Blindsighted (25 page)

Jeffrey did not answer. Sibyl Adams's time of death had been printed in the
Observer
.

"I was sweeping and mopping and taking out the trash," Wright continued.

Jeffrey indicated the tattoo. "I see you're a religious man."

Wright looked at his arm. "That's what caught me up with Sara."

"You like to keep up with your girls, huh?" Jeffrey asked. "Maybe look through the newspapers? Maybe keep up with them on the Internet?"

Wright looked nervous for the first time. "You been in my house?"

"I like what you did with the walls," he said. "All those little Jesuses. Their eyes just follow you when you walk around the room."

Wright's face changed. He showed Jeffrey the side that only a handful of unfortunate women had ever seen as he screamed, "That is my personal property. You don't belong in there."

"I was in there," Jeffrey said, able to be calm now that Wright was not. "I went through everything."

"You bastard," Wright yelled, throwing a punch. Jeffrey sidestepped, twisting the man's arm behind him. Wright pitched forward, falling face first into the ground. Jeffrey was on top of him, his knee pressed into the man's back.

"What do you know?" Jeffrey demanded.

"Let me go," Wright begged. "Please, let me go."

Jeffrey took out his handcuffs and forced Wright into them. The clicking sound of the locks sent the man into hyperventilation.

"I just read about it," Wright said. "Please, please, let me go."

Jeffrey leaned down, whispering in the man's ear. "You're going back to jail."

"Don't send me back," Wright begged. "Please."

Jeffrey reached down, tugging the ankle bracelet. Knowing how the City of Atlanta worked, this would be faster than dialing 911. When the bracelet would not budge, Jeffrey used the heel of his shoe to bust it.

"You can't do that," Wright screamed. "You can't do that. They saw you."

Jeffrey looked up, remembering the neighbors. He watched wordlessly as they all turned their backs, disappearing into their houses.

"Oh, God, please don't send me back," Wright begged. "Please, I'll do anything."

"They're not going to like that nine mill under your mattress, either, Jack."

"Oh, God," the man sobbed, shaking.

Jeffrey leaned against the Nova, taking out the business card Keith had given him earlier. The name on the card was Mary Ann Moon. Jeffrey glanced at his watch. At ten till eight on a Friday night, he doubted very seriously that she would be happy to see him.

Chapter Twenty-three

LENA closed her eyes as the sun beat down on her face. The water was warm and inviting, a slight breeze crossing her body as each wave gently rolled under her. She could not remember the last time she had been to the ocean, but the vacation was well earned to say the least.

"Look," Sibyl said, pointing above them.

Lena followed her sister's finger, spotting a seagull in the ocean sky. She found herself concentrating on the clouds instead. They looked like cotton balls against a baby blue backdrop.

"Did you want this back?" Sibyl asked, handing Lena a red kickboard.

Lena laughed. "Hank told me you lost it."

Sibyl smiled. "I put it where he couldn't see it."

With sudden clarity, Lena realized it was Hank and not Sibyl who had been blinded. She could not understand how she had gotten the two confused, but there was Hank on the beach, dark glasses covering his eyes. He sat back, propped up on his hands, letting the sun hit him square on the chest. He looked more tan than Lena had ever seen him. As a matter of fact, all the times they had gone to the beach before, Hank had stayed in the hotel room instead of going out on the beach with the girls. What he did in there all day, Lena did not know. Sometimes Sibyl would join him to take some time out from the sun, but Lena loved being on the beach. She loved playing in the water or looking for impromptu volleyball games she could flirt her way into.

That was how Lena had met Greg Mitchell, her last boyfriend of any consequence. Greg was playing volleyball with a group of his friends. He was about twenty-eight years old, but his friends were much younger and more interested in looking at girls than actually playing the game. Lena had walked over, knowing she was being sized up, rated like a side of meat, by the young men, and asked to join the game. Greg had thrown the ball at her straight from his chest and Lena had caught it the same way.

