He also had to concede that they hadn’t driven to Macon for a therapy session. They were trying to get information from Lena, and Will of all people knew how difficult that was going to be.
He told Faith, “She’s changeable.”
“Like a demon?”
“Like a person you trust until you don’t trust them,” Will said. “You’re talking to her, and what she’s saying makes sense, but then, suddenly, without you seeing why or when it happened, she’s angry or she’s hurt or she’s paranoid and you’re dealing with an angry, hurt, paranoid person.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“The hard part is, sometimes she can be a really good cop.” He caught Faith’s snort of disbelief. “She has the instinct. She knows how to talk to people. She doesn’t cheat all of the time. Just some of the time.”
“Being a little corrupt is like being a little pregnant,” Faith said. “What I really want to get my hands on is Lena’s notebooks. This was one of her first big cases. Amanda’s right—when you’re just starting out, you write down every fart in the wind. That’s where Lena would’ve made her mistakes. We can hang her with her own words.”
Will knew she was right. Those first few years on the job, your spiral-bound notebook felt like a diary. Your boss didn’t check it over. It wasn’t an official, sworn report. It wasn’t a statement of fact. It was where you put down stray thoughts and niggling details that you wanted to follow up on. And then a defense attorney subpoenaed it and a judge agreed and the next thing you knew, you were sweating it out on the witness stand trying to explain that DQ was where you’d gone to lunch, not the initials of an alternate suspect who could be the real murderer.
Will said, “Lena’s cunning. The second we ask for her notebooks, she’s going to know we’re trying to jam her up. And she’s had plenty of time to think about it. Tons of people saw us at the station. There’s no way she didn’t get a call that the GBI asked for her location.”
“Cops are such bitchy little gossips,” Faith complained. “But we didn’t tell anybody which case we’re looking into. Lena’s probably got a lot of cases she’s worried about. Her luck is going to run out eventually, and I’m going to be there with the handcuffs.”
Will was surprised by her vehemence. “When did you get such a hard-on for her?”
“She’s thirty-two years old. She’s got fifteen years of policing under her belt. She doesn’t get the benefit of the doubt anymore. Plus,” Faith held up her finger, as if to signify this was the important part, “I’m Sara’s friend. The enemy of my friend is my nemesis.”
“I don’t think that’s what Churchill said.”
“He was only fighting Nazis. We’re talking about Lena Adams here.”
Will let the comparison slide. And he did not admit that Faith’s diatribe was reinforcing her earlier point. The more she attacked Lena, the more Will wanted to make excuses for her. His fatal flaw was that he could understand why she did the horrible things she did. None of Lena’s mistakes were committed out of malice. She honestly thought she was doing the right thing.
Which brought to mind one of the most important lessons Amanda had ever taught Will: the most dangerous cop on any investigation was the one who always thought he was right.
Faith said, “I think you should tell Sara about Daryl Nesbitt.”
Will’s head swiveled like a gun turret.
Faith shrugged. “You’re right. We shouldn’t keep this from her. She deserves to know.”
Will debated whether or not to confess. “You seemed really sure of yourself back at the prison. You actually said you agreed with Amanda.”
“Yeah, well, I talk a lot of shit for somebody who can’t stay awake past nine thirty.” Her phone dinged again. And again. And again. She opened the text. “Amanda. Still no word on Nesbitt’s correspondences, so no joy on the friend who sent him the newspaper articles. Sara just started the preliminary exam on Alexandra McAllister. Amanda wants us to keep her updated on Lena. Gee, Mandy, thanks for the reminder. It never occurred to me to tell you what happens.”
Will heard the pecks as she typed out what he assumed was a more measured response.
Faith said, “Seriously, you should tell Sara. We need to stop for gas anyway. I’ll wait inside the store to give you privacy.”
Will stared at the road ahead. He knew Faith wasn’t going to drop the subject. “I already told her.”
Faith slowly pressed the corner of her phone to her forehead. Her eyes squeezed closed. “Are you shitting me?”
“I called her from the bathroom before we left.”
“Thanks a fucking lot, Will. She’s going to be pissed at me. Which—” Faith sighed. “Okay, yeah, I can see what you’re thinking. She was going to be pissed at you, and you’re her boyfriend, so you should’ve told her, which you did, and I’m her friend so it’s on me for not telling her, but, good God, this healthy relationship stuff is hard. I don’t know how you do it.”
Will wasn’t sure he was doing anything.
“I’m apologizing to her right now.” Faith talked while she typed into her phone. “It would help me a lot if you told her that I said to tell her before I knew you had told her.”
“It’s the truth.”
“We’re not okay with Nick roughing up Nesbitt, right?”
Will grappled with the abrupt change of topic. He had almost forgotten about Nick’s outburst. Will was a big proponent of the menacing threat, but putting your hands on a suspect was crossing the line. “No, we’re not okay with it.”
“It sucks, because we have to back up Nick so he’ll back us up if we ever need it—not that we’d ever do something like that, but, for fucksakes, it’s just another
