The Good Daughter (The Good Daughter #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,55

her father completely still was inside a courtroom.

Charlie found her bag on the couch in her office. She pulled out the yearbook.

Rusty came to a breathless standstill. “What’s that?”

“It’s a yearbook. Sometimes it’s called an annual.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You need to be more specific with your old pappy.”

“You buy it at school at the end of the year. It has class pictures and club photos and people write things in the pages, like ‘I’ll never forget you’ or ‘Thanks for helping me in biology.’” She shrugged. “It’s a stupid thing. The more signatures you get, the more popular you are.”

“That explains why you never brought one home.”

“Ha ha.”

He asked, “So, was our gal popular? Not popular?”

“I didn’t open it.” Charlie waved the book in Rusty’s face, indicating he should take it.

He kept his arms crossed, but she saw that switch flick inside him, the same one that came on inside the courtroom.

He asked, “Where was this found?”

“In Kelly Wilson’s closet in her home.”

“Before the execution of the search warrant?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone from law enforcement tell you there was going to be a search warrant filed?”

“No.”

“Did the mother—”

“Ava Wilson.”

“Did Ava Wilson give this to you to hold on to?”

“No.”

“Is she your client?”

“No, and thanks for trying to help me lose my license.”

“You’d have the best attorney in the country making sure you kept it.” Rusty nodded toward the yearbook. “Open it for me.”

“Take it or I’ll drop it on the floor.”

“God damn, you make me miss your mama.” Rusty’s voice had a funny quiver. He rarely mentioned Gamma, and if he did, it was only to make a not-always-favorable comparison to Charlie. He took the yearbook and gave her a salute. “Many thanks.”

She watched his exaggerated march up the hallway.

Charlie called, “Hey, asshole.”

Rusty turned around, grinning as he marched back the same way he’d left. He opened the yearbook with a flourish. The inside flap was filled with written messages, some in black ink, some in blue, a few in pink. Different handwriting. Different signatures. Rusty turned the page. More ink colors. More hastily scratched missives.

If Kelly Wilson was a loner, she was the most popular loner at school.

Rusty said, “Excuse me, miss. I’m not stepping on your scruples here if I ask you to read me some of this?” He tapped his temple. “Don’t have my spectacles.”

Charlie indicated that he should turn the book around. She read the first line that jumped out at her, a blocky print that looked like it belonged to a boy. “‘Hey girl thanks for the awesome head. You suck.’” She looked up at her father. “Whoa.”

“Whoa, indeed.” Rusty was unshockable. Charlie had given up trying years ago. “Continue.”

“‘Gonna rape you bitch.’ No signature.” She skimmed around. “Another rape threat, ‘Gonna do some sodomy on your ass bitch,’ sodomy spelled with an ‘i.’”

“At the end or in the middle?”

“End.” She searched for some pink cursive, hoping the girls proved to be a lesser evil. “‘You are a fucking whore and I hate you and I want you to die—six exclamation points. K-I-T, Mindy Zowada.’”

“K-I-T?” Rusty asked.

“Keep in touch.”

“Heart-felt.”

Charlie scanned the other notes, which were equally as lewd as the first few. “They’re all like that, Dad. Either calling her a whore or referring to sex or asking for sex or saying they’re going to rape her.”

He turned to the next page, which had been left blank so that classmates could write more notes. There were no notes. A giant cock and balls took up most of the space. At the top was a drawing of a girl with stringy hair and wide eyes. Her mouth was open. There was an arrow pointed at her head with the word KELLY.

Rusty said, “A picture slowly starts to emerge.”

“Keep going.”

He turned more pages. More drawings. More lewd messages. Some rape threats. Kelly’s class picture had been defiled; this time the cock and balls pointing at her mouth was ejaculating. Charlie said, “They must have passed this around the school. Hundreds of kids were in on it.”

“She was how old do you think when this was done?”

“Twelve or thirteen?”

“And she kept it a-a-a-all this time.” He drew out the word as if he was testing how it would sound in front of a jury. Charlie couldn’t fault him the performance. He was holding in his hands a textbook example of a mitigating factor.

Kelly Wilson had not only been bullied at school. The sexual aggression in the messages from her classmates pointed to something even darker.

Rusty asked,