After a while, the younger men trailed off in search of alcohol or women or both. Lena and Greg played for what seemed like hours. If he had been expecting Lena to throw the games in honor of his masculinity, he had another think coming. She had beaten him so badly that by the end of the third game, he had forfeited, offering to buy her dinner as her prize.

He took her to some cheap Mexican place that would have made Lena's grandfather keel over had he not already been dead. They drank sugary sweet margaritas, then they danced, then Lena gave Greg a sly smile instead of a good night kiss. The next day he was back in front of her hotel, this time with a surfboard. She had always wanted to learn how to surf, and she took up his offer for lessons without having to be asked twice.

Now, she could feel the surfboard underneath her, the waves sending her body up into the air, then down. Greg's hand was at the small of her back, then lower, then lower, until he was cupping her ass in his hand. She turned over slowly, letting him see and feel her naked body. The sun beat down, making her skin feel warm and alive.

He poured suntan oil in his hands, then started rubbing her feet. His hands encircled her ankles, pushing her legs far apart. They were still floating on the ocean but the water was somehow firm, holding her body up for Greg. His hands worked their way up her thighs, stroking, touching, moving past her intimate parts until his palms were cupping her breasts. He used his tongue, kissing then biting her nipples, her breasts, working his way up to her mouth. Greg's kisses were forceful and rough, like Lena had never known from him. She felt herself responding to him in ways she could not have imagined.

The pressure of his body on top of hers was alarmingly sensual. His hands were calloused, his touch rough, as he did with her what he wanted. For the first time in her life, Lena was not in control. For the first time in her life, Lena was completely helpless under this one man. She felt an emptiness that could only be filled by him. Anything he wanted, she would do. Any wish he uttered, she would fulfill.

His mouth moved down her body, his tongue exploring between her legs, his teeth rough against her. She tried to reach her hands to him, to pull him closer, but she found herself immobilized. Suddenly, he was on top of her, pushing her hands away from her body, out to the side as if to pin her back as he entered her. There was a wave of pleasure that seemed to last for hours, then sudden, excruciating release. Her whole body opened to him, her back arching, wanting to weld her flesh into his.

Then, it was over. Lena felt her body letting go, her mind coming back into focus. She rolled her head side to side, reveling in the aftermath. She licked her lips, opening her eyes to just a slit as she looked into the dark room. A clinking sound came from far away. Another more immediate sound came from all around, an irregular ticktock, like a clock, only with water. She found that she could no longer remember the word for water pouring out of the clouds.

Lena tried to move, but her hands seemed unwilling. She glanced out, seeing the tips of her fingers, even though there was no light to show them. Something was around her wrists, something tight and unrelenting. Her mind made the connection to move her fingers, and she felt the rough surface of wood against the back of her hand. Likewise, something encircled her ankles, holding her feet to the floor. She could not move her legs or arms. She was literally splayed to the floor. Her body seemed to come alive with this one realization: she was trapped.

Lena was back in the dark room, back where she had been taken hours ago; or was it days? Weeks? The clinking was there, the slow beat of water torture pounding into her brain. The room had no windows and no light. There was only Lena and whatever was holding her to the floor. A light came suddenly, a blinding light that burned her eyes. Lena tried to pull away from the restraints again, but she was helpless. Someone was there; someone she knew who should be helping her but was not. She writhed against the bonds, twisting her body, trying to free herself, to no avail. Her mouth opened, but no words would come. She forced the words through her mind-Help me, please-but was not rewarded with the sound of her own voice.

She turned her head to the side, blinking her eyes, trying to look past the light, just as a minute pressure came against the palm of her hand. The sensation was dull, but Lena could see from the light that the tip of a long nail was pressed into the palm of her hand. Also in the light, a hammer was raised.

Lena closed her eyes, not feeling the pain.

She was back at the beach, only not in the water. This time she was flying.

Chapter Twenty-four

MARY Ann Moon was not a pleasant woman. There was a set to her mouth that said "don't fuck with me" before Jeffrey even had the opportunity to introduce himself. She had taken one look at Wrights broken monitoring bracelet and directed her comments to Jeffrey.

