“Did Amanda tell you anything?”

“She told me there was a suicide in custody and to get down here as fast as possible.”

“Did she tell you about …” Sara waited for him to fill in the blank. When he didn’t, she prompted, “My husband?”

“Is that relevant? I mean, to what’s going on today?”

Sara felt her throat tighten.

Will asked, “Dr. Linton?”

“I don’t know that it’s relevant,” she finally answered. “It’s just history. Everyone you meet in this town is going to know about it. They’re going to assume that you do, too.” She felt tears sting her eyes for the millionth time that day. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so angry for the last six hours that I haven’t really thought about what I’m dropping you in the middle of.”

He leaned up and pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket. “There’s no need to apologize. I get dropped in the middle of stuff all the time.”

Aside from Jeffrey and her father, Will Trent was the only man Sara knew who still carried a handkerchief. She took the neatly folded white cloth he handed her.

Will repeated, “Dr. Linton?”

She wiped her eyes, apologizing again. “I’m sorry. I’ve been tearing up like this all day.”

“It’s always hard to go back.” He said this with such certainty that Sara found herself really looking at him for the first time since he’d gotten into the car. Will Trent was an attractive man, but not in a way that you would quickly notice. If anything, he seemed eager to blend in with his surroundings, to keep his head down and do his job. Months ago, he’d told Sara that he’d grown up in the Atlanta Children’s Home. His mother had been killed when he was an infant. These were big revelations, yet Sara felt like she knew nothing about him at all.

His head turned toward her and she looked away.

Will said, “Let’s try it this way: You tell me what you think I should know. If I have more questions, I’ll try to ask them as respectfully as I can.”

Sara cleared her throat several times, trying to find her voice. She was thinking about her own recovery after Jeffrey’s death, the year of her life she had lost to sleep and pills and misery. None of that mattered right now. What she needed to convey to Will was that Lena Adams had a long-standing pattern of risking other people’s lives, of sometimes getting people killed.

She said, “Lena Adams was responsible for my husband’s death.”

Will’s expression did not change. “How so?”

“She got mixed up with someone …” Sara cleared her throat again. “The man who killed my husband was Lena’s lover. Boyfriend. Whatever. They were together for several years.”

“They were together when your husband died?”

“No.” Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. He had this hold on her. He beat her. It’s possible that he raped her, but—” Sara stopped, not knowing how to tell Will not to feel sorry for Lena. “She goaded him. I know this sounds horrible, but it was like Lena wanted to be abused.”

He nodded, but she wondered if he really understood.

“They had this sick relationship where they brought out the worst in each other. She put up with it until it stopped being fun, then she called in my husband to clean up her mess and …” Sara stopped, not wanting to sound as desperate as she felt. “Lena painted a target on his back. It was never proven, but her ex-lover is the man who killed my husband.”

Will said, “Police officers have a responsibility to report abuse.”

Sara felt a spark of anger, thinking he was blaming Jeffrey for not stepping in. “She denied it was happening. You know how hard domestic violence is to prove when—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry my words were unclear. I meant to say that the onus was on Detective Adams. Even when the officer is herself the victim of abuse, by law, it’s her duty to report it.”

Sara tried to even out her breathing. She was getting so worked up about this that she must have seemed slightly crazy. “Lena’s a bad cop. She’s sloppy. She’s negligent. She’s the reason my husband is dead. She’s the reason Tommy is dead. She’s probably the reason Brad got stabbed in the street. She gets people into situations, puts them in the line of fire, then backs away and watches the carnage.”

“On purpose?”

Sara’s throat was so dry she could barely swallow. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not,” he admitted. “I’m guessing Detective Adams was never charged with anything in your husband’s murder?”

“She’s never held accountable for anything. She always manages to slither back under her rock.”

He nodded, staring ahead at the rain-soaked windshield. Sara had turned off the engine. She had been cold before Will came, but now their combined body heat was warm enough to cloud the windows.

Sara chanced another look at Will, trying to guess what he was thinking. His face remained impassive. He was probably the hardest person to read that Sara had ever met in her life.

She finally said, “This all sounds like a witch hunt on my part, doesn’t it?”

He took his time answering. “A suspect killed himself while in police custody. The GBI is charged with investigating that.”

He was being too generous. “Nick Shelton is the Grant County field agent. I leapfrogged over about ten heads.”

“Agent Shelton wouldn’t have been allowed to conduct the investigation. He’s got a relationship with the local force. They would’ve sent me or somebody like me to look into this. I’ve worked in small towns before. Nobody feels bad about hating the pencil pusher from Atlanta.” He smiled, adding, “Of course, if you hadn’t called Dr. Wagner directly, it might’ve taken another day to get somebody down here.”

“I’m so sorry that I dragged you away this close to a holiday. Your wife must be furious.”

“My …?” He seemed puzzled for a second, as if he’d forgotten about the ring on his finger. He covered for it badly, saying, “She doesn’t mind.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll live.” He turned her back to the matter at hand. “Tell me what happened today.”

This time the words came much more easily—Julie’s phone call, the rumors about Brad’s stabbing, Frank’s plea for her help. She finished with finding Tommy in the cell, seeing the words he had scrawled on the wall. “They arrested him for Allison Spooner’s murder.”

Will’s eyebrows furrowed. “They charged Braham with murder?”

“Here’s the worst part.” She handed him the photocopy she’d made of Tommy’s confession.

Will seemed surprised. “They gave this to you?”

“I have a relationship—a past relationship.” She didn’t really know how to explain why Frank had let her bulldoze her way through. “I was the town coroner. I was married to the boss. They’re used to showing me evidence.”

Will patted his pockets. “I think my reading glasses are in my suitcase.”

She dug around in her purse and pulled out her own pair.