“The first shell has a good chance of jamming in the barrel. If she didn’t have another shell in the magazine, then she could buy herself some time. Maybe even turn the gun around and use it to hit the guy.”
“Wouldn’t the shell explode in the barrel?”
“Not necessarily. If she had a full magazine, the second shell would hit the first and they would both explode near the chamber.”
Sara said, “Maybe that’s why she only loaded one.”
“She was either really smart or really stupid.”
Sara kept staring at the pictures. A lot of her cases were suicides, and this looked just like any other. If Andy Rosen had not died the day before, and Tessa had not been hurt, Sara and Jeffrey would not be asking these questions. Even the scrape on Andy’s back would not have been enough to warrant opening a full investigation.
Sara asked, “What connects them all?”
“I don’t know,” Jeffrey said. “Tessa’s the wild card. Schaffer and Rosen have the art class, but that’s—”
“Is that Jewish?” Sara interrupted. “Schaffer, I mean.”
“Rosen is,” Jeffrey said. “I’m not sure about Schaffer.”
Sara felt anxiety take hold as she worked out a possible connection. “Andy Rosen is Jewish. Ellen Schaffer might be. Tessa is dating a black man. Not just dating him, but having his child.”
“What are you saying?” Jeffrey said, though she knew he was following her.
“Either Andy was pushed or he jumped from a bridge that had racist graffiti spray-painted on it.”
Jeffrey stared straight ahead at the road, not speaking for at least a full minute. “Do you think that’s the connection?”
“I don’t know,” Sara answered. “There was a swastika on the bridge.”
“Beside, ‘Die Nigger,’ “ Jeffrey pointed out. “Not Jews.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If it was meant to be something against Andy because he was Jewish, then it would have been more specific. It would have said ‘Die Jews.’ ”
“What about the Star of David you found in the woods?”
“Maybe Andy walked through the woods and dropped it before he killed himself. We don’t have anything that links it to Tessa’s attacker.” He paused. “Still, Rosen and Schaffer are Jewish names. That could be a connection.”
“There are a lot of Jewish kids on campus.”
“That’s true.”
“Do you think this graffiti means there’s some kind of white-supremacist group working here?”
“Who else would spray-paint that kind of shit around school?”
Sara tried to see the holes in her theory. “The bridge wasn’t painted recently.”
“I can ask around, but, no, it looks a couple of weeks old at least.”
“So what we’re saying is that two weeks ago somebody painted the swastika and the slur on the bridge, knowing that yesterday he would push Andy Rosen over the side and then I would come along and bring Tessa, who would need to urinate and get stabbed in the forest?”
“It was your theory,” Jeffrey reminded her.
“I didn’t say it was a good one,” Sara admitted. She rubbed her eyes, saying, “I can barely see straight I’m so tired.”
“Do you want to try to sleep?”
She did, but Sara could only think of Tessa, and how the only thing she had asked her to do was find the man who had done this to her. She said, “Let’s drop the racist angle. Let’s say these were staged to look like a suicide. Do you think it’s best to hide the fact that two kids have been murdered?”
“Honestly?” Jeffrey asked. “I don’t know. I don’t want to give the parents false hope, and I don’t want to cause some sort of panic on the campus. And if these are murders, which we’re not even sure they are, then maybe the guy will get cocky and make some mistakes.”
Sara knew what he meant. Despite popular belief, killers seldom wanted to get caught. Murder was the ultimate exercise in risk taking, and the more they got away with, the more they wanted to push the risks.
She asked, “If someone is killing college students, what’s the motivation?”
“The only thing I can come up with is drugs.”
Sara was about to ask if drugs were a problem on campus, then realized what a stupid question that was. Instead she said, “Did Ellen Schaffer use?”
“As far as I can tell, she was some kind of health nut, so I doubt it.” He looked in the side mirror before overtaking an eighteen-wheeler in the next lane. “Rosen might have been, but there’s a good case for him being clean, too.”
“What about the affair rumor?”
Jeffrey scowled. “I don’t even know if I trust Richard Carter. He’s like a spoon—always stirring things up. And it’s obvious he couldn’t stand Andy. I wouldn’t put it past him to start a rumor just so he can sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Well, let’s say he’s right,” Sara said. “Could Andy’s father have been having an affair with Schaffer?”
“She wasn’t in any of his classes. She would have no reason to know him. She had plenty of guys her own age throwing themselves at her feet.”
“That might be a reason she would be attracted to an older man. He would seem more sophisticated.”
“Not Brian Keller,” he said. “This guy isn’t exactly Robert Redford.”
“You asked around?” she persisted. “There’s no connection?”
“Not that I could see,” he answered. “I’m going to talk to him tomorrow, though. Maybe he’ll offer something up.”
“Maybe he’ll confess.”
Jeffrey shook his head. “He was in Washington. Frank verified it this afternoon.” After a few seconds, Jeffrey allowed, “He could have hired someone.”
“What was his motivation?”
“Maybe . . .” Jeffrey let his voice trail off. “Jesus, I don’t know. We keep coming back to motivation. Why would anyone do this? What do they have to gain?”