"Do you know how much those things cost?"

It had gone downhill from there.

Jeffreys biggest problem with Moon, as she liked to be called, was the language barrier. Moon was from somewhere up east, the kind of place where consonants took on a life of their own. In addition to this, she spoke loudly and abruptly, two things that were considered very rude to southern ears. On the elevator ride up from central processing to the interview rooms, she stood too close to him, her mouth set in a fixed line of disapproval, her arms crossed low over her waist. Moon was about forty years old, but it was the hard kind of forty that too much smoking and drinking can do to a person. She had dark blond hair with light strands of gray mixed in. Her lips had wrinkles spreading out from them in deep rays.

Her nasal tone and the fact that she spoke sixty miles an hour gave Jeffrey the impression that he was talking to a French horn. Every response Jeffrey gave her was slow in coming because he had to wait for his brain to translate her words. He could tell early on that Moon took this slowness for stupidity, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it.

She said something to him over her shoulder as they walked through the precinct. He slowed it down, realizing she had said, "Tell me about your case, Chief."

He gave her a quick rundown of what had happened since Sibyl Adams had been found, leaving out his connection to Sara. He could tell the story wasn't progressing quickly enough, because Moon kept interrupting him with questions he was about to answer if she would give him a second to finish his sentence.

"I take it you went into my boy's house?" she said. "You see all that Jesus shit?" She rolled her eyes. "That nine mill didn't walk in under your pant leg, did it, Sheriff Taylor?"

Jeffrey gave her what he hoped was a threatening look. She responded with an outburst of laughter that pierced his eardrum. "That name sounds familiar."

"What's that?"

"Linton. Tolliver, too." She put her tiny hands on her slim hips. "I'm very good about notification, Chief. I've called Sara maybe a handful of times to let her know where Jack Allen Wright is. It's my job to do victim notification on an annual basis. Her case was ten years ago?"

"Twelve."

"So, that's at least twelve times I've talked to her."

He came clean, knowing he was busted. "Sara is my ex-wife. She was one of Wright's first victims."

"They let you work the case knowing your connection?"

"I'm in charge of the case, Ms. Moon," he answered.

She gave him a steady look that probably worked on her parolees, but did nothing but irritate Jeffrey. He was about two feet taller than Mary Ann Moon and not about to be intimidated by this little ball of Yankee hate.

"Wright's a Depo freak. You know what I mean by that?"

"He obviously likes taking it."

"This goes way back to his early days, right after Sara. You've seen pictures of him?"

Jeffrey shook his head.

"Follow me," Moon said.

He did as he was told, trying not to step on her heels. She was fast about everything but walking, and his stride was more than double hers. She stopped in front of a small office that was jam-packed with file storage boxes. She stepped over a pile of manuals, pulling a file off her desk.

"This place is a mess," she said, as if the fact had nothing to do with her. "Here."

Jeffrey opened the file, seeing a younger, slimmer, less womanly photograph of Jack Allen Wright clipped to the top page. He had more hair on his head, and his face was lean. His body was cut the way men who spend three hours a day lifting weights get, and his eyes were a piercing blue. Jeffrey remembered Wright's rheumy eyes from before. He also remembered that part of Sara's
ID
had come from his clear blue eyes. Every aspect of Wright's appearance had been altered since he had assaulted Sara. This was the man Jeffrey had been expecting when he searched Wright's house. This was the man who had raped Sara, who had robbed her of her ability to give Jeffrey a child.

Moon shuffled through the file. "This is his release photo," she said, sliding out another photograph.

Jeffrey nodded, seeing the man he knew as Wright.

"He served hard time, you know that?"

Jeffrey nodded again.

"Lots of men try to fight. Some of them just give in."

"You're breaking my heart." Jeffrey mumbled. "He have many visitors in prison?"

"Just his mother."

Jeffrey closed the file and handed it back to her. "What about when he got out of jail? He obviously went off the Depo, right? He raped again?"

