Faith wondered if Barb’s absence had been the very thing Harding was pushing for all along. If he was keeping Delilah locked in the closet to dry her out, he would want to make sure no one would hear her screaming and call the police.
Faith asked, ‘When did you start spending more time away?’
‘Last week.’
‘So, seven days ago?’
‘Yes.’
Which meant that Dale had managed to drive her out after three days of relentless torture.
Barb said, ‘I just gave up. It was getting worse and worse. The smell. The noises. I couldn’t take it anymore, and I’m not the type to complain. Violet can verify that.’
Faith had the feeling Violet would do no such thing. ‘Well, I’m very sorry that you had to go through that, Ms Wantanabe. I appreciate your talking to me. If you think of anything else—’
‘It’s sad,’ she interrupted. ‘When he first moved in, I thought he was just a lonely old bachelor. He was obviously having health issues. He didn’t seem very happy. And I thought to myself, This is a good place for him. We’re a community here. We all have our differences. As Violet would say, some of us are to the right of Genghis Khan and the rest are to the left of Pluto, but we look out for each other, you know?’
Faith felt her phone vibrate. ‘Yes, ma’am. It seemed like a nice place. I need to—’
‘You get to a certain age, you learn to look past people’s quirks and idiosyncrasies.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘But I’ll tell you what, honey. There’s no looking past human poop in your backyard.’
‘Well, okay.’ Faith’s phone vibrated again. There was a text from Will. ‘Thank you, ma’am. Call me if you think of anything else.’
Faith ended the call before Barb could toss out another bon mot. She opened Will’s text. He’d sent her a photo of the front of Grady, which was Will’s way of saying he was at the hospital looking for her. Faith texted back an emoji of a dinner plate and a smiling pile of shit, meaning she would meet him in the food court.
She checked the patient board as she walked past the nurses’ station. Jane Doe 2 was still critical. Faith didn’t bother to ask the nurses for an update. They had her card. They had promised to text the minute the patient was coherent enough to talk.
Faith started down the stairs. She tapped the pockets of her cargo pants, making sure her blood testing kit was still there. She had two insulin pens left. She had used a third half an hour ago, so she needed to eat. The problem was that Grady only offered fast-food restaurants. This was great for their new cardiac wing, but it was awful if you were trying to control your diabetes. Not that she felt like controlling anything right now. Faith longed for the days when she could eat herself into a stupor that drowned out her stress.
Will had beaten her to the food court. He was sitting at a quiet table in the back. She didn’t recognize him at first because he was in jeans and a beautiful long-sleeved polo that Sara had obviously sneaked into his wardrobe. He was a nice-looking guy, but he had a habit of blending in, which made him unlike every other cop she had ever met.
Will asked, ‘Is this okay?’
He meant the salad he’d ordered for her. Faith stared at the wilted lettuce and white chicken strips that looked like fingers on a dead man. Will’s tray had two cheeseburgers, large fries, a large Frosty and a Coke.
‘Looks good.’ Faith sat down, fighting the urge to unhinge her jaw and swallow everything on his tray. ‘Thanks.’
He said, ‘Amanda scheduled an on-the-record interview with Rippy tomorrow.’
‘I know. She caught me up on everything.’
‘Everything?’
‘I know about the bank account you shared with Angie. And I agree that you shouldn’t tell Sara about it.’
Will didn’t answer. He had never been one for unsolicited advice. ‘I got Laslo Zivcovik’s sheet out of Boston. He’s got some misdemeanors—open bottle, speeding, an assault against a woman and a felony manslaughter for a bar fight. He stabbed a guy twenty-eight times and left him to bleed to death. Laslo pulled a dime in big-boy prison.’
‘Felony manslaughter?’ Faith said. ‘He must’ve had a good lawyer.’
‘I’m assuming he was mobbed up, or was working for the Boston version of Kip Kilpatrick.’
‘Does it bother you what he said about Angie?’
‘I’m more worried that he knows what a snake’s vagina feels like.’
Faith stared at him.
He shrugged. ‘It’s like living with an alcoholic. You’re not surprised when somebody tells you they’re at a bar.’
Faith had dated an alcoholic for years. Worrying about your partner choking on his own vomit or killing someone in a DUI was not the same as knowing he was out there fucking everything that moved.
Which, in retrospect, should have also been one of the things she worried about.
Will said, ‘I met this woman outside Kilpatrick’s office. Mrs Lindsay. African American, really put together. She had pearls around her neck. Probably in her seventies. She gave me a lot of information about herself. I got the feeling she was in a bad place.’
‘Could be she’s the mother of one of the players, worried her son’s going off the deep end.’
‘She talked about a daughter, but tangentially. Not the way you’d talk about your kid if she was good enough to play at that level.’
Will’s gut instinct put Faith’s to shame. She asked, ‘What’s bothering you about her?’
‘Her lip quivered.’ He touched his own lip. ‘She seemed nervous. Upset.’
‘She knew you were a cop?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you get a first name?’
‘No, but she told me that she lives in that apartment complex at Jesus Junction.’
‘That’s pretty detailed.’
‘Not detailed enough. I called the building. There’s no Mrs Lindsay there.’
Faith found it interesting that he’d bothered to call. ‘A woman that age will have a church. You should try the AME on Arden.’
He nodded.
‘Who was she there to see?’
‘Kilpatrick, I’m assuming. Laslo fetched her. Called her Miss Lindsay.’
That threw up a flag. Calling a woman of that age Miss was just plain disrespectful. Unless it wasn’t. ‘Lindsay could be her first name. An older Southern woman like that might go by Miss as a form of respect, like Driving Miss Daisy.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Will shrugged. ‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘It’s more than I’ve got to go on. You should make some calls in the morning.’ She was aware that the errand sounded like busywork to keep him off Angie’s case, so she tried to put a better spin on the task. ‘Harding shows up dead at Rippy’s club. Angie is working for Kilpatrick. Laslo is Kilpatrick’s bulldog. Miss Lindsay shows up a few hours after the murder. Laslo takes her back into the offices, probably to Kilpatrick. You know where I’m going with this. There’s no such thing as a coincidence.’
‘She wasn’t in his office,’ Will said. ‘Miss Lindsay. I didn’t see her anywhere, actually. She might have been downstairs. She could’ve been seeing somebody else.’