The Silent Wife (Will Trent #10) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,80

the interrogation room. His desk had been the size of a commercial refrigerator and the seating in front had been about as comfortable as a Judas Chair. Every morning, Walker had called Frank and Matt into his office, doled out their daily assignments, then told them to shut the door on their way out. That door only opened at noon when Walker went to the diner for lunch and at five when he hit the diner on his way home. When Walker had finally retired, the desk had to be cut into two pieces to get it through the door. No one could explain how he’d managed to cram it into the room in the first place.

There were a lot of unexplained things where Ben Walker was concerned. The desk alone was an object lesson in how not to be a chief. Jeffrey had spent his first weekend on the job moving his office to the front of the squad room. He’d cut a hole in the wall to make a window so he could see his team and, more importantly, so they could see him. There were blinds on the glass that he seldom closed. The door stayed open unless someone needed privacy. In a town this small, there was a lot of need for privacy.

The phone rang. Jeffrey picked up the receiver on the kitchen wall. “Grant PD.”

“Hey there, buddy,” Nick Shelton said. “I hear you got some trouble brewin’ down there.”

Jeffrey poured some fresh coffee into his mug. “News travels fast.”

“I got me a spy at the Macon Hospital.”

Jeffrey had heard a definite period at the end of that sentence, but he could tell there was more to it than that. “What’s up, Nick?”

“Gerald Caterino.”

“Rebecca Caterino’s father?” Jeffrey had set the alarm on his phone to call the man at 6:30. He could tell by Nick’s tone that he should rethink that plan. “Should I be worried?”

“Yeah, the old boy left a message on the service last night. I picked it up this morning and thought I could run some interference for you.”

“Interference?” Jeffrey asked. “I didn’t realize I needed any.”

“It’s the timing.”

Nick was being careful, but Jeffrey got his meaning. Someone at the hospital had told Gerald Caterino that his daughter was presumed dead when Lena had arrived at the scene. That was the kind of detail that could end up in a lawsuit. “Thanks for the head’s up.”

“No problem, hoss. Lemme know if you need anything.”

Jeffrey hung up the phone. He felt a headache working its way up his neck. He should’ve taken his own order and grabbed some sleep. At the very least, he would’ve been able to process the next steps he needed to take. Make sure everyone was on the same page about yesterday morning in the woods. Re-read Frank, Lena and Brad’s notes. Make sure his own notebook lined up with their recollections. Call the mayor to warn him that something bad might be coming down the pipeline. Give Kevin Blake at the university a warning about the hell that was about to rain down.

He stared down into the blackness of his coffee. The liquid rippled against the rim. His body was still holding onto the memory of bones cracking beneath his hands. Rebecca Caterino had spent thirty extra minutes lying on her back in the forest. Jeffrey had thought seconds had passed while Sara was finding a way to make the girl breathe again, but according to her resuscitation notes, almost three minutes had gone by.

Thirty-three minutes in total, all on Jeffrey’s clock.

What he wanted to do was apologize to Gerald Caterino. And to Beckey. He wanted to tell them exactly what had happened, that people had made mistakes, and some of them were stupid mistakes, but all of them were honest mistakes.

Unfortunately, lawyers were not known to settle for apologies.

“Chief.” Frank grabbed a mug off the hook. “Anything on Leslie Truong?”

“No sign of her.”

“Not surprising.” Frank hacked out a cough. “You know how hysterical these young co-eds get. She’s probably crying in a treehouse or something.”

Jeffrey had given up trying to teach this old dog even one new trick. “I need you to memorialize yesterday morning from the moment you got the call about Caterino to right now.”

Frank didn’t miss much. “Lawsuit?”

“Probably.”

“Sara can tell them how hard it was to find a pulse. Who knows whether or not the girl was going in or out. That kind of injury, she could’ve flatlined a couple of times.” Frank topped off