"I'm fine, Kate."
"I have something to help heal your lip, so—"
"Do I have to drink it? Because I'd rather have coffee than drink any of your—coffee! Yes. I want a huge mug of dark, strong coffee."
"You're not making sense. You've been saying for the last week that you might never drink another cup of coffee in your life. Were you hit on the head or—"
"Go get your magic potions and fix me up, doc. Then I'll explain."
After my lip had been slathered with goo and some different homeopathic ointment had been applied to my wrists and ankles, I told her everything over freshly brewed Starbucks Kenyan. It tasted so good, and I was thankful my coffee aversion had ended. Near-death experiences tend to make you appreciate what's important in life, I guess.
"Verna Mae had created a shrine to Will?" Kate asked after I told her what I'd seen tonight.
"I can't think of a better word. She must have gone there and prayed for him, what with the kneeling rail and candles. But with the picture of Sara Rankin there, too, she obviously knew way more than she let on when Will and I visited her—the visit right before she was found beaten and shot. I'm wondering now if that's why she called to meet with me that Friday— to tell me about Sara."
"How did Verna Mae learn what's been so hard for you to discover?" Kate asked.
"She knew from the beginning, is my guess. Knew exactly whose baby had been left in her care."
"Left by Sara? I'm confused. I thought she died in May and Will was born in the fall."
"I'm guessing Sara died during childbirth or right after, not in a fall. The Rankins had that service in December because they knew she was dead."
"And they gave the baby to Verna Mae?" she asked.
"I don't know."
Kate said, "Maybe Sara did fall. She could have been in a coma from a head injury. I've heard of comatose women being kept alive so they can deliver at term. What if her parents pulled the plug on life support after Will was born? Are they the type who would do that?"
"I can't answer that. I only know that something, maybe something more than grief, drove the pastor to the edge. Could his grief be mixed with guilt for pulling that plug?"
"Certainly. Especially if his religious teachings told him to keep her on a machine and he didn't," Kate said.
"Okay. That makes sense. Now, is there a connection between the Rankins and Verna Mae?"
"Maybe she attended their church," Kate said.
"I never explored that possibility," I said. "It's on my to-do list now, though."
Kate stared at me, her coffee cup held between her hands. "I'm still confused. Why would the Rankins manufacture such an elaborate cover-up before Will was born?"
I explained my theory about their daughter being a sinner. "I think they would have been humiliated and embarrassed by Sara's behavior, don't you?"
"From all you've told me about them, yes."
"There's more, Kate. Verna Mae is dead because she knew something I don't. At least something I don't know yet.
"I'm worried, Abby. Please turn this over to Jeff? You got lucky tonight, but—"
"This is my life, now. This is what I do. A woman died an awful death. Lawrence Washington has been sitting in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Someone set him up, and that has to be made right. For Will, for Thaddeus and for Joelle Simpson."
Kate leaned over and took my face in her warm hands. "Okay. I understand.... But please be careful, Abby."
The call from Jeff woke me at three a.m, so I knew he'd heard about the fire or he would have waited until morning.
"Still have your eyelashes?" he asked. He was joking, but I could hear concern beneath the humor.
"I'm fine. Are you working twenty-four shifts now?"
"I crashed here at the precinct. Then I get a wakeup call from someone saying Burl Rollins wanted to talk to me. I think you know the rest."
"Too well. More excitement than I planned on."
"You get a read on the bad guy?"
"Not really. He was all in black and a man of few words."
"Could he have been someone you've interviewed along the way?"
"The only thing I can say with certainty is that he was male. Probably the same person who's been following me like a coyote after a lost calf since day one."
"I need to teach you a few things about busting a tail."
"Not tonight, please. But if the offer is still good to get back into the prison, I want to talk to Lawrence Washington, find out why he kept quiet about Sara all these years, figure out why he won't help himself if he's innocent."
"I'd like to hear those answers myself. We'll go tomorrow. Bring the father, if possible."
"You want that leverage, huh?"
"Yup. We might even have Thaddeus's DNA results by the time we get to Huntsville," Jeff said.
"I know what the test will show, but if we can convince Lawrence he has a son—"
"He'll talk about his relationship with Sara," Jeff finished. "Her story, what happened to her, is key."
"Right. I'll arrange for the handicapped van. See you tomorrow, then?"
"Absolutely. I'm very glad I will be seeing you tomorrow," he said quietly.
"Are you upset with me for going into that storage unit without Burl?"
"Not as much as when I first heard what you did. I should have known you'd keep a set of those keys, and don't repeat this to anyone with a badge, but I admire you for working this case every which way you could, even if you've made a few dumb moves."
"Dumb moves? I'm allowed to label them dumb, not you," I said with mock anger.
"Remember that the next time I do something stupid," he said. "I love you, Abby. See you tomorrow."
The arrangements for the van and Jeff's need for a few hours of sleep came in quite handy. I also had a chance to retrieve my car from the storage facility. We didn't pick up Thaddeus until around three p.m. Monday. The driver took care of getting Thaddeus and his chair into the back passenger area, then designated me to carry the insulated medical bag containing Thaddeus's glucose monitor, snacks and insulin.
The call from the lab came right after we merged onto the freeway heading toward Huntsville. Jeff put the call on speakerphone so Thaddeus could hear.
"Paternal grandparent isn't always the best—we like maternal connections when you skip generations," said the woman on the phone.
"Bottom line?" Jeff asked.
"Seventy percent probability older donor is closely related to young male donor."
"Yes!" I did a Tiger Woods fist pump.
"Thanks, Bev. I owe you," Jeff said.
"You never owe me," she answered, before disconnecting.
My excitement at having this confirmation was overshadowed by a tinge of jealousy. But I kept my lip zipped about it and said, "I knew it, Thaddeus. You have a grandson."
I was sitting next to him, and he reached over and took my hand. His was cold when he squeezed mine. "Something good for once. Praise God, something good."
"Maybe this will help us convince Lawrence to tell us what he knows," I said. "The bullet found inside Verna Mae came from the same gun that put a round in your wall, Thaddeus."
"How's that help my son?"
"That same gun killed Amanda Mason," I said.
Thaddeus took this in, not speaking for several seconds. "That's hard evidence," he finally said. "Think he could get a new trial out of this?"
"I don't know," Jeff said quickly. "But if you can convince him to talk, tell us if he knew who owned that gun, it would sure help."
"That's why we're a traveling road show today, right?" said Thaddeus. He looked at me. "Tell me again, how old is Lawrence's boy?"
"Nineteen."
"I've missed nineteen years. Got plenty to make up for."
"You ever watch college basketball?" I asked.