'Wonder what Daddy's gonna call it?' Sara teased, slapping her back. When his daughters were teenagers, Eddie had taken great delight in drawing attention to their facial blemishes. Sara still felt a flush of shame when she remembered the time her father had introduced her to one of his friends as his oldest daughter Sara, and Bobo, her new pimple.
Tessa was phrasing a response when the phone rang. She picked it up on the first ring.
Two seconds passed before Tessa hissed a curse and yelled, 'I got it, Dad,' as Eddie obviously picked up the extension upstairs.
Sara smiled, thinking this could have been any Sunday from the last twenty years. All that was missing was their father walking in, making some silly comment about how happy he was to see all three of his girls barefoot and in the kitchen.
Tessa said, 'Hold on,' then put her hand over the mouth of the receiver. She turned to Sara. 'Are you here?'
'Who is it?' Sara asked, but she could guess the answer.
'Who do you think?' Tessa snapped. She did not wait for a response. Instead, she said into the phone, 'Hold on, Jeffrey. Here she is.'
Chapter Six
Ben Walker, Grant County 's chief of police before Jeffrey, had kept his office just off the briefing room in the back of the station. Every day, Ben had settled himself behind the large desk that almost filled the entire room, and anyone who wanted to talk to him had to sit on the other side of this mammoth hunk of wood, their knees grazing the desk, their backs firm to the wall. In the mornings, the men-and they were all men then-on the senior squad were called in to hear their assignments for the day, then they left and the chief shut his door. Nobody saw him again until quitting time, when Ben got in his car and drove two blocks up the street to the diner where he ate his supper.
The first thing Jeffrey did when he took over the station was throw out Ben's desk. The oak monstrosity had to be disassembled to get it through the door. Jeffrey made Ben's old office the storage room, and took the small office at the front of the squad room as his own. One quiet weekend, Jeffrey installed a picture window so he could look out on the squad and, more important, so they could see him. There were blinds on the window, but he seldom closed them. Jeffrey made a point of leaving his office door open whenever possible.
He stared out at the empty squad room, wondering what his people would make of Jenny Weaver's shooting. Jeffrey felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for what he had done, even though his mind kept telling him he had not been given a choice. Every time he thought about it Jeffrey felt like he couldn't breathe right, like not enough air was getting to his lungs. He could not let go of the obvious questions in his mind: Had he made the right decision? Would Jenny have really killed that kid in cold blood? Sara seemed to think so. Last night, she had said something about having two dead teenagers today instead of one if Jeffrey had not stopped the girl. Of course, Sara had said a lot of other things last night that had not exactly been a comfort.
Jeffrey pressed his hands together in front of his face, leaning his head against his thumbs as he thought about Sara. Sometimes, she could be too analytical for her own good. One of the sexiest things about Sara was her mouth. Too bad she didn't know when to shut up and use it for something more helpful to Jeffrey than talking.
'Chief?' Frank Wallace knocked on the door.
'Come in,' Jeffrey answered.
'Hot outside,' Frank said, as if to explain why he wasn't wearing a tie. He was dressed in a dark black suit that had a cheap shine to it. The top button of his dress shirt was undone, and Jeffrey could see his yellowed white undershirt underneath. As usual, Frank reeked of cigarette smoke. He had probably been outside, smoking by the back door, giving Jeffrey some time before he came in for their meeting. Why anyone would voluntarily hold a burning cigarette in this kind of heat, Jeffrey would never know.
Frank could have had Ben Walker's job if he had asked. Of course, the old cop was too smart for that. Frank had worked in Grant County his entire career, and he had seen the way the cities were changing. Once, Frank had told Jeffrey that being chief of police was a young man's job, but Jeffrey had thought then as he did now that what Frank meant was it was a foolish man's job. During Jeffrey's first year in Grant, he had figured out that no one in his right mind would sign up for this kind of pressure. By then, it had been too late. He had already met Sara.
'Busy weekend,' Frank said, handing Jeffrey a weekend status report. The file was thicker than usual.
'Yeah.' Jeffrey indicated a chair for the man to sit down.
'Alleged break-in at the cleaners. Maria told you about that one? Then there's a couple or three DUIs, usual shit at the college, drunk and disorderly. Couple of domestic situations, no charges filed.'
Jeffrey listened half-heartedly as Frank ran down the list. It was long, and daunting. There was no telling what a larger city dealt with this weekend if Grant had been hit so hard. Usually, things were much quieter. Of course, the heat brought out violence in people. Jeffrey had known that as long as he had been a cop.
'So…' Frank wrapped it up: 'That's about it.'
'Good,' Jeffrey answered, taking the report. He tapped his finger on the papers, then with little fanfare slid Jenny Weaver's file across the desk. It sat there like a white elephant.
Frank gave the file the same skeptical look he would give an astrology report, then reluctantly picked it up and started to read. Frank had been on the job long enough to think he had seen everything. The shocked expression on his face belied this as he examined the photographs Sara had taken.
'Mother of God,' Frank mumbled, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out his cigarettes, then, probably remembering where he was, put them back. He closed the file without finishing it.
Jeffrey said, 'She didn't give birth to the child.'
'Yeah.' Frank cleared his throat, crossing his legs uncomfortably. He was fifty-eight years old and had already put in enough time to retire with a nice pension. Why he kept working the job was a mystery. Cases like this must make Frank wonder why he kept showing up every day, too.
'What is this?' Frank asked. 'Good Lord in heaven.'
'Female Genital Mutilation,' Jeffrey told him. 'It's an African or Middle Eastern thing.' He held up his hand, stopping Frank's next question. 'I know what you're thinking. They're Southern Baptist, not Islamic.'
'Where'd she get the idea, then?'
'That's what we're going to find out.'
Frank shook his head, like he was trying to erase the image from his mind.
Jeffrey said, 'Dr. Linton is on her way in to do the briefing,' feeling foolish for using Sara's title even as he said it. Frank played poker with Eddie Linton. He had watched Sara grow up.
'The kid gonna be here, too?' Frank asked, meaning Lena.
'Of course,' Jeffrey answered, meeting him squarely in the eye. Frank frowned, making it obvious that he did not approve.
For everything Frank was-sexist, probably racist, certainly ageist-he cared for Lena. He had a daughter about Lena 's age, and from the moment Jeffrey had partnered her with Frank,
