"Did Angie know about the baby?"
She coughed, the sound coming from deep in her chest. When she spit onto the sidewalk, Will felt his stomach roll. "You're gonna have to ask her about that."
Lola swung her purse over her shoulder and headed back toward her group.
Will took out his cell phone as he walked toward his car. The thing was on its last leg, but it still managed to make the call.
"Hello?" Faith said.
Will didn't want to talk about what had happened this afternoon, so he didn't give her an opening. "I talked to Lola." He ran down what the prostitute had told him. "Simkov called her in to help her make some extra cash. I'm sure he took his share off the top."
"Maybe that's something we can use," Faith answered. "Amanda wants me to talk to Simkov tomorrow. We'll see if his story matches up."
"What did you find on him?"
"Not much. He lives in the apartment building on the bottom floor. He's supposed to be on the desk from eight until six, but there's been problems with that lately."
"I guess that's why they gave him his two-week notice."
"His criminal report came up clean. His bank account's all right, considering he gets free rent." Faith paused, and he could hear her turning the pages in her notebook. "We found some porn in his apartment, but nothing young or kinky. His phone's clean."
"Sounded to me like he'd let anybody into the building for the right amount of cash. Did Anna Lindsey give you anything?"
She told him about her fruitless conversation with the woman. "I don't know why she won't talk. Maybe she's scared."
"Maybe she thinks if she puts it out of her mind, doesn't talk about it, then it'll go away."
"I suppose that works if you've got the emotional maturity of a six-year-old."
Will tried not to take her words personally.
Faith told him, "We looked at the front door logs from the apartment building. There was a cable guy and a couple of delivery people. I talked to all of them as well as the building maintenance guy. They're checking out. Clean records, solid alibis."
Will got into his car. "What about neighbors?"
"No one seems to know anything, and these people are too rich to talk to the police."
Will had met the type before. They didn't want to get involved and they didn't want their names in the papers. "Did any of them know Anna?"
"Same as with the others—anyone who knew her didn't like her."
"What about forensics?"
"Should be back in the morning."
"What about the computers?"
"Nothing, and the warrants aren't in for the bank yet, so we don't have access to Olivia Tanner's cell phone, BlackBerry, or her computer at work."
"Our bad guy is smarter at this than we are."
"I know," she admitted. "Everything is starting to feel like a dead end."
There was a lull in the conversation. Will searched for something to fill it, but Faith beat him to the punch.
"So, Amanda and I are going to interview the doorman at eight in the morning, then I've got an appointment I need to go to. It's out in Snellville."
Will couldn't think what anyone would be doing in Snellville.
"I figure it'll take an hour or so. Hopefully, we'll have an ID on Jake Berman by then. We need to talk to Rick Sigler, too. I keep letting him slip through the cracks."
"He's white, early forties."
"Amanda made the same point. She sent someone around to talk to Sigler earlier today. He was at home with his wife."
Will groaned. "Did he deny even being at the scene?"
"Apparently, he tried to. He wouldn't even acknowledge he was with Jake Berman, which makes it seem more and more like a hookup." Faith sighed. "Amanda's got a tail on Sigler, but his background is clean. No aliases, no multiple addresses, born and raised in Georgia. He's got K-through-twelve school records in Conyers. There's no indication that he's ever been to Michigan, let alone lived there."
"We're only stuck on this brother thing because Pauline McGhee told her son to watch out for his uncle."
"True, but what else do we have to follow? If we hit any more brick walls, we're both going to start getting concussions."
Will waited a few seconds. "What kind of appointment?"
"It's a personal thing."
"All right."
Neither of them seemed to have anything to say after that. Why was it so easy for Will to spill his guts to Sara Linton, but he could barely manage to have a normal conversation with any other women in his life—especially his partner?
Faith offered, "I'll talk about my thing if you'll talk about yours."
He laughed. "I think we need to start from the beginning. With the case, I mean."
She agreed. "The best way to see if you've missed something is to retrace your steps."
"When you get back from your appointment, we'll go to the Coldfields, talk to Rick Sigler at his work so he's not freaking out in front of his wife, then go over all the witnesses—anybody who's even remotely connected to this thing. Fellow employees, maintenance men who've been to the house, tech support, anybody they've had contact with."
"Couldn't hurt," she agreed. There was another lull. Again, she filled it. "Are you all right?"
Will had pulled up in front of his house. He put the car in park, wishing that a bolt of lightning would just come down from the sky and kill him dead.
Angie's car was blocking the driveway.
"Will?"
"Yeah," he managed. "I'll see you in the morning."
He ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. The lights were on in the front room, but Angie hadn't bothered to turn on the porch light. He had cash in his pocket, credit cards. He could stay in a hotel tonight. There had to be a place that wouldn't mind dogs, or maybe he could sneak Betty in under his jacket.
Betty stood and stretched on the seat. The front porch light came on.
Will mumbled under his breath as he scooped up the dog. He got out of his car and locked it, then headed up the driveway. He opened the gate to the backyard and set Betty on the grass, then he stood outside his own house a few minutes, debating, then decided he was being stupid and made himself go in.
