried to be polite. “How old are they?”

“Jared's ten, Jennifer's ten months younger.”

Sara raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me, I got my tubes tied the second she was out.” Nell took a coffee cup out of the cabinet. “You like it black?” Sara nodded. “Jen's the smart one. Don't tell Jared I said that, but Jen's a full grade ahead of him in school. It's his own damn fault—he's not stupid, he's just more interested in sports than books. Boys that age just can't sit still for anything. You probably know all about that with your job.” She put the cup down in front of Sara and poured coffee as she spoke. “I guess you want a houseful of kids when you settle down.”

Sara watched steam rise from the cup. “I can't actually have children.”

“Oh,” Nell said. “There's my foot in my mouth again. You'd think I loved the taste of leather.”

“It's okay.”

Nell sat down across from Sara with a heavy sigh. “God, but I'm nosey. It's the only thing my mother says about me that's true.”

Sara forced a smile. “Really, it's okay.”

“I won't press you for details,” Nell said, but her
tone of voice implied she would be more than open to hearing them.

“Ectopic pregnancy,” Sara provided, though she went no further.

“Does Jeffrey know?”

She shook her head.

“You could always adopt.”

“That's what my mother keeps saying,” Sara said, and for the first time she voiced the reason why she couldn't bear the thought of adoption. “I know this sounds horrible, but I take care of other people's children all day. When I get home . . .”

“You don't have to tell me,” Nell said. She reached over and squeezed Sara's hand. “Jeffrey won't mind.”

Sara gave her a tight smile and Nell breathed out a heavy sigh, saying, “Well, shit. Can't say I didn't see that coming, but I was hoping it would last a little longer.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Forget about it.” Nell slapped her thighs as she stood. “Nothing bad between you and me. Jeffrey's loss is my gain. First damn time that's ever happened, I can tell you.”

Sara stared down at her coffee again.

“You want pancakes?”

“I'm not that hungry,” Sara told her, even as her stomach grumbled.

“Me neither.” Nell took out the griddle. “Three or four?”

“Four.”

Nell put the griddle on the stove and went about preparing the batter. Sara watched, thinking she had seen her mother do this same thing thousands
of times. There was something so comforting about being in a kitchen, and Sara felt the nightmares from the night before start to fade.

“Stupid neighbor,” Nell said, tossing a cheery wave at someone outside the window over the sink. A car door slammed, followed by an engine starting. “He's gone every weekend with some whore he met in Birmingham. Watch it,” she said, tossing Sara a look over her shoulder to make sure she was paying attention. “Soon as he pulls out of the driveway, those dogs will start barking and they won't shut up till he comes back around ten tonight.” She stood on the tips of her toes and craned her head to see into the neighbor's yard. “I've talked with him ten times about getting those poor things some shelter. Possum even offered to build him something. God, they howl when it rains.”

The dogs started barking on cue. Just to keep her talking, Sara asked, “They don't have a doghouse?”

She shook her head. “Nope. He kept having to come home because they jumped the fence, so he put them on chains. So, of course every morning like clockwork they knock their water bowls over and I have to trudge over there and fill 'em back up.” She handed Sara a carton of eggs and a bowl, saying, “Make yourself useful,” before continuing, “Boxers are so damn ugly. They're not even the cute kind of ugly. And Lord, do they slobber. It's like taking a spit bath every time I go over there.”

Sara broke the eggs into the bowl, not listening to Nell's words so much as the cadence of her voice. She was thinking about Jeffrey and trying to put logic to what had happened last night. Sara knew
that both her biggest strength and her biggest weakness was that she saw things clearly in black and white, but right now, for the first time in her life, she was seeing the gray. She had been tired last night, and upset by everything that had happened. Had she really seen the sear mark? The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself that she had not. But her gut still told her to go with what she had first thought. And why would Robert keep covering the wound unless he really had something to hide?

“Sara?” Nell said. She had obviously asked a question.

“I'm sorry,” Sara apologized. “What?”

“I asked did Robert recognize the man?”

Sara shook her head. “I guess not or he would've said something.”

“It hasn't made the papers yet—we only get a weekly here and it's not due until next Sunday—but I heard on my walk this morning that it's Luke Swan. The name won't mean anything to you, but we all went to school with him. He used to live a couple of houses over.” She pointed toward the backyard. “Possum was born here and I grew up across the street—did I tell you?” Sara shook her head. “We moved in after his mama died. I couldn't stand the woman—” she knocked three times on the wooden cabinet under the sink, “but it was nice of her to leave the house to us. I thought Possum's brother would make a stink, but it all worked out.” She paused for breath. “Where was I?”

“Luke.”

“Right.” She turned back to the stove. “He lived
here a few years before his father lost his job, then they moved over by the school. He didn't exactly run with our crowd.”

Sara could guess she meant the popular crowd. The same groups had been at her own school, and though Sara had been far from popular, she was lucky enough not to have been picked on for it.

Nell continued, “I heard he's a troublemaker, but who knows? People say all kinds of things after somebody's dead. You should hear Possum talk about his mama like she was Mary Poppins, and that woman was never happy a day of her life. She was a lot like Jessie that way.” Nell poured four pancakes onto the griddle. “I heard Jessie's at her mama's.”

“Yes,” Sara confirmed.

“Good Lord,” Nell mumbled, taking the bowl of eggs from Sara. She beat them with a fork, then dumped them into a frying pan. Even though Sara had graduated in the top ten percent of her class at one of the toughest medical schools in the country, she always felt inadequate around women who could cook. The one meal she had prepared for her last boyfriend had resulted in the throwing away of two pots and a perfectly good garbage can.

Nell said, “I ebb and flow with that woman. Maybe it's because Robert and Possum throw us together all the time and expect us to make happy. Sometimes I think she's not that bad and sometimes I just want to pop her upside the head to knock some sense into her.” She tapped the fork on the edge of the pan before setting it on a napkin. “Right now I just feel sorry for her.”

“It's an awful thing to have happen.”

Nell flipped the pancakes with a spatula. “Bobby's a real doll but you never know what they're like until you get them home and take them out of their packages. Maybe he sucks his teeth. Possum started doing that a few years ago until I threatened to beat him with a bat.” She put the pancakes and some of the eggs onto a plate and handed it to Sara. “Bacon?”

“No thank you.”

Nell took three strips of bacon out from under a napkin and put them on Sara's plate. “I was hating her something awful until a few months ago. She had a miscarriage. I was over at her house every day making sure she didn't do something stupid. Liked to tore the both of them up. She's wanted a kid ever since I met her. We're talking back in junior high school. Never been able to have one, though.”

Sara poured syrup onto the pancakes. They were all perfectly round and the same thickness. “What stupid thing did you think Jessie would do?”

“Take too many pills,” Nell said, flipping the pancakes one by one. “She's done it before. If you ask me, it was just to get attention. Not that Robert seems all that inattentive, but you just never know, do you?”