The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,142

about anything to do with Rusty.

Sam was only here to turn over her notes. She would say goodbye to her father, probably the last time she would ever say goodbye in person, then head back to Atlanta where, tomorrow morning, she would wake up with her real life restored like Dorothy back in Kansas.

The driver stopped underneath the concrete canopy. He pulled Sam’s suitcase from the trunk. He lifted up the handle. Sam was rolling the case toward the entrance when she smelled cigarette smoke.

“‘Oh, I am fortune’s fool,’” Rusty bellowed. He was in a wheelchair, right elbow on the armrest, cigarette in his hand. Two IV bags were attached to a pole on the back of the chair. His catheter bag hung down like a chatelaine. He had stationed himself beneath a sign warning smokers to maintain a perimeter of one hundred feet from the door. He was twenty feet away, if that.

Sam said, “Those things are going to kill you.”

Rusty smiled. “It’s a balmy night. I’m talking to one of my beautiful daughters. I’ve got a fresh pack of smokes. All I need is a glass of bourbon and I’d die a happy man.”

Sam waved away the smoke. “It’s not so balmy with that smell.”

He laughed, then started coughing.

Sam rolled her suitcase to the concrete bench by his chair. The reporters were gone, probably on to the next mass shooting. She sat on the far end of the bench, upwind from the smoke.

Rusty said, “I heard there was some rain-making at the arraignment.”

Sam shrugged one shoulder. She had picked up the bad habit from Charlie.

“‘Was the baby killed?’” He made his voice quiver with drama. “‘Was the baby killed?’”

“Dad, a child was murdered.”

“I know, darling. Believe me, I know.” He took one last hit off his cigarette before stubbing it out on the bottom of his slipper. He dropped the butt into the pocket of his robe. “A trial is nothing but a competition to tell the best story. Whoever sways the jury wins the trial. And Ken’s come right out the gate with a damn good story.”

Sam quelled the urge to be her father’s cheerleader, to tell him he could come up with the better story and save the day.

Rusty asked, “What’d you think of her?”

“Kelly?” Sam considered her answer. “I’m not sure. She could be smarter than we think. She could be lower functioning than any of us wants to believe. You can lead her anywhere, Dad. Anywhere.”

“I’ve always preferred crazy to stupid. Stupid can break your heart.” Rusty looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure they were alone. “I heard about the abortion.”

Sam pictured her sister back in her office, calling Rusty to tattle. “You spoke to Charlie.”

“Nope.” Rusty leaned on his elbow, hand up, fingers spread, as if the cigarette were still there. “Jimmy Jack, that’s my investigator, came up with it yesterday afternoon. We found some evidence from Kelly’s middle-school days that pointed to something bad going on. Just rumors, you know. Kelly shows up plump one week, then she takes a vacation and comes back skinny. I confirmed the abortion with her mother last night. She was still real torn up about it. The baby daddy was a kid on the football team, long since left town. He paid for the abortion, or his family did. The mama took her down to Atlanta. Almost lost her job from taking the time off.”

Sam said, “Kelly could be pregnant again.”

Rusty’s eyebrows went up.

“She’s been throwing up the same time of day, every day. She’s missed school. She’s got a bump in her belly.”

“She’s started wearing dark clothes lately. The mama said she has no idea why.”

Sam realized an obvious point she hadn’t yet mentioned to Rusty. “Mason Huckabee has a connection to Kelly.”

“He does.”

Sam waited for more, but Rusty just gazed out into the parking lot.

She told him, “Lenore already has your investigator on this, but there’s a boy named Adam Humphrey that Kelly has a crush on. You could also look at Frank Alexander, Lucy’s father.” She tried again, “Or Mason Huckabee.”

Rusty scratched his cheek. For the second time, he ignored the man’s name. “Her being pregnant—that’s not good.”

“It could help your case.”

“It could, but she’s still an eighteen-year-old girl with a baby in her belly and a lifetime of prison ahead of her.” He added, “If she’s lucky.”

“I thought she was your unicorn.”

“Do you know how many innocent people are in prison?”

“I’d rather not know.” Sam asked, “Why do you think