Kisscut (6 page)

"Sara?"

Sara mumbled a quiet, "Yes, ma'am."

"I worry about you."

"I know, Mama."

"Is everything okay?"

Sara felt her color rise again, but for a different reason. "Where's Tessa?"

"She's not down yet."

Tessa lived over the garage of their parents' home. Sara's house was just a mile down the road, but that was far enough to give her some sense of independence. Tessa did not seem to mind the closeness. She worked with Eddie, their father, in the family's plumbing business, so it was easier for her to walk down the stairs and report for work every morning. Besides, part of Tessa was still a teenage girl. It had not hit her yet that one day she would want a house of her own. Maybe it never would.

Cathy flipped the chicken, tapping her fork on the edge of the pan. She slipped it into the spoon rest, then turned to Sara, her arms crossed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Sara answered. "I mean, other than last night with the girl. And the baby. I guess you heard about the baby."

"It was all over the church before we even walked through the doors."

"Well"-Sara shrugged-"it was very hard."

"I can't even imagine how you do that job, baby."

"Sometimes, I can't either."

Cathy stood, waiting for the rest. "And?" she prompted.

Sara rubbed the back of her neck. "At Jeffrey's…" she began. "It just didn't work out."

"Didn't work out?" her mother asked.

"I mean, didn't work out as in…" Sara gestured with her hands, encouraging her mother to fill in the rest.

"Oh," Cathy finally said. "Physically?"

Sara blushed again, which was answer enough.

"Well, that's not a complete surprise, is it? After what happened?"

"He was so…" Sara looked for the right words. "He was… abrupt. I mean, I tried…" Again, she left out the details.

"Is this the first time that's happened?"

Sara shrugged. It was the first time it had happened with her, but who knew about Jeffrey's other conquests. "The part that was awful…" Sara began, then stopped. "As long as I've known him, I have never seen him that mad. He was furious. I thought he was going to hit something."

"I remember once when your father couldn't-"

"Mama," Sara stopped her. It was hard enough talking to her mother about this without bringing Eddie into the picture. Not to mention that Jeffrey would kill Sara if he knew that she had told anyone his performance had been less than stellar. Jeffrey's sexual prowess was as important to him as his reputation as a good cop.

"You brought it up," Cathy reminded her, turning back to the chicken. She snatched a paper towel off the roll and lined a plate to put the chicken on.

"Okay," Sara answered. "What should I do?"

"Do whatever he wants," Cathy said. "Or nothing at all." She picked up another piece of chicken. "Are you sure you even want to bother at this point?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, do you want to be with him or not? Maybe that's what it boils down to. You've been dancing around this thing with Jeffrey since the divorce." She tapped the fork on the pan. "As your father would say, it's time for you either to shit or get off the pot."

The front door opened, then banged shut, and Sara heard two thumping noises as Tessa kicked off her shoes.

Tessa yelled, "Mama?"

"In the kitchen," Cathy answered. She gave Sara a pointed look. "You know what I mean?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Tessa stomped her way down the hall, mumbling, "Stupid dog," as she obviously stepped over Billy. The kitchen door bumped open, and Tessa came into the kitchen with an irritated expression on her face. She was wearing an old pink bathrobe with a green T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts underneath. Her face was pale, and she looked a bit sickly.

Cathy asked, "Tessie?"

Tessa shook her head as she walked to the refrigerator and opened the freezer door, saying, "I just need coffee."

Cathy ignored this, and kissed her on the forehead to take her temperature. "You feel warm."

"It's a hundred freaking degrees outside," Tessa whined, standing as close to the freezer as she could without actually getting in. "Of course I'm warm." As if to reinforce this, she flapped her robe open and closed several times to generate some cool air. "Jesus, I'm moving somewhere where they get real seasons. I swear I am. I don't care how funny they talk or that they don't know how to make grits. There has got to be a better alternative."

"Is that all that's wrong?" Sara asked, putting her hand on Tessa's forehead. As a doctor, Sara knew this was about as effective a gauge for a fever as Cathy's kiss, but Tessa was her baby sister. She had to do something.

Tessa pulled away. "I'm premenstrual, I'm hot, and I need chocolate." She stuck out her chin. "Do you see this?" she asked, pointing to a large pimple.

"I don't see how we could miss it," Cathy said, closing the refrigerator door.

Sara laughed, and Tessa popped her on the arm.