“People only kill for a handful of reasons,” Sara said. “Money, drugs, or some emotional reason like jealousy or rage. Random murders would suggest a serial killer.”
“Christ,” Jeffrey said. “Don’t say that.”
“I’ll admit it’s not likely, but nothing makes sense.” Sara paused. “Then again, Andy could have jumped. Ellen Schaffer could have already been depressed, and finding the body was some kind of trigger—” Sara caught herself. “No pun intended.”
Jeffrey gave her a look.
“Maybe she just killed herself. Maybe both of them did.”
“What about Tess?”
“What about her?” she asked. “It could be that her attack doesn’t have anything to do with the two others. If they’re suicides, I mean.” Sara tried to think it through, but her mind could not put together the right clues. “She could have come across someone doing something illegal in the woods.”
“We went back and forth over every inch and didn’t find anything except the necklace,” Jeffrey said. “Even then, why would the guy stick around and watch you and Tessa?”
“Maybe it was someone else watching . . . just a jogger in the woods.”
“Why would he run when he saw Lena?”
Sara exhaled slowly, thinking she was too sleep-deprived to understand any of this. “I keep going back to that scrape on Andy’s back. Maybe I’ll find something in the autopsy.” She leaned her head in her hand, giving up on trying to be logical. “What else is bothering you?”
His jaw worked, and she knew his answer before he even said it. “Lena.”
Sara suppressed a sigh as she looked out the window. Jeffrey had been worrying about Lena for as long as Sara could remember.
She asked, “What did she do?”—leaving the this time unsaid.
“She didn’t do anything,” he said. “Or maybe she did. I don’t know.” He paused, probably thinking it over. “I think she knew this kid, this Rosen kid. We found her fingerprints on a library book in his apartment.”
?
??She could have checked it out.”
“No,” he told her. “We looked at her records.”
“They let you see that?”
“We didn’t actually go through the librarians,” Jeffrey told her, and Sara could only imagine what kinds of strings Jeffrey had pulled to get a look at the library’s records. Nan Thomas would have a screaming fit if she ever found out, and Sara would not blame the woman.
Sara suggested, “Lena could have borrowed the book without anyone knowing.”
“Does Lena strike you as the type of person who would read The Thorn Birds?”
“I have no idea,” Sara admitted, though she could not imagine Lena doing something as sedentary as reading, let alone a love story. “Did you ask her? What did she say?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I tried to bring her in. She wouldn’t come.”
“To the station?”
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t come in if you asked me to either.”
He seemed genuinely curious. “Why?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she told him, not even bothering to answer. “You think Lena has something to hide?”
“I don’t know.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “She seemed cagey. When we were talking on the hill—after you and Tessa left—she seemed to recognize Andy’s name. When I asked her, she denied it.”
“Do you remember her reaction when we turned over the body?”
“She wasn’t there,” Jeffrey reminded her.
“Right,” Sara remembered.
He said, “We found something else, too. A pair of women’s underwear in his room.”
“Lena’s?” Sara asked, wondering why Jeffrey had not told her this before.
He said, “I’m guessing.”
“What did they look like?”
“Not like what you wear. Small.”
She shot him a look. “Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “The kind that’s thinner in the back.”
Sara guessed, “A thong?”
“Probably. Silky, dark red, with lace around the legs.”
“That sounds about as much like Lena as The Thorn Birds.”
Jeffrey shrugged. “You never know.”
“Could they have belonged to Andy Rosen?”
Jeffrey seemed to consider this. “We can’t rule that out, considering what he did to his . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“He could have stolen them from Schaffer.”
“The hair was dark brown,” Jeffrey told her. “Schaffer’s a blonde.”
Sara laughed. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
Jeffrey was quiet for a beat. “Lena could have been sleeping with Andy Rosen.”
Sara thought this was unlikely, but with Lena there was no telling.
He said, “There was this kid there when I tried to bring Lena in. Some little prick who looked like he belonged in high school. Maybe she’s seeing him. It looked like they were together.”
“So she’s sleeping with Andy Rosen and dating this kid?” Sara shook her head. “Considering what happened to her a year ago, I don’t see Lena playing the field this soon. If ever.” She crossed her arms, leaning against the door. “Are you sure it’s her underwear?”
Jeffrey was quiet, like he was debating whether or not to tell her something.
“What is it?” Sara asked. Then, “Jeff?”
“There’s some . . . material,” he said and Sara wondered why he was being reticent. Probably his knowing Lena attached a certain taboo; he’d never been shy about this sort of thing before. He said, “Even if there’s enough to run DNA, there’s no way in hell Lena will give us a comparison sample. If she’d just give us something to test, we could clear her and this would all be over.”
“If she won’t even go into the station, there’s no way she’ll give blood.”
His voice took on an edge. “I just want to clear her out of this, Sara. If she won’t help herself . . .”
Immediately Sara thought about the rape kit she had performed on Lena a year ago, but she did not volunteer this information. Something about using the DNA collected during the rape exam to possibly tie Lena to Andy Rosen did not sit right with Sara. The act struck her as a second violation. Lena would see it as a betrayal. Anyone would.
