Considering what had happened to Tommi, it made sense that she would keep a low profile.
Sara ran through the same searches with Delilah Humphrey and Adam Humphrey.
The Grant Observer returned one relevant item: Four years ago, Adam Humphrey had been crushed to death when the car he was working on slipped from the jack. He was listed as survived by his wife and daughter. His viewing had been scheduled at the Brock Family Funeral Home. Donations to Planned Parenthood were encouraged in lieu of flowers.
Sara studied the photograph of a round-faced, smiling man. She had met Adam Humphrey twice. The first time, the father was bundling his broken child into the back of his van to drive her to Atlanta. The last time was that awful day in the Humphreys’ back yard. Adam had threatened a police officer with violence in order to protect his daughter.
Sara closed the browser. She considered her options. She could honestly tell Amanda that she had made a good-faith effort, but they would both know that wasn’t technically the truth.
There was a better resource than the internet for Grant County connections. Sara’s mother had gone to church with the Humphreys. If Cathy didn’t know where they were, she would know someone who knew someone. But her mother would ask Sara how she was doing. Sara could lie, but Cathy would hear that something was wrong in her voice. Then there would be a discussion, possibly an argument, because Cathy was not a fan of Will’s and Sara was in such a mood right now that she would scratch out the eyes of anyone who dared say anything against him.
Marla Simms from the police station would be a good fallback, but Sara was loath to do anything else that put her in close proximity to memories of Jeffrey. It was hard to move forward when you kept looking back over your shoulder.
Sara ended up with her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands.
Last night came back to her like a tidal wave crashing against the shore. She still felt punch-drunk from lack of sleep. No amount of make-up could hide the swelling in her eyes. Will had smiled at her as he’d left the briefing room, but Sara knew what a real smile looked like on his handsome face and the one he had given her was not that smile. She hated this feeling of distance between them. Her body ached like she was coming down with the flu.
Her phone beeped. Sara scrambled to see if Will had texted. He had not. Amanda sent another series of quick-fire missives:
Lab lost Truong lab results.
Nick can’t locate copies.
Get originals from Brock ASAP.
Call ASAP when you speak to Humphrey.
Amanda was a fan of the ASAPs.
Instead of texting back, Sara opened the Find My app, because it wasn’t stalking if you truly loved the person.
Will’s last location was still showing him at Lena’s address.
Sara dropped the phone back on her desk.
Last night, she had been annoyed when she’d realized that Will’s phone was turned off. That it was still off this morning felt devastating. She was desperate to see his pin moving on the map. Her brain told her he was probably still inside the building. He would’ve stopped by the vending machine for a sticky bun before going to Faith’s office. Sara had forgotten to put a Band-Aid on his hand. The damn thing was still bleeding. Too much time had passed for sutures. She should write a script for antibiotics. She should find him right now and—
And what?
Sara was seized by the desire to leave before she did something incredibly stupid. Which, considering what she had done the night before, was a very low bar. She grabbed her purse on the way out of her office. She responded to Amanda’s texts as she walked toward the parking lot.
Going to see Brock in person. Still searching for Humphrey’s contact info. When I get updates, will notify you ASAP.
The first part of the text was easy. Brock had moved to Atlanta when his mother had needed more care than he could give her. He’d sold the family business and used the proceeds to put her in one of the best assisted-living homes in the state. Brock’s work was a twenty-minute drive south from GBI headquarters. Sara caught up with him a couple of times a year for lunch or dinner. He would be eager to help, especially when he found out which cases she was working on.
The Tommi part of the text filled Sara with apprehension. She was still incredibly conflicted about reaching out to the girl.
Girl.
Tommi Humphrey would be thirty years old now, nearly a decade out from the brutal rape that had almost taken her life. Sara wanted to imagine Tommi as healed, possibly married, maybe adopting a child or perhaps, if fate worked in her favor, of being able to give birth to a child on her own.
The prospect of finding out that none of these things was true felt overwhelming. Especially the last piece. Sara’s own rape had robbed her of the ability to carry a child. She did not want to look at Tommi Humphrey and see her own unspeakable loss reflected back at her.
Sara looked up at the sky. Rain was in the forecast, which felt about right. She let out a long breath when she saw Will’s car parked in his usual space beside her own. She touched the hood as she walked by. She climbed behind the wheel of her Porsche Cayenne. Her BMW X5 had been totaled a few months ago. She had bought the Porsche because Will loved Porsches, the same way she had bought a Z4 to piss off Jeffrey.
It seemed Sara’s feminism came to
