Triptych (Will Trent #1) - Karin Slaughter Page 0,143
are?”
“Katherine Keenan. Can you tell me why my client is here?”
“I believe you’re a real estate lawyer,” Will said. “Are you representing Mr. Shelley in an acquisition?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is he under arrest or not?”
Will started to sit, asking, “Do you mind?”
“Detective, I don’t care whether you sit or stand or levitate into the air. Just stop dicking me around and answer my question.”
John looked down at the table, but not before Will saw him smile.
“All right.” Will sat down across from them, telling the lawyer, “But, if you don’t mind, it’s actually Special Agent Trent. Detectives work in local PD. I’m with State. The Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Perhaps you’ve seen us on the news?”
Keenan was obviously at a loss to the relevance, but John seemed to realize what that difference meant. State turned up the heat. Either the locals couldn’t handle the case or the crime involved several jurisdictions.
John said, “I’m not answering any questions.”
Will told him, “That’s fine, Mr. Shelley. I don’t have any questions for you. If I did, I might ask something like, ‘Where were you the evening of December third of last year?’ Or maybe I’d ask about October thirteenth.” If the dates meant anything to John, he wasn’t letting on. Will continued, “Then, I might get curious about last Sunday.” Now, there was a reaction. Will pushed a little more. “You’d remember that day because of the Super Bowl. And the next day, the sixth. That was a Monday. Maybe I’d ask you where you were last Monday.”
Keenan said, “He doesn’t have to answer any of your questions.”
Will spoke directly to John. “You need to trust me.”
John stared at Will the way he might stare at a blank wall.
Will sat back in his chair and listed it off for both of them. “I’ve got a dead hooker, a dead teenager and two little girls north of here who are trying to figure out how to live the rest of their lives after having their tongues bitten off.”
Will was watching the lawyer as he said this. She wasn’t as practiced as John, hadn’t learned how to hide her emotions as well.
Will continued, “I’ve also got a missing little girl. Her name is Jasmine. She’s fourteen. Lives at the Homes with her little brother, Cedric. Last Sunday, a white man with brown hair paid her twenty dollars to make a phone call.”
John clasped his hands together on the table.
“The funny thing is, this man gave her a dime to make the call.” Will paused a moment. “I don’t think pay phones have cost a dime since at least nineteen eighty-five.”
John worked his hands.
Will told the lawyer, “Ms. Keenan, this is the question that keeps coming up: How does John Shelley know Michael Ormewood?”
She literally gasped at the name.
“Kathy,” John cautioned.
Will explained the situation. “Last Monday, a fifteen-year-old girl died. Somebody cut her tongue out. I can’t help thinking, Mr. Shelley, that twenty years ago, you cut out another little girl’s tongue.”
Keenan couldn’t take it anymore. “It wasn’t cut!”
“Kathy,” John said. “Wait outside.”
“John—”
“Please,” he told her. “Just wait outside. Try to find Joyce.”
She obviously didn’t want to go.
“Please,” he repeated.
“All right,” she told him. “But I’ll be right outside.”
“Actually,” Will began, standing, “you’re not allowed to wait in the hall, Ms. Keenan. Government office, terrorists, you know how it is.” He opened the door for her. “There’s a room for attorneys one floor down, right by the vending machine. You can make some calls there, maybe get a snack.”
She shot daggers at Will as she left the room. If anything, her departure heightened the tension rather than alleviated it.
Will took his time closing the door before sitting back down. He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for John Shelley to speak. At least five minutes of silence ticked by. Will waited a little longer, then decided to give in. “How do you know Michael?”
John’s fists were still clasped on the table, and the fingers tightened. “What did he say?”
“I’m not asking him. I’m asking you.”
John stared all his anger straight into Will.
Will asked, “Is Joyce your sister?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“It must’ve been hard all those years. You being in prison like that, her on the outside.”
“She knows I didn’t do it.”
“That must have made it even harder.”
“Stop trying your psychology bullshit on me.”
“I was just curious about what it was like.”
“What was it like?” John repeated, some of his anger starting to seep out. “What was it like to ruin my family, send my