“Dead is dead,” Faith said. “Take the win.”
None of this was a win. Everyone had lost.
Except for Lena Adams. Nothing they had found would contradict Lena’s testimony detailing how the child porn was found on Nesbitt’s laptop. Yet again, she had managed to walk away unscathed.
Only this time, she was walking away with a baby in her arms.
Sara didn’t need another thing to be outraged about. She changed the subject, asking Faith, “How is Gina Vogel doing?”
“Maybe okay? She said something about moving to Beijing, then she said she could never leave Atlanta.” Faith shrugged. “One minute she’s crying, the next minute she’s laughing, then it’s back to crying again. I think she’s going to get through this, but what do I know?”
Sara didn’t know, either. She had somehow found her way back. She didn’t know how or why. Some people just got lucky.
“Daryl Nesbitt’s in the hospital. His leg is septic.” Faith didn’t seem bothered by the man’s condition. “The doctors are saying it’s not looking good. They’re going to have to take more of his leg.”
Sara knew that this would be the beginning of the end for Daryl Nesbitt. The intellectual part of her wanted to rail against the unusually cruel system, but the baser part of her nature was glad that Daryl would be gone. Losing Jeffrey had taught her that sometimes justice needed a nudge.
She asked Faith, “What about Nesbitt’s offer to trade intel on the illegal phones being smuggled into the prison?”
“Now that he knows he’s not getting the pedophile charge off his sheet, he doesn’t give a shit about the phones.”
“Con’s gonna con,” Sara said, anticipating Faith’s views on the matter.
“At least Gerald Caterino got something out of it.” She shrugged. “He won’t let us test Heath’s DNA against Brock’s. But last I heard, the kid’s been enrolled in elementary school. That’s something, right?”
“It’s something.” Sara wondered if Caterino was trying to maintain plausible deniability. One day, Heath would ask about the circumstances of his birth. It was easier to lie if you never looked for the truth.
She told Faith, “I heard Miranda Newberry copped a plea.”
“She’ll be out in eighteen months.” Faith sounded bitterly disappointed. Gerald Caterino was not Miranda’s only victim. She had bilked dozens of grieving parents and spouses out of tens of thousands of dollars.
Sara said, “She did some solid detective work. Almost every name on that spreadsheet checked out.”
“If she wanted to be a detective, she should’ve gone to the police academy or gotten her PI license.” Faith had paid her dues. She had very little tolerance for people who didn’t. “You know what they say. ‘When you do clownery, the clown comes back to bite.’”
“Jane Austen?”
“Mo’Nique.” Faith pushed herself out of the chair. “I’m out of here, friend. Please stop looking at that video.”
Sara forced a smile onto her lips until Faith was gone.
She opened her laptop. She played the video again.
Brock laid the white ribbon across the green binders.
Sara had no idea why she so clearly remembered losing the hair tie. The fight with Tessa had been one of many. Sara’s hair had always been long. Over the years, she had lost hundreds of ties and bands. She’d had no idea that Brock had stolen this particular ribbon. And she had been so certain when she walked into Brock’s office inside the AllCare warehouse that he would not hurt her.
Now, she wondered.
Her cell phone chimed. Will had sent a car emoji. She texted back a running woman and a man behind a desk, letting him know that she would meet him in his office.
Sara stuck her laptop into her briefcase. The brown paper bag inside the outer pocket crumpled. She had to take out everything and readjust it. She found her purse on the couch. She checked to make sure she had her keys and locked her office door.
She dialed Tessa’s phone number as she walked down the stairs.
Tessa answered, “What’s up, Swimfan?”
Sara indulged her with a laugh. Her little sister was never going to let her forget the night Sara had spent chasing Will around town like a crazy person. “I was thinking about something.”
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
Sara rolled her eyes. She pushed open the door to the morgue. “When I got hurt in Atlanta, I went back home. And then when I got hurt at home, I went back to Atlanta.”
Tessa gave a dramatic sigh. “I’ve forgotten how to extrapolate.”
“You were hurt, and now you’re home, and I need to support that.”
“Took you long enough.”
“Thank you for your graciousness.” Sara turned off the lights in the hall. “I called around and got a couple of recommendations for some really good midwives. They’re always looking for apprentices. I’ll email you the details when I get home.”
Tessa’s huffing sound signified she would not be that easily placated. “How are things with Will?”
Sara glanced behind her. She could see the tiny office in the back of the morgue where she’d rubbed lotion into Will’s skin. “You were right. I fixed it with a hand job.”
“Well done.” Tessa said. “I’m still mad at you.”
Sara looked at her phone. Tessa had hung up on her again.
She channeled her inner potty mouth as she walked toward the main building. She loved her little sister, but she was such a little sister.
Sara climbed another set of stairs, because her life at the GBI was a never-ending stack of Legos. She shifted her briefcase, adjusted her purse. She felt a passing nervousness at the thought of seeing Will. He had been so patient with her since Brock’s suicide. Sara’s tossing and turning was keeping him awake at night. He wouldn’t let her sleep on the couch. Will had spent his childhood dealing with trauma. He knew that sometimes, all you could do was listen.
The hallway was dark when Sara opened the door. Amanda and Faith had already left for the day. Only Will’s office light cut a white triangle across the hall carpet. Sara could hear Bruce Springsteen playing on his
