right now. The aide in that video? Her name was Marcy Coates. She was found murdered last week at her home. Along with the friend who had gone to check up on her. The town’s pretty rattled by it. As well they should be.”
“I heard about that. When I stopped for gas this morning, I went inside for a bottle of water. That’s all anybody was talking about.”
Bell nodded. She pushed the bowl to the far side of the table. The soup was good, but she was not hungry anymore. She was thinking again about the photo of Marcy Coates, and about the trusting eyes of an old woman who had worked hard, lived simply and honestly and frugally, tried to take care of her family—and still died a violent and painful death. It was not so much the flagrant unfairness of it all that nagged at Bell; it was the fact that it made no sense.
Logic. It could be a prosecutor’s best friend—you always went with the most plausible explanation—or a prosecutor’s worst nightmare. Because sometimes the truth didn’t make sense. You were forced to grope along in the dark, hoping to find your way to the mouth of the cave, to the place where the sunlight was.
She made a quick decision, reversing an earlier one. She had changed her mind about Ava. She deserved to know what Bell knew—precious little as it might be.
“I didn’t want to tell you about this,” Bell said, “because it’s such a long shot, and I don’t want to get your hopes up. But we found a paint chip on the back bumper of Darlene’s car. From another vehicle.”
“Which could mean she was forced off the road that night.” Ava’s voice was eager.
“Yes. It’s a possibility. We’ve sent it off to the state crime lab for analysis. But Ava—I need to be very clear here. It might be nothing. A false trail. I don’t want you to think that—”
“Understood.” Ava cut her off. She slumped against the back of the bench seat. She had been leaning forward ever since Bell mentioned the chip. “I’ll let you do your job. I know how irritating it is to deal with the unrealistic expectations of loved ones.”
“I’ll bet you do. Brain surgery—that’s got to be incredibly nerve-wracking for everyone involved, for the family members as well as the patient.”
“It is. And that’s why I have to be so controlled. I had to teach myself to be this way. To not be emotional in critical moments. To not let feelings get the upper hand. Because doing that doesn’t help anyone—not the patient, not the patient’s loved ones. And not the doctor, either.” She smiled. It was a soft smile of reminiscence. “Darlene and I used to talk about that all the time. She thought I was too cold. Too remote. And I told her that she was too impetuous. Wore her heart on her sleeve.” Ava paused. “There’s an Elizabethan phrase I like. It says that some people are ‘a feather for every wind that blows.’ That was Darlene.”
As long as they were sharing, Bell decided to take a chance. “Your lack of emotion about Darlene’s death—it’s puzzling, frankly. Especially around here, where the norm for grief is a bit more demonstrative. Weeping, wailing, fainting in public. Shouting for Jesus. That kind of thing.” She looked down at the tabletop, and saw that she’d spilled a small beige drop of soup. Then she met Ava’s gaze again. “Some people even wondered—well, they wondered if you really cared all that much.”
“‘Some people.’ Meaning you.”
Bell did not answer. Ava reached for her winter garb: hat, scarf, gloves, coat. She pulled them back toward her, smoothing out the gloves, untangling the scarf.
“I’m due back in D.C. tonight,” she said. “I’d better get on the road.”
“Do me a favor. Forward me those videos. And anything else you find, okay? Diaries, notebooks, photos—anything that relates to Darlene and her father. Even if it doesn’t specifically refer to the Terrace.”
“I will. There’s a ton of stuff. Darlene kept everything. Especially everything related to her dad. She even had his Navy uniform. From World War II. And the letters he wrote home to his mother and father.”
Ava turned her body sideways. She started to slide out of the booth. She stopped. She looked back at Bell. Her face showed no emotion, but her voice was unexpectedly filled with it, breaking at certain points, growing hoarse and shallow and then robust again, and then faltering.