“Miss Beckey,” Lashanda said. “Look here. Your daddy has some visitors.”
Beckey Caterino’s wheelchair was facing a set of large windows overlooking the backyard. There was a garden with flowers and concrete yard animals and a fountain that had clearly been created for her enjoyment. Faith saw a ruby-throated hummingbird at the feeder.
“Beckey?” Lashanda repeated.
The girl’s hands worked as she turned the chair. She had a hairbrush in her lap. Her housedress was pink. Her pastel blue socks were covered in pink bunny rabbits.
“Hell-o.” Beckey smiled with half of her mouth. One eye focused on Faith. The other appeared vacant. Faith recognized the facial paralysis from her grandmother, who’d had a series of strokes before she’d died. This young woman was a few decades too soon for that.
“Let me get this for you.” Lashanda wiped Beckey’s mouth with a tissue. Faith saw a faded T-shaped scar that crossed her throat and ran down her sternum. “This is Ms. Mitchell and Mr. Trent.”
“Nice to—” Beckey swallowed before she could push out the rest of the sentence. “Meet you.”
“You, too, Beckey.” Faith tried to keep her tone level, because her inclination was to talk to this grown woman like she was a child. There was something so innocent about her. She was very thin. Her movements were awkward as she picked up the brush with both hands. She’d clearly just had a shower. Her hair was damp. She was wearing what looked like fresh clothes.
Heath climbed into his sister’s lap. He leaned his head against her chest. Faith remembered how sweet Jeremy had been at that age. Her adorable little boy had been on the precipice of transforming into the Marquis de Sade of why?
“Here.” Beckey held out the brush to Lashanda, “Braid.”
“Sweet girl, you know I don’t know how to do that.” Lashanda told Faith, “She wants her hair braided like Elsa. I watched a YouTube video but it did not go well.”
Will cleared his throat. He asked Beckey, “I can do it if you want?”
She smiled, offering him the brush.
“Mind if I turn your chair?”
She nodded, her smile brightening.
Will turned Beckey so that she was facing back into the room. Coincidentally, this also gave him a better view of the loft area. He gently brushed out her long hair. Heath was watching, so he explained, “You start with three separate strands.”
Will made quick work of the braid. Faith realized that Sara wore her hair the same way on the weekends. There was an alternate Faith who could’ve ended up with Will if she hadn’t been perpetually drawn to feckless, fertile jackasses. All she could hope for now was a man who remembered to drink water.
“Hold on,” Lashanda said. “Let me get something to tie that off with.”
Will pinched the end of the braid while she searched the desk. He winked at Heath.
“Up here.” Gerald’s head peered over the balcony. “I’m ready for you. Don’t let anyone else follow you.”
He disappeared again.
Will passed the ends of the braid to Lashanda, who answered his questioning look with a shrug of her shoulders.
“That’s just Gerald,” she said. “He’s got his own way of doing things.”
Will did not let Faith go up the stairs ahead of him. He waited until they were on the landing to adjust his jacket. He kept his Glock in a side holster. Because Faith had assumed she would be working in a prison all day, she had put her revolver inside a Crown Royal bag inside of her purse. In the interest of being overly cautious, she unzipped her purse. She made sure the string was loose around the top of the bag.
She was reminded of her patrol days. Traffic tickets. Grand theft. Domestic violence. They had all been routine until they weren’t because people were people and you never knew what they were really thinking until they showed you.
Will had spotted another camera mounted at the top of the stairs. Faith’s paranoia ramped up again. Gerald could be watching their approach. He hated cops. He was nursing a grudge. He had thus far proven to be unpredictable.
They took a left down the hallway. Will stopped. He knelt down on the floor. He picked up a tuft of pink fuzz. Insulation. He pointed up at the ceiling. The attic stairs had recently been pulled down.
He told Faith, “I’m not liking any of this.”
Faith didn’t like it, either. She called out, “Mr. Caterino?”
“In the bedroom,” Gerald said. “Make sure you’re alone.”
His voice had come from the opposite side of the loft, down what felt like a two-hundred-yard-long hallway.
He’d run off twice already. He had a gun downstairs. He probably had one upstairs. He had recently been in the attic. He kept telling them to come alone.
Faith followed Will toward the bedroom. Both of their heads swiveled with each door they passed. Hall bathroom. Laundry room. Heath had decorated his walls with dinosaurs and Toy Story characters. Beckey’s space was filled with medical equipment, a hospital bed and a transfer hoist. The spare bedroom opposite must have been for the night nurse. Faith wondered how much money all of this cost. Beckey would’ve qualified for disability, but that was like saying a sucking chest wound qualified for an ACE bandage.
They had reached the loft. Toys were scattered around a television. Faith recognized the game console as a newer version of the one she had at home. To get to the last stretch of hallway, she had to step over a plastic cord cover that was approximately the size of a speed bump. There were no cords inside. The barrier was meant to stop Beckey’s chair.
“Fuck,” Will muttered.
Faith looked past him into the bedroom. No lights were on. The windows were blocked by Ikea-looking cubicles packed with folded clothes. Slashes of sunlight
