Will started talking so she wouldn’t explain the procedure again. “That’s great, Faith. I guess your mom is driving you. She must be excited. What about your brother? Have you called him?”
“You can shut up now. I’m at my computer.” He heard keys being tapped. “Salena Marie Adams,” Faith said, probably reading from the woman’s personnel file. “Detective first grade. Thirty-five years old. Five-four and a hundred and twenty pounds.” Faith mumbled a curse. “God, that’s enough to make me hate her right there.”
“What about her history?”
“She was raped.”
Will was taken aback by her abruptness. He’d been expecting date of birth, maybe some commendations. Sara had said that she suspected Lena had been raped by her ex-boyfriend, but he’d been under the impression no formal charges had been filed. He asked Faith, “How do you know that?”
“The case came up when I cross-referenced her file. You really should Google more.”
“When did it happen?”
“Ten years ago.” He heard her fingers pecking the keyboard. “Her file is pretty clean. She’s worked some interesting cases. You remember that south Georgia pedophile ring awhile back? She and Tolliver broke it open.”
“Does she have any black marks?”
“Small-town forces don’t air their dirty laundry on paper,” Faith reminded him. “She took some time off the job six years ago. She worked security at the college less than a year, then went back on the job. That’s all I’ve got on her. Have you found anything else?”
“I had an interesting conversation with the man who runs the diner this morning.”
“What did he say?”
“Not a whole lot. Allison was a good kid. Hard worker. He didn’t know much about her personal life.”
“Do you think he killed her?”
“He’s sixty-something years old with a fake leg.”
“A real fake leg?”
Will thought about Lionel knocking on the prosthesis, the hollow sound. “I’ll see if I can confirm it, but he was putting on quite an act if the leg is real.”
“You never know with those small towns. Ed Gein was a babysitter.”
Faith was never one to miss an opportunity to compare a kindly old man to one of the twentieth century’s most notorious serial killers.
She said, “Spooner’s background check didn’t offer much, either. She’s got a bank account with eighteen dollars and change. She must be a cash-and-carry gal. The only checks she’s written in the last six months are to the college and the campus bookstore. The statements are delivered to the Taylor Drive address. Other than that, she’s got no credit cards. No utilities in her name. No credit history. No cell phone on record. No car.”
“The old guy at the diner says she drove a Dodge Daytona with Alabama plates.”
“It must be registered in someone else’s name. Do you think the locals know about it?”
“I don’t know. My source also says that Allison had a pink book bag she kept in the car when she was working.”
“Hold on a second.” Faith was obviously doing something on her computer. “All right, I’m not finding any BOLOs for the car coming out of Grant County or any towns in the vicinity.” If Frank Wallace knew about Allison’s car, he would have posted a “be on the lookout” to all neighboring counties.
Will said, “Maybe they already know where the car is but they don’t want me to find it.”
“I’m posting a BOLO around the state right now. Your chief will have to tell his boys to look for it during their briefing this morning.”
“It’s an old car. Allison’s lived here a couple of years without changing the plates.”
“College town. Wouldn’t be odd to have cars with out-of-state tags. The only reason not to register a car is because it’s not insured,” Faith pointed out. “I’d buy that. This girl was living on the margins. She barely made a blip on the radar.”
Will saw that the squad room was filling up. The crowd of cops had gotten bigger. A more fearful man might call them a growing mob. They kept stealing looks at Will. Marla was pouring them coffee, glaring at him over her shoulder. And then, as if on cue, they all looked toward the front door. Will wondered if Frank Wallace had deigned to make an appearance, but quickly saw this was not the case. A woman with olive skin and curly, shoulder-length brown hair joined the group. She was the smallest in the bunch, but they parted for her like the Red Sea.
Will told Faith, “I think Detective Adams has decided to grace us with her presence.”
“How does she look?”
Lena had spotted him. Her eyes burned with hatred.
He said, “She looks like she wants to rip out my throat with her teeth.”
“Be careful. You know you have a weakness for bitchy, spiteful women.”
Will didn’t bother to argue. Lena Adams had the same color skin and hair as Angie, though she was obviously of Latin descent, whereas Angie’s origins were vaguely Mediterranean. Lena was shorter, more athletic. There was none of Angie’s womanliness about her-Lena was too cop for that-but she was an attractive woman. She also seemed to share Angie’s talent for stirring things up. Several of the cops were staring at Will with open hostility now. It wouldn’t be long before someone grabbed a pitchfork.
Faith asked, “What’s this email from you?” She answered her own question. “Julie Smith. All right, I’ll see if I can trace the number. The warrant for Tommy Braham’s phone records shouldn’t be a problem considering he’s dead, but I may need an official cause of death before we get access.”
Will kept his eyes on Lena. She was saying something to the group. Probably telling them to check their weapons. “Can you fudge that a little? Julie Smith told Sara that Tommy texted her from jail. The transcript might help find out who she is. Maybe Amanda can call in some favors.”
“Oh, great. Just who I want to talk to first thing in the morning.”
“Can you get her to rush through a search warrant for the garage, too? I want to show the locals what proper procedure looks like.”
“I’m sure she’ll fall over herself trying to accommodate your requests.” Faith gave a heavy groan. “Anything else you want me to ask her?”
“Tell her I want my testicles back.”
“They’re probably already at the bronzer.”
Lena took off her jacket and threw it on a desk. “I need to go.” Will hung up the phone just as the detective stomped toward the office.
Will stood up. He gave one of his winning smiles. “You must be Detective Adams. I’m so glad to finally meet you.”
She stared at the hand he offered. He thought for a minute she might rip it off.
“Is there something wrong, Detective?”
She was obviously so angry she could barely speak. “This office-”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Will interrupted. “It was empty, and I want to make sure I stay out of your way.” His hand was still extended between them. “We’re not to that point yet where you can’t shake my hand. Are we, Detective?”
“We passed that point the minute you sat behind that desk.”
Will dropped his hand. “I was expecting Chief Wallace.”
“Interim Chief,” she corrected, just as raw as Sara on the subject. “Frank’s at the hospital with Brad.”
“I heard Detective Stephens had a rough night, but he seems all right this morning.”
She didn’t answer him, which was just as well. Her accent was full of south Georgia twang, and anger made her words blend like cake batter.
Will indicated the chair. “Please have a seat.”
“I’ll stand.”
“Hope you don’t mind if I sit.” The chair squeaked as he settled back in it. Will steepled his fingers together. He noticed that a pen was clipped to Lena’s breast pocket. It was silver, a Cross just like the one Larry Knox had clipped to his shirt last night. Will glanced at the group of officers who were milling around the coffee machine. They all had pens clipped to their chest pockets, too.