"He says he didn't, but there's no way in hell he'd be able to get it up on the dosage he was supposed to be taking."

"Who was supervising it?"

"He was under his own supervision." She stopped him before he could say anything. "Listen, I know it's not perfect, but we have to trust them sometimes. Sometimes we're wrong. We were wrong with Wright." She threw the folder back on her desk. "He goes to the clinic now and gets his Depo injected once a week. It's all nice and clean. The bracelet you were kind enough to destroy kept him under close supervision. He was in line."

"He hasn't left the city?"

"No," she answered. "I did a spot check on him last Monday at work. He was at the Bank Building."

"Nice of you to put him near all those college girls."

"You're crossing a line," she warned.

He held up his hands, palms out.

"Write down whatever questions you want asked," she said. "I'll talk to Wright."

"I need to work off his answers."

"Technically, I don't even have to let you in here. You should be glad I'm not kicking your ass all the way back to Mayberry."

He literally bit his tongue so he would not snap back at her. She was right. He could call some friends of his on the APD tomorrow morning so he would get better treatment, but for right now, Mary Ann Moon was in charge.

Jeffrey said, "Can you give me a minute?" He indicated the desk. "I need to check in with my people."

"I can't make long-distance calls."

He held up his cell phone. "It's more privacy that I was looking for."

She nodded, turning around.

"Thanks," Jeffrey offered, but she did not answer in kind. He waited until she was down the hallway, then closed the door. After stepping over a group of boxes, he sat at her desk. The chair was low to the ground, and his knees felt like they were about to touch his ears. Jeffrey looked at his watch before dialing Sara's number. She was an early-to-bed land of person, but he needed to talk to her. He felt a wave of excitement wash over him as the phone rang.

She answered the phone on the fourth ring, her voice heavy with sleep. "Hello?"

He realized he had been holding his breath. "Sara?"

She was silent, and for a moment he thought she had hung up the phone. He heard her moving, sheets rustling; she was in bed. He could hear rain falling outside, and a distant thunder rumbled over the phone. Jeffrey had a flash of a night they had shared a long time ago. Sara never liked storms, and she had awakened him, wanting Jeffrey to take her mind off the thunder and lightning.

"What do you want?" she asked.

He searched for something to say, knowing suddenly that he had waited too long to get in touch with her. He could tell from the tone of her voice that something had changed in their relationship. He was not altogether sure how or why.

"I tried to call before," he said, feeling like he was lying even though he was not. "At the clinic," he said.

"That so?"

"I talked to Nelly," he said.

"Did you tell her it was important?"

Jeffrey felt his stomach drop. He didn't answer.

Sara gave what he thought was a laugh.

He said, "I didn't want to talk to you until I had something."

"Something on what?"

"I'm in Atlanta."

She was silent, then, "Let me guess, 633 Ashton Street."

"Earlier," he answered. "I'm at APD headquarters now. We've got him in an interview room."

"Jack?" she asked.

Something about her familiar use of his name set Jeffrey's teeth on edge.

"Moon called me when his monitor went off," Sara provided in a dull tone. "I had a feeling that's where you were."

"I wanted to talk to him about what's going on before I called in the cavalry."

She sighed heavily. "Good for you."

The line was quiet again, and Jeffrey was again lost for words. Sara interrupted the silence.

She asked, "Is that why you called me? To tell me that you arrested him?"

"To see if you were okay."

She gave a small laugh. "Oh, yeah. I'm just peachy, Jeff. Thanks for calling."

"Sara?" he asked, scared she would hang up. "I tried to call before."

"Evidently not that hard." she said.

Jeffrey could feel her anger coming across the phone. "I wanted to have something to tell you when I called. Something concrete."

She stopped him, her tone terse and low. "You didn't know what to say, so instead of walking two blocks to the clinic or making sure you got through to me, you scooted off to Atlanta to see Jack face-to-face." She paused. "Tell me how it felt to see him, Jeff."

He could not answer her.

