She reached down, using her hand where her mouth had been. Jeffrey gasped as she cupped him with her other hand. He tried to hold back, but looking at her face only made it harder. Her eyes were barely open, a rush of red pinking her cheeks. She kept her mouth inches from his, teasing him with the promise of a kiss. He could feel her breath as she spoke, but again could not hear what she was saying. She started kissing him in earnest, her tongue so soft and gentle he could barely breathe. Her hands worked in tandem, and he nearly lost his restraint when she took his bottom lip between her teeth.

“Sara,” he moaned.

She kissed his face, his neck, his mouth, and he finally heard what she was saying. “I love you,” she whispered, stroking him until he could no longer hold back. “I love you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lena heard Jeffrey yelling through his clo sed office door as soon as she walked into the squad room. She lingered near the coffee machine by his office, but couldn’t make anything out.

Frank joined her, holding out his mug for a top-up even though it was already full.

She asked, “What’s going on?”

“Marty Lam,” Frank said, shrugging. “Was he supposed to be sitting on that house last night?”

“For Chip Donner?” Lena asked. Jeffrey had ordered a cruiser to wait outside Donner’s house in case he showed up. “Yeah. Why?”

“Chief drove by on his way in this morning and nobody was there.”

They both paused, trying to make out Jeffrey’s words as his tone rose.

Frank said, “Chief is pretty pissed.”

“You think?” Lena asked, her sarcasm thicker than the coffee.

“Watch it,” Frank said. He had always thought that the almost thirty years he had on her should afford him some kind of deference.

Lena changed the subject. “You get that credit report back on the family?”

“Yeah,” he said. “From what I could tell, the farm’s running in the black.”

“By a lot?”

“Not much,” he said. “I’m trying to get a copy of their tax returns. It’s not gonna be easy. The farm’s privately held.”

Lena stifled a yawn. She had slept about ten seconds last night. “What’d the shelters say about them?”

“That we should all thank God every day there are people like that on the planet,” Frank said, but he didn’t look ready to bow his head.

Jeffrey’s door banged open, and Marty Lam walked out like an inmate doing the death row shuffle. He had his hat in his hands and his eyes on the floor.

“Frank,” Jeffrey said, walking over. She could tell he was still angry, and could only imagine the reaming he had given Marty. The fact that he had a bruise under his eye the color of a ripe pomegranate probably hadn’t done much to improve his disposition.

He asked Frank, “Did you get in touch with that jewelry supply company?”

“Got the list of customers who bought cyanide right here,” Frank said, taking a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “They sold the salts to two stores up in Macon, one down along Seventy-five. There’s a metal plater over in Augusta, too. Took three bottles so far this year.”

“I know it’s a pain in the ass, but I want you to check them out personally. See if there’s any Jesus stuff around that might connect them to the church or to Abby. I’m going to talk to the family later on today and try to find out if she ever left town on her own.” He told Lena, “We didn’t get prints on the bottle of cyanide from Dale Stanley’s.”

“None?” she asked.

“Dale always used gloves when he handled it,” Jeffrey said. “Could be that’s the reason.”

“Could be someone wiped it down.”

He told her, “I want you to go talk to O’Ryan. Buddy Conford called a few minutes ago. He’s representing her.”

She felt her nose wrinkle at the lawyer’s name. “Who hired him?”

“Fuck if I know.”

Lena asked, “He doesn’t mind if we talk to her?”

Jeffrey was obviously not interested in being questioned. “Did I get it backward just then? You’re my boss now?” He didn’t let her answer. “Just get her in the fucking room before he shows up.”

“Yes, sir,” Lena said, knowing better than to push him. Frank raised his eyebrows as Lena left and she shrugged, not knowing what to say. There was no deciphering Jeffrey’s mood over the last few days.

She pushed open the fire door to the back part of the station. Marty Lam was at the water fountain, not drinking, and she nodded at him as she passed by. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She knew the feeling.

Lena punched the code into the lockbox outside the holding cells and took out the keys. Patty O’Ryan was curled up on her bunk, her knees almost touching her chin. Even though she was still dressed, or rather half-dressed, in her stripper’s outfit from last night, she looked about twelve when she slept, an innocent tossed around by a cruel world.

“O’Ryan!” Lena yelled, shaking the locked cell door. Metal banged against metal, and the girl was so startled she fell onto the floor.

“Rise and shine,” Lena sang.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch,” O’Ryan barked back, no longer looking twelve or innocent. She put her hands to her ears as Lena shook the door again for good measure. The girl was obviously hungover; the question was from what.

“Get up,” Lena told her. “Turn around, put your hands behind your back.”

She knew the drill, and barely flinched when Lena put the cuffs around her wrists. They were so thin and bony that Lena had to ratchet the locking teeth to the last notch. Girls like O’Ryan rarely ended up murdered. They were survivors. People like Abigail Bennett were the ones who needed to be looking over their shoulders.

Lena opened the cell door, taking the girl by the arm as she led her down the hall. This close to her, Lena could smell the sweat and chemicals pouring out of her body. Her mousy brown hair hadn’t been washed in a while, and it hung in chunks down to her waist. As she moved, the hair shifted, and Lena saw a puncture mark on the inside of the girl’s left elbow.

“You like meth?” Lena guessed. Like most small towns all over America, Grant had seen a thousandfold increase in meth trafficking over the last five years.

“I know my rights,” she hissed. “You don’t have any call to keep me here.”

“Obstructing justice, attacking an officer, resisting arrest,” Lena listed. “You want to pee in a cup for me? I’m sure we can come up with something else.”

“Piss on you,” she said, spitting on the floor.

“You’re a real lady, O’Ryan.”

“And you’re a real cunt, you cocksucking bitch.”

“Whoops,” Lena said, jerking the girl back by the arm so that she stumbled. O’Ryan gave a rewarding screech of pain. “In here,” Lena ordered, pushing the girl into an interrogation room.

“Bitch,” O’Ryan hissed as Lena forced her down into the most uncomfortable chair in the police station.

“Don’t try anything,” Lena warned, unlocking one of the cuffs and looping it through the ring Jeffrey had had welded to the table. The table was bolted to the floor, which had proven to be a good idea on more than one occasion.

“You got no right to keep me here,” O’Ryan said. “Chip didn’t do nothing.”

“Then why’d he run?”

“Because he knows you fuckers were gonna bang him up no matter what.”

“How old are you?” Lena asked, sitting down across from her.

She tilted her chin up in defiance, saying, “Twenty-one,” pretty much assuring Lena she was underage.

Lena told her, “You’re not helping yourself here.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“You’ve got one on the way.”

This took her by surprise. “Who?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Fuck,” she spat, her expression turning into a little girl’s again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want a lawyer.”

Lena sighed. There was nothing wrong with this girl that a good slapping wouldn’t fix. “Why is that?”