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Faith asked, “Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?”
Will paced across the room. His body was suddenly filled with adrenaline. “So I can be another notch in your serial killer collection?”
“Do you really think I’d turn your life into a game?”
“Where’s my gun?” His keys were on his desk. His phone. The Glock was missing. “Did you take my gun?”
Faith didn’t answer, but he noticed that her thigh holster was gone. She’d locked her gun in the car. She didn’t trust him not to take it.
Several thoughts came into Will’s head. Punching a hole in the wall. Kicking over his desk. Breaking the windows in Faith’s car. Taking a bat to that asshole sitting in his gazebo. In the end, Will could only stand there. It was the same thing that had happened at the morgue. He was too exhausted. Too overwhelmed. Too handled. “Just leave, Faith. I don’t need you babysitting me. I don’t want you here.”
“Too bad.”
“Go home. Go home to your stupid kid and get the hell out of my business.”
“If you think being a dick is going to chase me away, you don’t know me very well.” She sat back in the chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Sara found semen in the girl’s hair.”
Will waited for her to continue.
“There’s enough for a DNA profile. Once it’s in the system, we can match it against his.”
“That’ll take weeks.”
“Four days,” she told him. “Dr. Coolidge put a rush on it.”
“Then arrest him. You can hold him for twenty-four hours.”
“Which means he’ll bail out and disappear before we can pick him up again.” Her voice had the annoying tone of someone trying to be reasonable. “APD put six guys on the hotel. Amanda probably has ten more. He won’t be able to take a shit without us knowing.”
“I want to be there when you arrest him.”
“You know Amanda won’t allow that.”
“When you interrogate him.” Will couldn’t help himself. He started begging. “Please let me see him. Please. I have to see him. I have to look him in the eye. I want to see his face when he realizes that I got away. That he didn’t win.”
Faith put her hand over her heart. “I swear to God, Will. I swear to you on the lives of my children that I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens.”
“It’s not enough,” Will said. He didn’t just want to look his father in the eye. He wanted to beat him. He wanted to kick out his teeth. To slice off his cock. To sew shut his mouth and eyes and nose and beat him until he drowned in his own vomit. “It’s not enough.”
“I know it’s not,” Faith said. “It’ll never be enough, but it’ll have to do.”
There was a knock on the door. Will didn’t know who he was expecting when Faith opened the door. Amanda. Angie. Some cop telling him that Will’s father had killed again.
Anyone but the person who was actually there.
Sara asked Faith, “Everything okay?”
Faith nodded, picking up her purse by the door. She told Will, “I’ll call you the minute I know anything. I promise.”
Sara shut the door behind her. Her hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders. She was wearing a tight black dress that wrapped around her body. Will had seen her dressed up before, but never like this. She was wearing extremely high heels with a black leopard print. They did something to her calf that sent a tightness into his groin.
She said, “Hi.”
Will swallowed. He could still taste plaster in his throat.
Sara walked around the couch and sat down. She slid off her heels and tucked her legs underneath her. “Come here.”
Will sat down on the couch. Betty was between them. She jumped down. Her toenails clicked across the floor as she headed into the kitchen.
Sara took his hand. She must’ve noticed the cuts and blisters, but she didn’t say anything. Will couldn’t look at her. She was so beautiful that it was almost painful. Instead, he stared at the coffee table. His mother’s file. Her books.
He said, “I guess Amanda told you everything.”
“No, she didn’t.”
Will wasn’t surprised. Amanda loved torturing him. He pointed to his mother’s things. “If you want to—” Will stopped, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “It’s all there. Just go ahead and read it.”
Sara glanced down at the file, but said, “I don’t want to read it.”
Will shook his head. He didn’t understand.
“You tell me about her when you’re ready.”
“It would be easier if—”
She reached out to touch his face. Her fingers stroked his cheek. She moved closer. He felt the heat of her body as she pressed against him. Will put his hand on her leg, felt the firm muscle of her thigh. The tightness came back. He kissed her. Sara’s hands went to his face as she kissed him back. She straddled him. Her hair draped across his face. He could feel her breath on his neck.
Unfortunately, that was the extent of his feelings.
She asked, “Do you want me to—”
“No.” He pulled her back up. “I’m sorry. I’m—”
She put her fingers to his lips. “You know what I really want to do?” She climbed off him, but stayed close. “I want to watch a movie where robots hit each other. Or things blow up. Preferably from robots hitting each other.” She picked up the remote and turned on the set. She tuned in the Speed channel. “Oh, look. This is even better.”
Will could not think of a time in his life when he’d felt more miserable. If Faith had not taken his Glock, he would’ve shot himself in the head. “Sara, it’s not—”
“Shh.” Sara took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. She rested her head on his chest, her hand on his leg. Betty came back. She jumped into Will’s lap and settled in.
He stared at the television. The Ferrari Enzo was being profiled. An Italian man was using a lathe to hollow out a piece of aluminum. Nothing the announcer said would stay in Will’s head. He felt his eyelids getting heavy. He let out a slow breath.
Finally, his eyes stayed closed.
This time, when Will woke up, he wasn’t alone. Sara was lying on the couch in front of him. Her back curved into his body. Her hair tickled his face. The room was dark except for the glow of the television set. The sound was muted. Speed was showing a monster-truck rally. The TiVo read twelve past midnight.
Another day passed. Another night come. Another page turned in the calendar of his father’s life.
Will couldn’t stop the thoughts that came into his head. He wondered if Faith still had his Glock. He wondered whether the patrol car was still blocking his driveway or the asshole was still in his gazebo.
He had a Sig Sauer in the gun safe that was bolted inside his closet. His Colt AR-15 rifle was disassembled beside it. Ammunition for both was stacked in a plastic box. Will worked the rifle in his mind—magazine, bolt catch, trigger guard. Winchester 55-grain full metal jacket.
No. The Sig would be better. Closer. Muzzle to the head. Finger on the trigger. Will would see the terror in his father’s eyes, then the glassy, vacant stare of a dead man.