"What'd you do, beat him up?" Her tone turned accusatory. "Twelve years ago, I could've used that. Right now I just wanted you to be there for me. To support me."

"I'm trying to support you, Sara," Jeffrey countered, feeling blind-sided. "What do you think I'm doing up here? I'm trying to find out if this guy is still out there raping women."

"Moon says he hasn't left town in the last two years."

"Maybe Wrights involved in what's going on in Grant. Did you think of that?"

"No, actually," she answered glibly. "All I could think was I showed you that transcript this morning, I bared my soul to you, and your response was to get out of town."

"I wanted-"

"You wanted to get away from me. You didn't know how to deal with it, so you left. I guess it's not as tricky as letting me come home and catch you with another woman in our bed, but it sends the same kind of message, doesn't it?"

He shook his head, not understanding how it had come to this. "How is it the same? I'm trying to help you."

Her voice changed then, and she didn't seem angry so much as deeply hurt. She had talked to him like this only once before, right after she had caught him cheating. He had felt then as he felt now, like a selfish asshole.

She said, "How are you helping me in Atlanta? How does it help me having you four hours away? Do you know how I felt all day, jumping every time the phone rang, hoping it was you?" She answered for him. "I felt like an idiot. Do you know how hard it was for me to show you that? To let you know what had happened to me?"

"I didn't-"

"I'm nearly forty years old, Jeffrey. I choose to be a good daughter to my parents and a supportive sister to Tessa. I chose to push myself so I could graduate at the top of my class from one of the finest universities in America. I chose to be a pediatrician so I could help kids. I chose to move back to Grant so I could be close to my family. I chose to be your wife for six years because I loved you so much, Jeffrey. I loved you so much." She stopped, and he could tell that she was crying. "I didn't choose to be raped."

He tried to speak, but she wouldn't let him.

"What happened to me took fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and all of that was wiped out. None of it matters when you take those fifteen minutes into account."

"That's not true."

"It's not?" she asked. "Then why didn't you call me this morning?"

"I tried to-"

"You didn't call me because you see me as a victim now. You see me the same way you see Julia Matthews and Sibyl Adams."

"I don't, Sara," he countered, shocked that she would accuse him of such a thing. "I don't see-"

"I sat there in that hospital bathroom on my knees for two hours before they cut me loose. I nearly bled to death," she said. "When he was done with me, there was nothing left. Nothing at all. I had to rebuild my life. I had to accept that because of that bastard I would never have children. Not that I ever wanted to think about having sex again. Not that I thought any man would want to touch me after what he did to me." She stopped, and he wanted so badly to say something to her, but the words would not come.

Her voice was low when she said, "You said I never opened up to you? Well, this is why. I tell you my deepest, darkest secret and what do you do? You run off to Atlanta to confront the man who did it instead of talking to me. Instead of comforting me."

"I thought you'd want me to do something."

"I did want you to do something," she answered, her tone filled with sadness. "I did."

The phone clicked in his ear as she hung up. He dialed her number again, but the line was busy. He kept hitting "send" on the phone, trying the line five more times, but Sara had taken her phone off the hook.

Jeffrey stood behind the one-way glass in the observation room, playing back his conversation with Sara in his mind. An overwhelming sadness enveloped him. He knew that she was right about calling. He should have insisted Nelly put him through. He should have gone to the clinic and told her that he still loved her, that she was still the most important woman in his life. He should have gotten on his knees and begged her to come back to him. He shouldn't have left her. Again.

Jeffrey thought of how Lena had used the term victim a few days ago..inscribing targets of sexual predators. She had put a spin on the word, saying it the same way she would say "weak" or "stupid." Jeffrey had not liked that classification from Lena, and he certainly did not like hearing it from Sara. He probably knew Sara better than any other man in her life, and Jeffrey knew that Sara was not a victim of anything but her own (Limning self-judgment. He did not see her as a victim in that context. If anything, he saw her as a survivor. Jeffrey was hurt to his very core that Sara would think so little of him.