The Silent Wife (Will Trent #10) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,71

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 Faith recognized the game console as a newer version of the one she had at home.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 cut around the shelving units.

Will took six long steps and entered the room. Faith stayed in the hall. She watched him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. The Olaf bandage flapped back. He’d sweated through the adhesive. “Mr. Caterino, is that a gun by your bed?”

Gerald said, “Oh, yeah, I’ll—”

“I’ll get it.” Will left her sightline.

Faith’s revolver was out of the bag, in her hand, and ready to go. She was about to swing into the room when Will reappeared in the doorway.

He had a Browning Hi-Power 9mm in his hands. Faith wasn’t up on weaponry the same way that Will was, but she knew the pistol had a tricky magazine disconnect. Either Gerald Caterino knew his way around a firearm or someone had sold him more gun than he needed.

Will dropped the magazine. He switched on the overhead lights.

Faith put her revolver back in her purse, but she kept her hand inside. She visually swept the room as she crossed the threshold. Windows clear. Doorways clear. Hands clear. This was obviously where Gerald slept. The decorations were non-existent. Unmade king-sized bed, mismatched night tables, a television on the wall, the Ikea cubicles, a master bath through one door. The door to what she assumed was a walk-in closet was shut. A key stuck out of the deadbolt lock.

Gerald told Faith, “Close the door.”

Faith pushed the door just shy of closing.

Gerald said, “I don’t like to talk about this in front of Heath. And I’m not sure what Beckey knows or what she can retain. She doesn’t remember the attack, but I worry about her hearing things. Or seeing this.”

He turned the key and pushed open the door.

Faith felt her jaw drop.

The walls of the walk-in closet were lined with newspaper articles, printed pages, photographs, diagrams, notations. Colored thumbtacks held everything in place. Red, blue, green and yellow string connected various pieces. File boxes were stacked floor to ceiling along the back. He had turned his closet into a major incident room, and he was terrified that his children would find it.

Faith’s heart broke for the father. Every single sheet of paper, every thumbtack, every string, was a symbol of his torment.

Gerald said, “I keep the key to the closet hidden in the attic. Heath likes to play with my key ring. He almost got in here once. I trust Lashanda, but she can get distracted. If Heath ever saw this—I don’t want him to know. Not until he’s ready. Please, let me show you.”

Faith closed and locked the bedroom door. She took out her phone as she followed Will into the closet. She turned on the video. For the benefit of the recording, she asked, “Mr. Caterino, is it okay if I document this with my phone?”

“Yeah, sure.” Gerald started pointing, first at the photographs. “I took these the first day Beckey was in the hospital, about twelve hours after she was attacked. This incision here is from the tracheostomy. This is where her sternum was broken to save her life.” His finger moved down. “These are her X-rays. You can see the skull fracture very clearly in this one. Look at