"Wonder what Daddy's gonna call it?" Sara teased, slapping her back. When his daughters were teenagers, Eddie had taken great delight in drawing attention to their facial blemishes. Sara still felt a flush of shame when she remembered the time her father had introduced her to one of his friends as his oldest daughter Sara, and Bobo, her new pimple.

Tessa was phrasing a response when the phone rang. She picked it up on the first ring.

Two seconds passed before Tessa hissed a curse and yelled, "I got it, Dad," as Eddie obviously picked up the extension upstairs.

Sara smiled, thinking this could have been any Sunday from the last twenty years. All that was missing was their father walking in, making some silly comment about how happy he was to see all three of his girls barefoot and in the kitchen.

Tessa said, "Hold on," then put her hand over the mouth of the receiver. She turned to Sara. "Are you here?"

"Who is it?" Sara asked, but she could guess the answer.

"Who do you think?" Tessa snapped. She did not wait for a response. Instead, she said into the phone, "Hold on, Jeffrey. Here she is."

Chapter Six

Ben Walker, Grant County 's chief of police before Jeffrey, had kept his office just off the briefing room in the back of the station. Every day, Ben had settled himself behind the large desk that almost filled the entire room, and anyone who wanted to talk to him had to sit on the other side of this mammoth hunk of wood, their knees grazing the desk, their backs firm to the wall. In the mornings, the men-and they were all men then-on the senior squad were called in to hear their assignments for the day, then they left and the chief shut his door. Nobody saw him again until quitting time, when Ben got in his car and drove two blocks up the street to the diner where he ate his supper.

The first thing Jeffrey did when he took over the station was throw out Ben's desk. The oak monstrosity had to be disassembled to get it through the door. Jeffrey made Ben's old office the storage room, and took the small office at the front of the squad room as his own. One quiet weekend, Jeffrey installed a picture window so he could look out on the squad and, more important, so they could see him. There were blinds on the window, but he seldom closed them. Jeffrey made a point of leaving his office door open whenever possible.

He stared out at the empty squad room, wondering what his people would make of Jenny Weaver's shooting. Jeffrey felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for what he had done, even though his mind kept telling him he had not been given a choice. Every time he thought about it Jeffrey felt like he couldn't breathe right, like not enough air was getting to his lungs. He could not let go of the obvious questions in his mind: Had he made the right decision? Would Jenny have really killed that kid in cold blood? Sara seemed to think so. Last night, she had said something about having two dead teenagers today instead of one if Jeffrey had not stopped the girl. Of course, Sara had said a lot of other things last night that had not exactly been a comfort.

Jeffrey pressed his hands together in front of his face, leaning his head against his thumbs as he thought about Sara. Sometimes, she could be too analytical for her own good. One of the sexiest things about Sara was her mouth. Too bad she didn't know when to shut up and use it for something more helpful to Jeffrey than talking.

"Chief?" Frank Wallace knocked on the door.

"Come in," Jeffrey answered.

"Hot outside," Frank said, as if to explain why he wasn't wearing a tie. He was dressed in a dark black suit that had a cheap shine to it. The top button of his dress shirt was undone, and Jeffrey could see his yellowed white undershirt underneath. As usual, Frank reeked of cigarette smoke. He had probably been outside, smoking by the back door, giving Jeffrey some time before he came in for their meeting. Why anyone would voluntarily hold a burning cigarette in this kind of heat, Jeffrey would never know.

Frank could have had Ben Walker's job if he had asked. Of course, the old cop was too smart for that. Frank had worked in Grant County his entire career, and he had seen the way the cities were changing. Once, Frank had told Jeffrey that being chief of police was a young man's job, but Jeffrey had thought then as he did now that what Frank meant was it was a foolish man's job. During Jeffrey's first year in Grant, he had figured out that no one in his right mind would sign up for this kind of pressure. By then, it had been too late. He had already met Sara.

"Busy weekend," Frank said, handing Jeffrey a weekend status report. The file was thicker than usual.

"Yeah." Jeffrey indicated a chair for the man to sit down.

"Alleged break-in at the cleaners. Maria told you about that one? Then there's a couple or three DUIs, usual shit at the college, drunk and disorderly. Couple of domestic situations, no charges filed."

Jeffrey listened half-heartedly as Frank ran down the list. It was long, and daunting. There was no telling what a larger city dealt with this weekend if Grant had been hit so hard. Usually, things were much quieter. Of course, the heat brought out violence in people. Jeffrey had known that as long as he had been a cop.

