Mr. Thompson said youre watching out for that sweet little girl, Kristy. Is that true?
Kristen dragged her gaze from the newspaper clipping. Why would Mr. Thompson bring this to you?
He said it would be good for my recovery to know that you were doing so well, Molly answered. And you know, I think it is. I feel so much better now, knowing that I have a chance to start over again.
Kristen narrowed her eyes, not following her mothers logic. Start over again how?
With the little girl, of course, Molly said. Her tone of voice sounded calm and reasoned, though the light shining in her blue eyes was sheer madness. Now that youre taking care of the little girl, you can bring her to see me.
Kristen stared at her in horror, realizing what her mother was suggesting. No-
I could help you take care of her. I could teach you how to be a mother. I miss my own sweet babies so.
Kristen stared at her in horror, realizing what her mother was suggesting. No-
I could help you take care of her. I could teach you how to be a mother. I miss my own sweet babies so.
The guard made a low, groaning sound deep in his chest. Kristen looked up to find his face contorted with sheer horror.
Her own stomach had twisted into a painful knot, bile rising to the back of her throat. She pushed out of her chair, throwing a pleading look at the guard.
Outside to the right, third door on the left.
She bolted down the hall to the restroom, barely making it inside one of the stalls before she threw up.
She wasnt sure how long she remained in the bathroom stall, gripping the side of the toilet as she waited out the last of the dry heaves. Apparently it was long enough for the guard to have returned her mother to her room and contacted Dr. Sowell, for a few minutes later there was a knock on the door, and Dr. Sowells concerned voice sounded through the heavy wood.
Are you all right, Detective Tandy?
She pushed herself up and flushed the toilet. Im okay, she called hoarsely, staggering slightly as she went to the sink to wash her hands and face. The woman staring back at her in the mirror looked like a war survivor, pale and haunted.
When she emerged from the restroom, the psychiatrist was waiting for her outside, his expression full of concern. Hastings told me what happened. Im sorry. I had no idea shed ambush you that way.
Kristen shook her head. I knew seeing her would be difficult after all this time. Im fine.
Is there someone I could call for you?
No, Im okay. I just-I need to get out of here.
He walked her out to her car. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo print. You almost forgot this.
It was the photograph of the mysterious Bryant Thompson, sitting in the interview room with Kristens mother. Kristen had left it on Dr. Sowells desk, planning to return there before she left the facility.
She put it in her coat pocket with the clipping shed taken from her mother. Thank you. Let me know if my mother receives any other visits from this Bryant Thompson character.
I will.
She settled behind the steering wheel of the Impala, breathing deeply to calm her still-ragged nerves. Her mouth tasted bitter; she dug in the glove compartment for a pack of breath mints she kept there and popped one in her mouth. As she started the car, she pulled the newspaper clipping from her pocket. Earlier, shed noticed something bleeding through the back of the clipping. She turned it over now and found a ten-digit phone number written in black ink.
Her own cell phone number.
She rubbed her burning eyes, her mind spinning in a million different directions. Who was this man who called himself Bryant Thompson? What did he want from her mother?
And how the hell had he gotten her cell phone number?
SAM HAD JUST PUT MADDY to bed around eight-thirty that evening when he heard a knock on the guesthouse door. He finished tucking her in and dropped a kiss on her cheek. Sleep tight, Maddycakes.
Already drowsing, she made a soft murmuring noise and rolled onto her side.
He went to the front door, opening it a crack to find Kristen Tandy on his doorstep, looking pale and tense.
Whats wrong? he asked, letting her in. Why didnt you just let yourself in with the key?
She made an attempt to straighten her face. Forgot I had a key. She sat on the sofa hunched forward, her elbows resting on her knees as if she was winded.
He sat beside her, alarmed by the obvious distress she was trying to hide. I talked to Detective Foley a couple of hours ago. He said Morris hasnt confessed to the attack yet.
He still looks good for it, she said, but he sensed a little hesitation underlying her words.
But?
She shook her head. I dont know. Its-its stupid. Every perp nabbed red-handed tries out the same lame excuse-I didnt really do it. You have the wrong guy.
Foley said he admitted most of it.
He admitted delivering the envelope. He admitted taking the photos. But he said someone paid him for them, and he didnt know what they were for. He also swears he didnt write the threatening note on the back of the photo.
Do you believe him?
