Frank said, "She's got a mean right, huh?"

"Yeah." Jeffrey folded the handkerchief for a fresh corner. "She know I'm waiting for her?"

Frank offered, "I'll make sure she doesn't make any detours."

"Good," Jeffrey said, then, "Thanks."

He saw Lena walking through the squad room, her chin tilted up defiantly. When she got to his office, she took her time shutting the door, then slumped into one of the two chairs across from him. She had the look of a teenager who had been called into the principal's office.

"I'm sorry I hit you," she mumbled.

"Yeah," Jeffrey returned, holding up the handkerchief. "I got worse at the Auburn-Alabama game." She did not respond, so he added, "And I was in the stands at the time."

Lena propped her elbow on the armrest and leaned her head into her hand. "What leads do you have?" she asked. "Any suspects?"

"We're running the computer right now," he said. "We should have a list in the morning."

She put her hand over her eyes. He folded the handkerchief, waiting for her to speak.

She whispered, "She was raped?"

"Yes."

"How badly?"

"I don't know."

"She was cut," Lena said. "This is some Jesus freak?"

His answer was the truth. "I don't know."

"You don't seem to know a hell of a lot," she finally said.

"You're right," he agreed. "I need to ask you some questions."

Lena did not look up, but he saw her give a slight nod.

"Was she seeing anybody?"

Finally she looked up. "No."

"Any old boyfriends?"

Something flickered in her eyes, and her answer didn't come as quickly as the last. "No."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Not even somebody from a few years back? Sibyl moved here, what, about six years ago?"

"That's right," Lena said, her voice hostile again. "She took a job at the college so she could be near me."

"Was she living with someone?"

"What does that mean?"

Jeffrey dropped the handkerchief. "It means what it means, Lena. She was blind. I'm assuming she needed help getting around. Was she living with someone?"

Lena pursed her lips, as if debating whether or not to answer. "She was sharing a house on Cooper with Nan Thomas."

"The librarian?" This would explain why Sara had seen her at the library.

Lena mumbled, "I guess I have to tell Nan about this, too."

Jeffrey assumed Nan Thomas already knew. Secrets did not stay kept for very long in Grant. Still, he offered, "I can tell her."

"No," she said, giving him a scathing look. "I think it would be better coming from someone who knows her."

The implication was clear to Jeffrey, but he chose not to confront her. Lena was looking for another fight, that much was obvious. "I'm sure she's probably already heard something. She won't know the details."

"She won't know about the rape, you mean?" Lena's leg bobbed up and down in a nervous twitch. "I guess I shouldn't tell her about the cross?"

"Probably not," he answered. "We need to keep some of the details close in case somebody confesses."

"I'd like to handle a false confession," Lena mumbled, her leg still shaking.

"You shouldn't be alone tonight," he told her. "You want me to call your uncle?" He reached for the phone, but she stopped him with a no.

"I'm fine," she said, standing. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Jeffrey stood, too, glad to conclude this. "I'll call you as soon as we have something."

She gave him a funny look. "What time's the briefing?"

He saw where she was going with this. "I'm not going to let you work on this case, Lena. You have to know that."

"You don't understand," she said. "If you don't let me work on this, then you're going to have another stiff for your girlfriend down at the morgue."

Chapter Six

LENA banged her fist on the front door of her sister's house. She was about to go back to her car and get her spare set of keys when Nan Thomas opened the door.

Nan was shorter than Lena and about ten pounds heavier. Her short mousy brown hair and thick glasses made her resemble the prototypical librarian that she was.

Nan 's eyes were swollen and puffy, fresh tears still streaking down her cheeks. She held a balled-up piece of tissue in her hand.

Lena said, "I guess you heard."

Nan turned, walking back into the house, leaving the door open for Lena. The two women had never gotten along. Except for the fact that Nan Thomas was Sibyl's lover, Lena would not have said two words to her.

The house was a bungalow built in the 1920s. Much of the original architecture had been left in place, from the hardwood floors to the simple molding lining the doorways. The front door opened into a large living room with a fireplace at one end and the dining room at the other. Off this was the kitchen. Two small bedrooms and a bath finished the simple plan.

Lena walked purposefully down the hallway. She opened the first door on the right, entering the bedroom that had been turned into Sibyl's study. The room was neat and orderly, mostly by necessity. Sibyl was blind, things had to be put in their place or she would not be able to find them. Braille books were stacked neatly on the shelves. Magazines, also in Braille, were lined up on the coffee table in front of an old futon. A computer sat on the desk lining the far wall. Lena was turning it on when Nan walked into the room.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I need to go through her things."

"Why?" Nan asked, going over to the desk. She put her hand over the keyboard, as if she could stop Lena.

"I need to see if anything was strange, if anyone was following her."

"You think you'll find it in here?" Nan demanded, picking up the keyboard. "She only used this for school. You don't even understand the voice recognition software."

Lena grabbed the keyboard back. "I'll figure it out."

"No, you won't," Nan countered. "This is my house, too."

Lena put her hands on her hips, walking toward the center of the room. She spotted a stack of papers beside an old Braille typewriter. Lena picked them up, turning to Nan. "What's this?"

Nan ran over, grabbing the papers. "It's her diary."

"Can you read it?"

"It's her personal diary," Nan repeated, aghast. "These are her private thoughts."

Lena chewed her bottom lip, trying for a softer tactic. That she had never liked Nan Thomas was not exactly a secret in this house. "You can read Braille, right?"

"Some."

"You need to tell me what this says, Nan. Somebody killed her." Lena tapped the pages. "Maybe she was being followed. Maybe she was scared of something and didn't want to tell us."

Nan turned away, her head tilted down toward the pages. She ran her fingers along the top line of dots, but Lena could tell she wasn't reading it. For some reason, Lena got the impression she was touching the pages because Sibyl had, as if she could absorb some sense of Sibyl rather than just words.

Nan said, "She always went to the diner on Mondays. It was her time out to do something on her own."

"I know."

"We were supposed to make burritos tonight." Nan stacked the papers against the desk. "Do what you need to do," she said. "I'll be in the living room."

Lena waited for her to leave, then continued the task at hand. Nan was right about the computer. Lena did not know how to use the software, and Sibyl had only used it for school. Sibyl dictated into the computer what she needed, and her teaching assistant made sure copies were made.

The second bedroom was slightly larger than the first. Lena stood in the doorway, taking in the neatly made bed. A stuffed Pooh bear was tucked between the pillows. Pooh was old, balding in places. Sibyl had rarely been without him throughout her childhood, and throwing him away had seemed like heresy. Lena leaned against the door, getting a mental flash of Sibyl as a child, standing with the Pooh bear. Lena closed her eyes, letting the memory overwhelm her. There wasn't much Lena wanted to remember about her childhood, but a particular day stuck out. A few months after the accident that had blinded Sibyl, they were in the backyard, Lena pushing her sister on the swing. Sibyl held Pooh tight to her chest, her head thrown back as she felt the breeze, a huge smile on her face as she relished this simple pleasure. There was such a trust there, Sibyl getting on the swing, trusting Lena not to push her too hard or too high. Lena had felt a responsibility. Her chest swelled from it, and she kept pushing Sibyl until her arms had ached.