“Investigating?” He laughed, disbelieving. “Do you know how much money I’ve wasted on private investigators? Plane tickets and train tickets and hotel rooms to talk to other parents? Criminal psychologists and retired police officers and even a damn psychic, all because you self-serving, lazy-ass scumbags can’t do your jobs right in the first place.”
Faith wasn’t going to give him an opening to launch a screed against the police. “I’m sure you’re aware that Alexandra McAllister’s body was found yesterday morning in the woods.”
He defensively shrugged a shoulder. “News said it was accidental.”
Faith waited for Will’s silent okay before saying, “We haven’t released this information yet, but McAllister’s death has been ruled a homicide.”
Caterino’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He wasn’t used to hearing things that he wanted to hear. “Why?”
“The medical examiner found a puncture wound in the back of her neck.”
Caterino stood up slowly. His mouth opened, but he offered no words. He looked stunned, disbelieving, confused.
Faith said, “Mr. Caterino?”
“Was it—” He covered his mouth with his hand. Beads of sweat dotted his bald head. “Was the puncture at C5?”
Will said, “Yes.”
Without another word, Gerald Caterino ran into the house.
Faith watched him jog down a long hallway. Then he turned right.
Then he was gone.
Will said, “Huh.”
Faith mentally ran through the conversation. “He warned us not to give him hope.”
“Then we gave him hope.”
She felt an unwelcome shiver down her spine. She told herself Caterino had urgently needed the bathroom. Then she told herself he was going to get a gun. The website rants and doctored photos were still fucking with her. A lot of people talked about killing the police. There were even songs about it. Only a very small number were willing to act on the threat. Telling the difference between the two was easy. The first group did nothing. The second group pointed a gun at your head and pulled the trigger.
Faith looked at Will to check her crazy.
He asked, “Homicide or suicide?”
So, crazy confirmed. “Heath is in the house. Probably Beckey, too.”
“I’m with you.”
Faith walked into the house. The kitchen was filled with light. And very familiar. She could see child locks on all the cabinets and drawers. The outlets were covered. The hard edges had foam padding. At six, Heath was too old for babyproofing measures. This must have been for Caterino’s twenty-seven-year-old daughter, Beckey.
Faith turned to find Will. He was looking at a security camera mounted on the shelf between stacks of cookbooks. He raised up on his toes to see the tops of the cabinets. He made a hand gesture, thumb cocked, finger extended, to indicate a gun.
“Hey there, y’all.” A woman wearing a nurse’s uniform came into the kitchen. An empty sippy cup swung from her hand. “Are you visiting Gerald? That fool just ran up the stairs.”
Faith felt her anxiety ease down a notch. Another person. A witness. She did the proper introductions, showing her ID. The woman didn’t seem puzzled or alarmed to find two special agents in the kitchen.
“I’m Lashanda.” She rinsed the cup at the sink. “I look after Beckey during the day.”
Faith figured she should take advantage of the opportunity. “How’s she doing?”
“Today is good.” Lashanda smiled brightly. “She struggles with depression. That’s the brain injury. Sometimes she acts out. But today is a good day.”
Heath skipped into the room before Faith could ask what a bad day looked like. He grinned like a jack-o’-lantern.
“Here!” Heath showed Will a drawing that was a very impressive tyrannosaur for a six-year-old.
Will studied the artwork. “This is incredible, buddy. Did you do this all by yourself?”
Heath turned shy, hiding behind Lashanda’s leg.
“He’s adorable,” Faith told the woman. “How old is he?”
“Six, but he’ll be seven in two months. Sweet lamb is a Christmas baby.”
“You are a big boy for six years old.” Faith leaned down to Heath’s level. “I bet you know how to add. What’s two plus two?”
“Four!” Heath’s grin was back. One of his permanent front teeth was growing in crookedly.
She asked, “Which hand do you write with?”
“Right!” He shook his right hand in the air.
“Did you tie your own shoes today?”
“Yes!” He threw his arms up like Superman. “And I made my bed, and I brushed my teeth, even the loose one, and I—”
“All right, little man, they don’t want to hear about every part of your day.” Lashanda ruffled his hair. “Why don’t y’all come through to the den? There’s no telling how long Gerald will be gone.”
Faith was happy to follow her through. She was still very uneasy about Caterino’s abrupt disappearance. Without the deranged online stuff, she would’ve called him strange. But then there was the deranged online stuff.
“Through here.” Lashanda took them down the long hallway. They passed the formal dining room. Textbooks were spread across the table.
Faith asked, “Homework?”
“Heath’s homeschooled. His teacher just left.”
Faith knew that there were plenty of good, legitimate reasons to homeschool a kid, but during the course of her career, she had only ever dealt with the whackjobs who wanted to keep their children out of public schools for fear that they would be taught controversial topics, like that incest was wrong and slavery was bad.
There were no giant swastikas on the walls. She saw framed prints and photographs of Beckey at various stages of life. Faith recognized the typical school photos with apples and stacks of books and spinning globes. Beckey had been a runner. In one picture, she stood with a group of girls in track uniforms. In another, she broke through the tape at the finish line.
The photos ended abruptly after high school. Faith realized there were no pictures of Heath, not even snapshots. Gerald had mentioned him in his website bio, but there were no images online, either.
She glanced up as they walked into the den. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high. A balcony bowed out from the loft space on the second floor. An elevator had been retrofitted to provide access to both levels.
Faith checked her