"So…" Frank wrapped it up: "That's about it."

"Good," Jeffrey answered, taking the report. He tapped his finger on the papers, then with little fanfare slid Jenny Weaver's file across the desk. It sat there like a white elephant.

Frank gave the file the same skeptical look he would give an astrology report, then reluctantly picked it up and started to read. Frank had been on the job long enough to think he had seen everything. The shocked expression on his face belied this as he examined the photographs Sara had taken.

"Mother of God," Frank mumbled, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out his cigarettes, then, probably remembering where he was, put them back. He closed the file without finishing it.

Jeffrey said, "She didn't give birth to the child."

"Yeah." Frank cleared his throat, crossing his legs uncomfortably. He was fifty-eight years old and had already put in enough time to retire with a nice pension. Why he kept working the job was a mystery. Cases like this must make Frank wonder why he kept showing up every day, too.

"What is this?" Frank asked. "Good Lord in heaven."

"Female Genital Mutilation," Jeffrey told him. "It's an African or Middle Eastern thing." He held up his hand, stopping Frank's next question. "I know what you're thinking. They're Southern Baptist, not Islamic."

"Where'd she get the idea, then?"

"That's what we're going to find out."

Frank shook his head, like he was trying to erase the image from his mind.

Jeffrey said, "Dr. Linton is on her way in to do the briefing," feeling foolish for using Sara's title even as he said it. Frank played poker with Eddie Linton. He had watched Sara grow up.

"The kid gonna be here, too?" Frank asked, meaning Lena.

"Of course," Jeffrey answered, meeting him squarely in the eye. Frank frowned, making it obvious that he did not approve.

For everything Frank was-sexist, probably racist, certainly ageist-he cared for Lena. He had a daughter about Lena 's age, and from the moment Jeffrey had partnered her with Frank, the old cop had protested. Every week Frank had come in, asking for a change in assignment, and every week Jeffrey had told him to get used to it. Part of the rea-son the city had brought in Jeffrey, an outsider, was to drag the force out of the Stone Age. Jeffrey had handpicked Lena Adams from the police academy and groomed her from day one to be the first female detective on the squad.

Jeffrey did not know what to do with her now. He had put Lena with Brad Stephens on a temporary basis until her hands healed, hoping the downtime would help her ease back into her job. Just last month she had gotten a clearance from her doctor to return to active duty, but Lena had yet to ask for her old assignment back. For Frank's part, he could not even look her in the eye when she said hello to him. Jeffrey had heard Frank say a million times that women did not belong on the force, and Frank seemed to take Lena 's attack as confirmation of this.

Logically, Jeffrey did not agree with Frank's assessment. Women cops were good for the force. Ideally, the makeup of the force should reflect that of the community. Lena had brought a thoughtfulness to the job. She was better with certain types of perpetrators and knew how to handle female victims of crime, something that had been missing in the senior squad prior to her promotion. What's more, having a female detective had encouraged other women to join the ranks. There were fifteen women on patrol now. When Ben Walker had left the force, the only women in its employ had been secretaries. Despite all of this progress, when Jeffrey thought about what Lena had gone through, what had been done to her, he wanted to lock her up in her house and stand outside with a shotgun in case anyone ever tried to hurt her again.

Frank interrupted his thoughts, asking, "There gonna be some kind of internal investigation on this thing?" He paused, picking at the corner of the case file. "The Weaver shooting, I mean."

Jeffrey nodded, sitting back in his chair. "I talked to the mayor this morning. I want you to take Brad and Lena 's statements. Buddy Conford's the city attorney on this one."

"He's a public defender," Frank pointed out.

"Yeah, well, not on this one," Jeffrey told him. "There's some concern about the girl's mother. The city has an insurance policy for this kind of thing. Maybe they'll settle it out of court. I dunno." Jeffrey shrugged. "She was threatening someone with a gun and all. It's just kind of tricky, you know?"

"Yeah," Frank answered. "I know." He waited a few beats, then asked, "You okay with this, Chief?"

Jeffrey felt some of his resolve falter. The sinking, lost feeling he had experienced last night with Sara came back, and he felt a heaviness in his chest. He had never shot anyone, let alone killed a little girl. His mind kept playing back the scene with Jenny, picking apart the clock, trying to find the place where his negotiations had gone sour. There had to be something else he could have said or done that would have made her put down that gun. There had to be an alternative.