Angie was on the couch with her feet curled up under her. Her long dark hair was down the way he liked it, and she was wearing a tight black dress that hugged every curve. Sara had looked beautiful, but Angie looked sexy. Her makeup was dark, her lips a blood red. He wondered if she had made an effort. Probably. She always sensed when Will was pulling away. She was like a shark smelling blood in the water.
She greeted him the same way the prostitute did. "Hey, baby."
"Hey."
Angie stood up from the couch, stretching like a cat as she walked over to him. "Good day?" she asked, putting her arms around his neck. Will turned his head, and she turned it back, kissing him on the lips.
He said, "Don't do that."
She kissed him again because she had never liked being told what to do.
Will kept himself as impassive as he could, and she finally dropped her arms.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I beat someone."
She laughed, like he was joking. "Really?"
"Yeah." He leaned his hand on the back of the couch. One of the Band-Aids was peeling up.
"You beat someone." She was taking him seriously now. "Any witnesses?"
"None that are talking."
"Good for you, baby." She was close to him, right behind him. "I bet Faith wet her pants." Her hand traced down his arm, rested on the back of his wrist. Her tone changed. "Where's your ring?"
"In my pocket." Will had taken it off before he'd gone up to Sara's apartment. At the time, he'd fooled himself into thinking he'd done it because his fingers were swelling and the ring was getting tight.
Angie's hand went to his pants pocket. Will closed his eyes, feeling the day catch up with him. Not just the day, but the last eight months. Angie was the only wom
an he had ever been with, and his body had been lonely, almost aching for the feel of her.
Her fingers touched him though the thin material of his pocket. His reaction was immediate, and when she breathed into his ear, he gripped the couch so that he could still stand.
She took his ear between her teeth. "You miss me?"
He swallowed, unable to speak as she pressed her breasts, her body, into his back. He leaned his head back and she kissed his neck, but it wasn't Angie he was thinking about when her fingers wrapped around him. It was Sara, her long, thin fingers working on his hand as they both sat on the couch. The way her hair had smelled, because he had let himself bend down just for a moment and inhaled as quietly as he could. She smelled of goodness and mercy and kindness. She smelled of everything that he had ever wanted—everything that he could never have.
"Hey." Angie had stopped. "Where'd you go?"
With effort, Will managed to zip up his pants. He shouldered Angie out of the way as he walked across the room.
She asked, "Is it your time of the month again?"
"Did you know about the baby?"
She cocked her hand on her hip. "What baby?"
"I don't care what the answer is, but I want the truth. I need to know the truth."
"You gonna beat me if I don't tell you?"
"I'm gonna hate you," he answered, and they both knew what he was saying was true. "That baby could've been you or me. Hell, that baby was me."
Her tone was sharp, defensive. "Mommy leave him in the trash can?"
"It was that or whore him out for speed."
She pressed her lips together, but would not look away. "Touche," she finally said, because Diedre Polaski had done just that very thing to her baby girl.
Will repeated his question, the only question that mattered anymore. "Did you know that there was a baby in that penthouse?"
"Lola was taking care of it."
"What?"
"She's not bad. She was making sure it was okay. If she hadn't got popped—"
"Wait a minute." He put out his hands to stop her. "You think that whore was taking care of that baby?"
"He's fine, right? I made some calls to Grady. Mother and son are united again."
"You made some calls?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Jesus Christ, Angie. He's a tiny baby. He would've been dead if we'd waited any longer."
"But you didn't and he's not."
"Angie—"
"People always take care of babies, Will. Who looks out for people like Lola?"
"You're worried about some crack whore when there's a baby in a trash heap starving to death?" He didn't let her answer. "That's it. That's it for me."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I'm finished. It means the string on our yo-yo has broken."
"Fuck you."
"No more back and forth. No more screwing around on me, running out on me in the middle of the night, then running back in a month or a year later pretending like you can lick my wounds all better."
"You make it sound so romantic."
He opened the front door. "I want you out of my house and out of my life." She didn't move, so he walked over to her, started pushing her toward the door.
"What are you doing?" She pushed back, and when he wouldn't budge, she slapped him. "Get the fuck away from me."
He lifted her from behind, and she used her foot to kick the door closed.
"Get out," he said, trying to reach the doorknob even as he held on to her.
Angie had been a beat cop before she'd been a detective, and she knew how to take him down. Her foot kicked out, popping him in the back of the knee, dropping him to the floor. Will held on, pulling her down with him so they were struggling on the floor like a couple of angry dogs.
"Stop it," she screamed, kicking him, punching him, using every part of her body to cause pain.
Will rolled her onto her stomach, pushing her flat against the wood floor. He grabbed both her hands in one of his, squeezing them together so she couldn't fight him. Without even thinking, he reached down and ripped away her underwear. Her nails dug into the back of his hand as he slid his fingers inside her.
