She asked, "Are we okay?"
"Sure we're okay."
She didn't believe him, but there was no way around someone who kept insisting there wasn't a problem, because all they would do is keep insisting until you felt like you were making the whole thing up.
She said, "Well, at least we know that bitch runs in the Zabel family."
"Joelyn's all right."
"It's hard to be the good sibling."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if you're the good kid in the family, making good grades, staying out of trouble, et cetera, and your sister's always screwing up and getting all the attention, you start to feel left out, like no matter how good you are, it doesn't matter because all your parents can focus on is your crappy sibling."
She must have sounded bitter, because Will asked, "I thought your brother was a good guy?"
"He is," Faith told him. "I was the bad one who got all the attention." She chuckled. "I remember one time, he asked my parents if they would just give him up for adoption."
Will gave a half-smile. "Everyone wants to be adopted."
She remembered Joelyn Zabel's awful words about her sister's quest for a child. "What Joelyn said—"
He interrupted her. "Why did her lawyer keep calling Amanda 'Mandy'?"
"It's short for Amanda."
He nodded thoughtfully, and Faith wondered if nicknames were another one of his tics. It would make sense. You would have to know how a name was spelled before you could shorten it.
"Did you know that sixteen percent of all known serial killers were adopted?"
Faith wrinkled her brow. "That can't be right."
"Joel Rifkin, Kenneth Bianchi, David Berkowitz. Ted Bundy was adopted by his stepfather."
"How is it that you're suddenly an expert on serial killers?"
"History Channel," he told her. "Trust me, it comes in handy."
"When do you find time to watch so much television?"
"It's not like I've got a busy social life."
Faith looked back out the window, thinking about Will with Sara Linton this morning. From reading the report on Jeffrey Tolliver, Faith gathered he was exactly the kind of cop Will was not: physical, take-charge, willing to do whatever it took to get a case solved. Not that Will wasn't driven, too, but he was more likely to stare a confession out of a suspect instead of beating it out of him. Faith knew instinctively that Will was not Sara Linton's type, which is why she had felt so sorry for him this morning, watching how awkward he was with the woman.
He must have been thinking about this morning, too, because he said, "I don't know her apartment number."
"Sara?"
"She's in the Milk Lofts over on Berkshire."
"There's bound to be a building di—" Faith stopped herself. "I can write out her last name for you so you can compare it to the directory. There can't be that many tenants."
He shrugged, obviously daunted.
"We could look it up online."
"She's probably not listed."
The door opened and the bottle-blonde secretary was back. Behind her was an extremely tall, extremely tanned and extremely good-looking man in the most beautiful suit Faith had ever seen.
"Morgan Hollister," he offered, extending a hand as he walked across the room. "I'm so sorry I left you out here so long. I was on a conference call with a client in New York. This thing with Pauline has put a real spanner in the works, as they say."
Faith wasn't sure who said that sort of thing, but she forgave him as she shook his hand. He was at once the most attractive and most gay man she had met in a while. Considering they were in Atlanta, the gay capital of the South, this was saying quite a lot.
"I'm Agent Trent, this is Agent Mitchell," Will said, somehow ignoring the predatory way Morgan Hollister stared at him.
"You work out?" Morgan asked.
"Free weights, mostly. A little bench work."
Morgan slapped him on the arm. "Solid."
"I appreciate your letting us look through Pauline's things," Will said, although Morgan had made no such offer. "I know the Atlanta police have already been here. I hope it's not too inconvenient."
"Of course not." Morgan put his hand on Will's shoulder as he led him toward the door. "We're really torn up about Paulie. She was a great girl."
"We've heard she could be a bit difficult to work with."
Morgan gave a chuckle, which Faith understood as code for "typical woman." She was glad to hear that sexism was just as rampant in the gay community.
Will asked, "Does the name Jacquelyn Zabel mean anything to you?"
Morgan shook his head. "I work with all the clients. I'm pretty sure I'd remember it, but I can check the computer." He put on a sad face. "Poor Paulie. This came as such a shock to all of us."
"We found temporary placement for Felix," Will told the man.
"Felix?" He seemed confused, then said, "Oh, right, the little guy. I'm sure he'll be okay. He's a trooper."
Morgan led them down a long hallway. Cubicles were on their right, windows looking out onto the interstate behind them. Material swatches and schematics riddled the desktops. Faith glanced at a set of blueprints spread out on a conference table, feeling slightly wistful.
As a child, she had wanted to be an architect, a dream that was derailed promptly at the age of fourteen when she had been kicked out of school for being pregnant. It was different now, of course, but back then, pregnant teenagers were expected to drop off the face of the earth, their names never mentioned again unless it was in reference to the boy who had knocked them up, and then they were only referred to as "that slut who nearly ruined his life by getting pregnant."
Morgan stopped in front of a closed office door. Pauline McGhee's name was on the outside. He took out a key.
Will asked, "You always keep it locked?"
"Paulie did. One of her things."
"She have a lot of things?"
"She had a way she liked to do stuff." Morgan shrugged. "I gave her a free hand. She was good with paperwork, good at keeping subcontractors in line." His smiled dropped. "Of course, there was a problem there at the end. She messed up a very important order. Cost the firma lot of money. Not sure she'd still be here if something hadn't happened."
If Will was wondering why Morgan was talking about Pauline as if she was dead, he didn't press it. Instead, he held out his hand for the key. "We'll lock up when we're finished."
Morgan hesitated. He had obviously assumed he would be there while they searched the office.
Will said, "I'll bring it back to you when we're finished, all right?" He slapped Morgan on the arm. "Thanks, man." Will turned his back to him and went inside the office. Faith followed, pulling the door shut behind her.
She had to ask, "That doesn't bother you?"
"Morgan?" He shrugged. "He knows I'm not interested."
"But, still—"
"There were a lot of gay kids at the children's home. Most of them were a hell of a lot nicer than the straight ones."