“Sara?”
She shook her head. “Just tired,” she told him, trying not to remember the night she had collected the rape kit. Lena’s body had been so badly damaged that she had needed seven stitches to sew her back together. Because of the drugs Lena had been given, Sara had been forced to go very light on the sedative. Until Tessa’s stabbing, doing Lena’s rape kit had been the most horrible event of Sara’s entire medical career.
Sara asked, “What would it prove if Lena did match? Sleeping with Andy Rosen doesn’t mean she had anything to do with his death. Or Tessa’s stabbing.”
“Why would she lie about it?”
“Lying doesn’t make her guilty.”
“In my experience people only lie when they’ve got something to hide.”
“I imagine she’d lose her job if she was having sex with a student.”
“She hates Chuck. I doubt she cares whether she keeps her job or not.”
Sara pointed out, “She’s not your biggest fan right now. She may have lied just to spite you.”
“She can’t be stupid enough to impede an investigation. Not on something like this.”
“Of course she can, Jeffrey. She’s mad at you, and she’s seeing a way to pay you back for kicking her off—”
“I didn’t—”
Sara held up her hands to stop him. They had argued this point so many times already that she could already hear the rest of the sentence before he finished. What it boiled down to was that Jeffrey was angry as hell at Lena and would not admit that most of his anger stemmed from disappointment. Lena’s knee-jerk response was to hate Jeffrey back just as blindly. The situation would have been comical if Sara were not caught right in the middle of it.
Sara said, “Regardless of why, Lena’s not going to give you an inch on this. She pretty much proved that when she wouldn’t come down to the station.”
“Maybe I didn’t approach her quite like I should have,” he allowed, and, judging on past performance, Sara could imagine he had been quite an ass. “That kid she was with. That boy.”
Sara waited, but he took his time finishing his thought.
“There’s something wrong with him.”
“Wrong how?”
“Dangerous,” Jeffrey said. “I’d bet you ten bucks he’s got a record.”
Sara knew better than to take the bet. Any cop worth his salt could recognize an ex-con. That brought her to her next question. “Do you think Lena knows he’s been in trouble before?”
“Who knows what the hell’s going on in her head?”
Sara was just as perplexed.
Jeffrey said, “He pushed me.”
“He pushed you?” Sara asked, certain he meant it figuratively.
“He came up from behind and pushed me.”
“He pushed you?” she repeated, wondering at anyone’s having the stupidity to do such a thing. “Why?”
“He probably thought I pushed Lena down.”
“Did you?”
He looked at her, obviously insulted. “I put my hand on her arm. She freaked out. Jerked her arm back.” Jeffrey stared at the road, silent for a moment. “She was trying so hard to get away she fell on the ground.”
“That sounds like a predictable reaction.”
Jeffrey skipped over her remark. “This kid, he was ready to take me on. A scrawny little shit, probably weighs less than Tess.” Jeffrey shook his head, but there was something appreciative about the way he spoke. Not many people challenged him.
Sara asked, “Why haven’t you run his sheet?”
“I don’t have his name,” Jeffrey told her. Then, “Don’t worry, I followed them to a coffee shop. He left his cup on the t
able. I took it for prints.” He smiled. “Just a matter of time until I know everything there is to know about the punk.”
Sara was certain he would, and she felt more than a little sorry for Lena’s white knight.
Jeffrey fell silent again, and Sara stared out the window, counting the crosses that marked traffic accidents on the highway. Some of them had wreaths laid at their bases or photographs of people Sara was glad she could not see. A pink teddy bear propped up against the foot of a small cross made her look ahead, her heart lurching in her chest. The drivers in front of them tapped their breaks, slanted red lights gleaming up ahead. The highway was getting crowded as they got closer to Macon. Jeffrey would take the bypass, but they were bound to get caught up in traffic this time of day.
Jeffrey asked, “How are your folks?”
“Angry,” she said. “Angry at me. At you. I don’t know. Mama will barely even talk to me.”
“Has she told you why?”
“She’s just worried,” Sara said, but every second that passed with her parents angry at her twisted in Sara’s chest. Eddie still would not talk to her, but she did not know if that was because he blamed her or because he could not deal with having both of his girls in crisis. Sara was beginning to understand just how hard it was to be strong for everyone else around you when all you really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and be comforted yourself.
“They’ll be okay in a few days,” Jeffrey soothed, resting his hand on her shoulder. He stroked her neck with his thumb, and she wanted to slide across the seat and put her head on his chest. Something stopped her. Without her permission, her mind kept going back to Lena in the hospital, bruised and battered, dark blood oozing from between her legs where she had been cut so deeply. Lena was a small person to begin with, but her cocky attitude normally made her seem larger than life. Lying on the hospital gurney, hands and feet bleeding through the white bandages the ambulance crew had hastily tied on, Lena had seemed more like a little child than a grown woman. Sara had never seen someone so broken.
In the car Sara felt tears in her eyes. She looked out the window, not wanting Jeffrey to see. He was still stroking her neck, but for some reason his touch no longer soothed.
She said, “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” and pulled away from him as she leaned against the car door.