"Asshole," she hissed, but she was so wet Will could barely feel his fingers moving in and out. He found the right spot, and she cursed again, pressing her face into the floor. She never came with him. It was part of her power play. She always squeezed every last bit of soul out of Will, but she would never let him do the same to her.
"Stop it," she demanded, but she was moving against his hand, tensing with each stroke. He unzipped his pants and pushed himself inside her. She tried to tighten against him, but he pushed harder, forcing her to open up. She groaned and there was a sweet release as she took him in deeper, then even more. He pulled her up to her knees, fucking her as fast as he could while his fingers worked to bring her to the edge. She started to moan, a deep, guttural sound he had never heard before. Will rammed himself into her, not caring if he left marks up and down her body, not caring if he broke her. When she finally came, she gripped him so hard that it almost hurt to be inside of her. His own release was so savage that he ended up collapsed on top of her, panting, every part of him sore.
Will rolled onto his back. Angie's hair was tangled around her face. Her makeup was smeared. She was breathing as hard as he was.
"Jesus Christ," she mumbled. "Jesus Christ." She tried to reach out and touch his face, but he slapped her hand away.
They lay there like that, both panting on the floor, for what seemed like hours. Will tried to feel remorse, or anger, but all he felt was exhaustion. He was so sick of this, so sick of the way Angie drove him to extremes. He thought again about what Sara had said: Learn from your mistakes.
Angie Polaski was looking like the biggest mistake Will had ever made in his miserable life.
"Christ." She was still breathing hard. She rolled over on her side, slid her hand up under his shirt. Her hands were hot, sweaty against his skin. Angie said, "Whoever she is, tell her I said thanks."
He stared up at the ceiling, not trusting himself to look at her.
"I've been screwing you for twenty-three years, baby, and you've never fucked me like that before." Her fingers found the ridge at the bottom of his rib, the place where the skin puckered from a cigarette burn. "What's her name?"
Will still didn't answer.
Angie whispered, "Tell me her name."
Will's throat hurt when he tried to swallow. "Nobody."
She gave a deep, knowing laugh. "Is she a nurse or a cop?" She laughed again. "Hooker?"
Will didn't say anything. He tried to block Sara out of his mind, didn't want her in his thoughts right now because he knew what was coming. Will had scored one point, so Angie had to score ten.
He flinched as Angie found a sensitive nerve on his damaged skin.
She asked, "Is she normal?"
Normal. They had used that word in the children's home to describe people not like them—people with families, people with lives, people whose parents didn't beat them or pimp them out or treat them like trash.
Angie kept tracing the tip of her finger around the burn. "She know about your problem?"
Will tried to swallow again. His throat scratched. He felt sick.
"She know you're stupid?"
He felt trapped under her finger, the way it was pressing into the round scar where the burning cigarette had melted his flesh. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, she stopped, putting her mouth close to his ear, sliding her fingers up the sleeve of his shirt. She found the long scar running up his arm where the razor had opened his flesh.
"I remember the blood," she said. "The way your hand shook, the way the razor blade opened up your skin. Do you remember that?"
He closed his eyes, tears leaking out. Of course he remembered. If he thought about it hard enough, he could still feel the tip of the sharp metal scraping across his bone because he had known that he should send the razor deep—d
eep enough to open the vein, deep enough to make sure it was done right.
"Remember how I held you?" she asked, and he could feel her arms around him even though she wasn't holding him now. The way she had wrapped her whole body around him like a blanket. "There was so much blood."
It had dripped down her own arms, onto her legs, her feet.
She had held on to him so tight that he couldn't breathe, and he had loved her so much, because he knew she understood why he was doing it, why he had to stop the madness that was going on around him. Every scar on his body, every burn, every break—Angie knew about it the same way she knew everything about herself. Every secret Will had, Angie held somewhere deep inside her. She held on to it with her life.
She was his life.
He gulped, his mouth still spitless. "How long?"
She rested her hand on his stomach. She knew she had him back, knew it was just a matter of snapping her fingers. "How long what, baby?"
"How long do you want me to love you?"
She didn't answer him immediately, and he was about to ask the question again when she said, "Isn't that a country music song?"
He turned to look at her, searching her eyes for some sign of kindness that he had never seen before. "Just tell me how long so I can count the days, so I know when this is finally going to be over."
Angie traced her hand down the side of his face.
"Five years? Ten years?" His throat was closing, like someone had fed him glass. "Just tell me, Angie. How long until I can stop loving you?"
She leaned in, put her mouth to his ear again. "Never."
She pushed herself up from the floor, smoothing down her skirt, finding her shoes and underwear. Will lay there as she opened the door, then left without bothering to look back. He didn't blame her. Angie never looked back. She knew what was behind her, just like she always knew what was ahead.
Will didn't get up when he heard her shoes on the porch stairs or her car starting up in the driveway. He didn't get up when he heard Betty scratching at the dog door, which he'd forgotten to open for her. Will did not move for anything. He lay on the floor all night, until the sun coming in through the windows told him it was time to go back to work.
DAY FOUR