Fallen (Will Trent 5)

Will said, “You told me the tip was anonymous.”

“Evelyn had to be investigated just like everyone else. These weren’t choirboys we were dealing with. Boyd and the crew were raking in tons of cash. They were also being paid to look the other way. You don’t cut into that kind of business without risking your life. Ev had to be protected. So we decided that we’d call it an anonymous tip and put her through the ringer just like everyone else.”

Faith said, “But they must’ve suspected the tip came from Mom. She was the only one who wasn’t in on it.”

“There’s a big leap between suspecting and knowing.” Her tone became strained. “And Boyd Spivey protected her. He let it be known that she was off limits. He stood up for her at every turn. I suppose that’s why they took him out. They could take the GBI and the APD on their tails, but someone with Boyd’s juice could get to them in ways we can’t.”

Faith was quiet, probably thinking about the dead man who had protected her mother. For her part, Sara was thinking about the time and money that went into putting a hit on a man who lived on death row. The whole thing had been carefully planned and executed by people who knew Evelyn Mitchell’s weak points: Boyd Spivey, her muscle; Faith, her daughter; Amanda, her best friend. This was sounding more and more like a revenge attack and less like a money grab. Sara could tell that Will had made the same connections. But as usual, when he finally spoke, he didn’t make mention of the obvious.

Instead, he asked Amanda, “Did you redact the bank account out of my report?”

“We’re not the IRS.” She shrugged. “No reason to punish someone for doing the right thing.”

Sara could tell Will was angry, but he still said nothing. He didn’t even seethe. He just tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned his back against the counter. She had never had an argument with him. At this point, she wasn’t sure she ever would, but Sara could imagine that it would be a grand exercise in futility.

For her part, Faith seemed oblivious to the holes in Amanda’s story. Considering her blood sugar had been spiking and plummeting like a Ping-Pong ball for the last few days, it was surprising she could even sit up straight. That was why Sara was sure she’d heard wrong when Faith finally spoke.

“They left her finger under my pillow.”

Amanda didn’t blink an eye. “Where is the finger?”

“In my medicine cabinet.” Faith put her hand to her mouth. She looked as if she was going to be sick. Sara jumped up and grabbed the trashcan, but Faith waved her away. “I’m all right.” She took a few deep breaths. Sara got a glass out of the cabinet and filled it with water.

Faith drank greedily, her throat making gulping sounds.

Sara refilled the glass and put it in front of her. She leaned back against the counter and kept an eye on Faith. Will was leaning a few feet down from her. His hands were still in his pockets. She felt the distance between them like a cold rush of air.

Faith took a sip of water before telling them, “They tried to get Jeremy. I sent him away with my brother. Emma, too. And then I went to the grocery store and the guy cornered me in the bathroom.”

Amanda asked, “What did he look like?”

Faith gave them a very detailed description of his height, weight, clothing, grammar. “I think he was Hispanic. He had blue eyes.” She looked at Sara. “Is that normal?”

“It’s not common, but it’s not rare.” Sara explained, “Mexico was settled by Spaniards. Some of them married Native Americans. Not all Mexicans have brown skin and dark hair. Some have blond hair and lighter skin. Some have blue or green eyes. It’s a recessive gene, but it shows up.”

Amanda asked, “But this guy had blue eyes?”

Faith nodded.

“No tattoos?”

“A snake on his neck.”

It was Amanda’s turn to nod. “We can put that on the wire. At the very least, we can get a list of Hispanic men eighteen to twenty who have blue eyes.” She seemed to remember something. “No luck on the search for tattoo parlors. Whoever did Marcellus Estevez’s tattoo of the archangel Gabriel is either out of state, off the books, or isn’t talking.”

“There was something familiar about him,” Faith said. “I thought maybe I’d arrested him, but he told me no.”

“I’m sure he was telling the truth.” Amanda pulled out her BlackBerry and started typing as she talked. “I’ll have records look through your reports. I know someone in the APD who can sneak in the back door for your cases before you started working with us.”

“I doubt you’ll find anything.” Faith rubbed her temples. “He’s Jeremy’s age. Maybe he knows him. Maybe they went to school together. I don’t know.”

Amanda finished her email. “Did you ask Jeremy?”

Faith nodded her head. “I gave him a rough description last night. He doesn’t know anybody who fits the bill. At least no one he can recall.”

Will asked, “Is there anything else you can remember?”

Obviously, there was something. Faith looked reticent. “It’s something really stupid. Maybe …” She looked at Sara. “My blood sugar has been crazy. It’s making me hallucinate.”

Sara asked, “In what way?”

“I just—” She shook her head. “It’s stupid. The silverware drawer was wrong.” She laughed at herself. “It’s really stupid. Never mind.”

“Go on,” Sara told her. “What was wrong with it?”

“The forks were turned the wrong way. And the spoons. And my pens were in the wrong drawer. I always put them in the same place, and … And then I went into the living room and the snow globes were all turned toward the wall. They usually face out. I’m really careful with them. They belonged to my father. I dust them every week. Jeremy isn’t allowed to touch them. Zeke wouldn’t go near them. I just …” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe I did it last night and I don’t remember. Maybe I just thought they were turned around. But I remember turning them back around, so …” She put her head in her hands. “My mind has been off-kilter since all of this happened. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not. Maybe I’m just going crazy. Could I be hallucinating?”

Sara told her, “Your numbers are erratic, but they don’t point to metabolic derangement. You’re not that dehydrated, but you’re certainly under a lot of stress. Do you feel like you have a cold or infection?” Faith shook her head. “I’d expect confusion, which you’ve shown, and paranoia, which is understandable, but not full-on hallucinations.” She felt the need to add, “Turning the snow globes around sounds more like something a kid would do for attention. You’re sure your son didn’t do it?”

“I haven’t asked him. It’s embarrassing even to talk about. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Amanda was shaking her head. “Jeremy wouldn’t do something like that, especially with what’s been going on. He wouldn’t want to cause you more stress. And he’s almost twenty years old. He’s too mature for that sort of thing.”