She paused, the furrow in her brow deepening. Morris admits holding you responsible for dropping the charges against the man who hit his sons motorcycle. He cops to the taking the pictures. But were supposed to believe someone else asked him to take them and deliver them to you? Its crazy. Her voice firmed up. Its unbelievable. Hes got to be the guy.
So its over? Sam was afraid to believe.
I think so, she said after a pause.
Whos booking him? Chickasaw County or Jefferson?
All anyone can book him on at the moment is the threatening note to you. That happened in Birmingham, so Jefferson Countys going to file the charges for now. But were still trying to tie him to the attack on Maddy and Cissy.
They wont let me near the case. He smiled wryly. Youll probably have to give me all the updates.
She slanted a look at him, her expression almost pained.
Okay, thats it, he said. Whats wrong?
She looked away. Nothing.
Its not nothing.
She pushed to her feet. Its been a long day and I could use a shower and some sleep. Lets table this until morning.
He stood, closing his hand around her upper arm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark with pain.
He eased his grip on her arm. Youre scaring me.
She looked away. Its nothing to do with Maddy or this case. Its personal.
He moved his hand slowly up her arm, over her shoulder, finally settling his fingers gently against the soft curve of her cheek. He lifted his other hand to cradle her face between his palms, forcing her to look at him. Her lips trembled as she visibly fought for control.
Tell me what happened, he said in a quiet but firm voice.
She closed her eyes. Sam, please. Just let it go, okay?
He let go with reluctance, stepping back. She opened her eyes, gave him a halfhearted smile and went down the hall to the bathroom, leaving him to lock up for the night.
He checked the doors and windows, tiptoeing into Maddys room to double-check the window by her bed. Outside, the moon had risen high in the cloudless sky, surrounded by a million stars. Hed forgotten, living in D.C., what the night sky looked like when there werent a lot of city lights around to pollute the view.
He heard the shower kick on down the hall, and he left Maddys room quietly, his mind returning to the disturbing encounter with Kristen. What had set her on edge that way? Knowing what he did of her past, he imagined it would take something pretty terrible to shake Kristen Tandys control.
He suddenly remembered her shaken reaction to the phone call she received the day before. What had he heard her say to the caller?
Tell her no.
Tell whom no? Had to be her mother, didnt it? Who else could send Kristen into such an emotional tailspin?
Its none of your business, Cooper.
The case was nearly over. Morris was in jail, waiting for arraignment. With any luck, the judge would deny bail and Sam and Maddy could go back to a normal life, while Kristen Tandy went on to whatever case came her way next. It was better for everyone that way, he told himself.
But he knew letting Kristen walk away wasnt going to be anywhere near that simple or easy.
A hot metallic odor permeated the air as Kristen bent over the trash can in the kitchen and tried to throw up, though her stomach was empty after a long nights sleep. She welcomed the pain of the dry heaves, needing something to crowd out the pictures imprinted on her brain.
Blood everywhere, smeared on the walls and floor, spread over the bedsheets and the pajamas and nightgowns of her younger brothers and sisters-the images burned into her brain. Kristen had found Tammy first, her nine-year-old sisters small body stretched out on the floor in the hall outside Kristens bedroom, half blocking the door. Shed crouched by her sister, her mind rebelling against what she was seeing, only to realize there was more blood. A lot more blood.
Four bodies. Julie. Tammy. David. Kevin. All beyond help. And her mother was nowhere to be found.
The dry heaves ended and she slithered to the floor, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. She tried to think. What should she do? Who should she call now?
Kristy? Mamas voice was soft and bewildered.
Kristen looked up. Mama stood in the kitchen doorway, still in her pale blue nightgown. Blood painted a grotesque abstract pattern across the nylon fabric. She held a large chefs knife at her side. Blood dripped from the blade to the linoleum in slow, steady drops.
Kristens heart slammed into her rib cage.
Mama walked past her to the sink. She laid the knife on the counter and reached for the paper towels hanging on the wall by the stove. On one of the eyes, a pot of oatmeal was boiling over, making a mess on the stovetop.
Mama wet a couple of paper towels under the tap and wiped up the overflow. Pulling open the utensil drawer, she pulled out a steel serving spatula, shaped like a diamond with a fleur-de-lis cutout in the middle, and started stirring the oatmeal.
Kristen stared at the spatula, her overloaded brain latching on to that one small incongruity. Why would Mama use a cake spatula to stir oatmeal? That was crazy.