"Chief?" Frank said. "For what it's worth, Brad and Lena will back you a hundred percent. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," Jeffrey answered, not taking comfort in Frank's words because he knew that Brad and Lena would back him even if they did not think what Jeffrey had done was right. There were gray areas in law enforcement, but when it came down to the wire, cops always backed cops. Brad would do this because at some level he worshipped Jeffrey. Lena would do it because she felt she owed Jeffrey something for letting her back on the job.

For Jeffrey, this was hardly a consolation.

Both men were silent. Jeffrey turned his head, looking at the shelves lining the far wall of his office. Shooting trophies were there, awarded for his marksmanship. An old football from when he played for Auburn was on the bottom shelf. Pictures of guys he had worked with on the job in Grant as well as back in Birmingham were alongside a couple of snapshots of Sara he had taken on their honeymoon. He had put these up recently, when they started dating again. Now, he wasn't so sure about wanting the pictures in his office, let alone wanting Sara in his life. Jeffrey still could not get over how distant she had been last night, tensing up when he touched her, telling him what to do. Like he didn't know how to do what he was doing. Like he hadn't done it hundreds of times before with other women who were a hell of a lot more receptive than Sara had been.

Frank turned around in his chair when the half-doors separating the squad room from the reception area clapped open. Sara walked through, her briefcase in one hand. She was dressed in a light blue dress that looked like a long T-shirt. Jeffrey could see she had decided to go with tennis shoes without socks to complete the ensemble. She probably hadn't even shaved her legs.

Both men watched as Sara made her way to the office. Her hair was a mess and Jeffrey wondered if she had even bothered to comb it. Sara had never been the kind of woman who was interested in high fashion and she seldom wore makeup. Sometimes this was sexy, sometimes it made her look sloppy, like she was more interested in being a doctor than being a woman. As she got closer to them, he could see that her glasses were crooked on her face. For some reason, this irritated him more than anything else.

Frank stood when she entered the room, so Jeffrey followed suit.

"Hi," she said, smiling nervously. Jeffrey was glad she was uncomfortable.

"Hey there," Frank said, buttoning his jacket.

Sara smiled at Frank, then said, "I've called Nick Shelton," referring to Grant County 's Georgia Bureau of Investigations field agent. "I asked him to track any cases involving this kind of mutilation. He said he'd have something Wednesday at the latest."

When Jeffrey did not address this, Frank supplied, "Good thinking."

"And," Sara continued, "I called around to the hospitals. Nobody came in last night seeking postlabor treatment. I left the number here at the station in case they get someone in."

Frank pulled at the collar of his shirt. "So, you think there's any way the girl could have done this to herself? This circumcision thing?"

"God, no." Sara seemed to bristle at this. "And, it's not circumcision," she told him. "This is tantamount to castration. Her clitoris and labia minora were completely scraped away, then what was left was sewn together with thread."

"Oh," Frank said, obviously uncomfortable with this information.

Sara pursed her lips. "It's the same as cutting off a man's penis."

Frank looked uncomfortably from Jeffrey to Sara, then back again.

"Anyway." Sara gestured to her briefcase. "I'm ready to start the briefing."

"That's been postponed," Jeffrey said, hearing the hard tone to his voice but unable to do anything about it. When he had called to ask Sara to come in early, he had not mentioned why. He told her, "Dottie Weaver will be here in about fifteen minutes. I want to get her out of here as soon as I can."

"Oh," she said, surprised. "Okay. I guess I can do some paperwork at the clinic. You think a couple of hours will do it?"

He shook his head no. "I want you to sit in on the interview."

Sara gave him a careful look. "I'm not a cop."

" Lena is," he told her. "She'll be leading the interview. I want you there because she knows you."

She tucked her hand into her hip. " Lena or Dottie?"

Frank cleared his throat. "I got some calls to make," he said, giving Sara a polite nod before leaving the room.

After he was gone, Sara turned to Jeffrey, giving him a questioning look.

He asked, "Is that a nightgown?"

"What?"

"What you're wearing," he said, indicating her dress. "It looks like a nightgown."

Sara laughed uncomfortably. "No," she said, as if he was leaving out some part of the joke.

"You could have worn something more professional," he said, thinking about what she had worn last night. Her sweat pants and a ratty old T-shirt didn't exactly help the situation. And her legs had felt hairier than his.