The biggest obstacle was Nesbitt’s lawyer. He was from Memminger, well-versed in the defense of scumbags. The lawyer would fight a line-up. He’d already refused to grant access to his client. He’d wrangled Nesbitt an extended stay in the Macon Hospital rather than in county lock-up. Worse, he’d filed a motion to dismiss based on a lack of probable cause to enter the house. If a judge bought his story, then Daryl Nesbitt would be allowed to go free.
Jeffrey and Lena were the only two people who could stop that from happening. Both of them had signed sworn statements under penalty of perjury. Both of them were willing to put their hand on a Bible and promise to tell the truth.
Both of them knew that everything they said would be a lie.
There was a doctrine in law called the fruit of the poisoned tree. Basically, if probable cause didn’t exist to enter a residence, then anything the police found once they stepped inside the residence could be deemed inadmissible in court.
Lena had definitely stepped inside the house without cause. It was perfectly legal to be inside your home with an erection. It was perfectly legal to refuse to speak to the police. You were even allowed to slam the door in their faces. The mistake Lena had made was grabbing Daryl’s arm. He’d pulled away. Instead of letting go, she had stepped inside the house. Then she had taken another step. Then the door had closed and all hell had broken loose.
The “I smelled weed on him” defense had collapsed in that moment.
Fortunately, Lena and Jeffrey had been able to arrive at an alternative set of events, where the thing that Frank had warned them would happen had actually happened: Daryl had grabbed Lena and closed the door.
It was worth the giant I told you so Frank kept hurling around. Matt and Hendricks were backing up the story. Jeffrey assumed they thought it was true. The men had been fifty feet away, crouched behind a Malibu. It was hard to tell at that distance who was pulling whom.
There were a lot of embarrassing details that were glossed over by the lie. Lena failing to announce that she was a police officer. Matt and Hendricks breaking formation. Brad running into the kitchen and firing off his shotgun. Frank collapsing on the other side of the shed. Lena losing her gun as she chased Daryl up the stairs. And, most crucially, Daryl flinging Lena across the bedroom like a rag doll. She’d banged her head against the desk. The laptop computer had been jostled awake.
Dumb luck, but still luck.
The child porn was the only reason Daryl Nesbitt was looking at a prison cell instead of stalking his next victim. There were a lot of bad things that could happen to a pedophile in prison. Grown men didn’t tend to land behind bars because they’d had happy childhoods. There was probably at least one inmate who would be more than willing to take care of the Daryl Nesbitt problem. Barring that, men like Nesbitt tended to find all kinds of ways to keep themselves inside once the walls started to close in around them.
Jeffrey stepped off the sidewalk, pretending like the strained muscles in his back hadn’t balled into a fist. He had finished the cough drop by the time he reached the Grant Medical Center. The parking lot was empty but for the Linton and Daughters Plumbing van. He opened the side door, hoping that Tessa would use the elevator.
This hope was crushed on the fourth step down. Jeffrey heard whistling. He looked over the railing, expecting to see the top of a strawberry blonde head.
Another crushing blow.
Eddie Linton looked up. He was smiling.
And then he saw Jeffrey.
Jeffrey was in no shape to run. Even a fast clip wouldn’t do the job. Sara’s father was remarkably fit for a man who spent most of his working life under a kitchen sink or shimmying through a crawl space.
Eddie stopped on the landing below Jeffrey. His work belt was low on his hips. Between his plumbing business and real estate investments, Eddie was probably one of the wealthier men in town, but he dressed like a homeless person. Torn T-shirts. Ripped jeans. His hair was seldom combed. His eyebrows corkscrewed like fusilli.
Jeffrey broke the ice. “Eddie.”
Eddie crossed his arms over his chest. “How’s the Colton place treating you?”
“Like a man who needs a plumber.”
Eddie grinned. “Get a metal bucket. Plastic absorbs the smell.”
Jeffrey had to admire the synchronicity. “How long is this going to last?”
“How long do you expect to live?”
Eddie was blocking the stairs. Jeffrey was not stupid enough to push past him and he was too proud to walk away.
Eddie said, “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to this situation we both find ourselves in.”
Jeffrey figured only one of them was in it by choice.
“My wife told me something profound when Sara was born. You know my wife?”
Jeffrey gave him a look. “I believe she goes to my church.”
“Yeah, well, she’s a pretty smart lady. I remember something she told me when Sara was born. We were in the maternity ward. I was holding this beautiful little red-headed girl in my arms, and my wife—Cathy, that’s her name—told me that I’d better stay on the straight and narrow, because girls tend to marry men who are like their fathers.” He gave a wistful smile. “Right there in that hospital, I vowed to be kind and respectful to my baby girl. To listen to her and trust her and to make it clear that she should only expect the best.”
Jeffrey said, “I know there’s a point in there somewhere.”
“The point is, I wasted my time.” He shrugged. “I should’ve ignored her so she’d know how to deal with men who treat her like shit.”
Eddie grabbed the railing and pulled himself up the stairs. His shoulder bumped
