Blindsighted

  After a few moments, Cathy lowered her voice, asking, “Was it Devon Lockwood?”

  “Devon?” Sara was surprised by the name. She hadn’t been able to see exactly who Tessa was wrangling around with in bed, but Devon Lockwood, the new plumber’s helper Eddie Linton had hired two weeks ago, was the last name she was expecting to come up.

  Cathy shushed her. “Your father will hear.”

  “Hear what?” Eddie asked, shuffling into the kitchen. His eyes lit up when he saw Sara. “There’s my baby,” he said, kissing her cheek with a loud smack. “Was that you I heard coming in this morning?”

  “That was me,” Sara confessed.

  “I got some paint chips in the garage,” he offered. “Maybe we can go look at them after we eat, pick a pretty color for your room.”

  Sara sipped her coffee. “I’m not moving back in, Dad.”

  He jabbed a finger at the cup. “That’ll stunt your growth.”

  “I should be so lucky,” Sara grumbled. Since the ninth grade, she had been the tallest member of her immediate family, just inching past her father by a hair.

  Sara slid onto the stool her mother vacated. She watched her parents as they went through their morning routine, her father walking around the kitchen, getting in her mother’s way until Cathy pushed him into a chair. Her father smoothed his hair back as he leaned over the morning paper. His salt-and-pepper hair stuck out in three different directions, much like his eyebrows. The T-shirt he was wearing was so old that worn holes were breaking through over his shoulder blades. The pattern on his pajama pants had faded out over five years ago, and his bedroom slippers were falling apart at the heels. That she had inherited her mother’s cynicism and her father’s sense of dress was something Sara would never forgive them for.

  Eddie said, “I see the Observer’s milking this thing for every penny.”

  Sara glanced at the headline of Grant’s local paper. It read: “College Professor Slain in Grisly Attack.”

  “What’s it say?” Sara asked before she could stop herself.

  He traced his finger down the page as he read. “ ‘Sibyl Adams, a professor at GIT, was savagely beaten to death yesterday at the Grant Filling Station. Local police are baffled. Police Chief Jeffrey Tolliver’ ”—Eddie stopped, muttering “The bastard” under his breath—“ ‘reports they are exploring every possible lead in order to bring the young professor’s murderer to justice.’ ”

  “She wasn’t beaten to death,” Sara said, knowing that the punch to Sibyl Adams’s face had not killed her. Sara gave an involuntary shudder as she recalled the physical findings during the autopsy.

  Eddie seemed to notice her reaction. He said, “Was anything else done to her?”

  Sara was surprised her father had asked this. Normally, her family went out of their way not to ask questions about that side of Sara’s life. She had felt from the beginning that they were all more than a little uncomfortable with her part-time job.

  Sara asked, “Like what?” before she got her father’s meaning. Cathy looked up from mixing the pancake batter, a look of trepidation on her face.

  Tessa burst into the kitchen, popping the swinging door on its hinge, obviously expecting to find Sara alone. Her mouth opened in a perfect O.

  Cathy, standing at the stove making pancakes, tossed over her shoulder, “Good morning, sunshine.”

  Tessa kept her head down, making a beeline for the coffee.

  “Sleep well?” Eddie asked.

  “Like a baby,” Tessa returned, kissing the top of his head.

  Cathy waved her spatula in Sara’s direction. “You could learn from your sister.”

  Tessa had the common sense to ignore this comment. She opened the French door leading to the deck and jerked her head outside, indicating Sara should follow.

  Sara did as she was told, holding her breath until the door was closed firmly behind her. She whispered, “Devon Lockwood?”

  “I still haven’t told them about your date with Jeb,” Tessa countered.

  Sara pressed her lips together, silently agreeing to the truce.

  Tessa tucked one of her legs underneath her as she sat on the porch swing. “What were you doing out so late?”

  “I was at the morgue,” Sara answered, sitting beside her sister. She rubbed her arms, fighting the early morning chill. Sara was still in her scrubs and a thin white T-shirt, hardly enough for the temperature. “I needed to check some things. Lena—” She stopped herself, not sure she could tell Tessa what had happened with Lena Adams in the morgue last night. The accusations still stung, even though Sara knew it was Lena’s grief talking.

  She said, “I wanted to get it over with, you know?”

  All mirth had left Tessa’s features. “Did you find anything?”

  “I faxed a report to Jeffrey. I think it’s going to help him get some solid leads.” She stopped, making sure she had Tessa’s attention. “Listen, Tessie. Be careful, okay? I mean, keep the doors locked. Don’t go out alone. That kind of thing.”

  “Yeah.” Tessa squeezed her hand. “Okay. Sure.”

  “I mean—” Sara stopped, not wanting to terrify her sister, but not wanting to put her in danger either. “You’re both the same age. You and Sibyl. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

  “Yeah,” Tessa answered, but it was obvious she did not want to talk about it. Sara couldn’t blame her sister. Knowing in intimate detail what had happened to Sibyl Adams, Sara was finding it hard to get through the day.

  “I put the postcard—” Tessa began, but Sara stopped her.

  “I found it in my briefcase,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “Yeah,” Tessa said, a stillness to her voice.

  Sara stared out at the lake, not thinking about the postcard, not thinking about Sibyl Adams or Jeffrey or anything. There was something so peaceful about the water that for the first time in weeks, Sara felt herself relax. If she squinted her eyes, she could see the dock at the back of her own house. It had a covered boathouse, a small floating barnlike structure, like most of the docks on the lake.

  She imagined herself sitting in one of the deck chairs, sipping a margarita, reading a trashy novel. Why she pictured herself doing this, Sara did not know. She seldom had time to sit lately, she did not like the taste of alcohol, and at the end of the day she was nearly cross-eyed from reading patient charts, pediatric journals, and forensic field manuals.

  Tessa interrupted her thoughts. “I guess you didn’t get much sleep last night?”

  Sara shook her head as she leaned against her sister’s shoulder.

  “How was it being around Jeffrey yesterday?”

  “I wish I could take a pill and forget all about him.”

  Tessa raised her arm, putting it around Sara’s shoulders. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep?”

  Sara sighed, closing her eyes. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about Sibyl. About Jeffrey.”

  “Two years is a long time to carry a torch for somebody,” Tessa said. “If you really want to get over him, then you need to start dating.” She stopped Sara’s protest. “I mean real dates, where you don’t drop the guy as soon as he gets close.”

  Sara sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. She knew what her sister was suggesting. “I’m not like you. I can’t just sleep around.” Tessa didn’t take offense at this. Sara had not expected her to. That Tessa Linton enjoyed an active sex life was pretty much known to everyone in town but their father.

  “I was just sixteen when Steve and I got together,” Sara began, referring to her first serious boyfriend. “Then, well, you know what happened in Atlanta.” Tessa nodded. “Jeffrey made me like sex. I mean, for the first time in my life, I felt like a complete person.” She clenched her fists, as if she could hold on to that feeling. “You have no idea what that meant to me, to be suddenly awake after all those years of focusing on school and work and not seeing anybody or having any kind of life.”

  Tessa was quiet, letting Sara talk.

 
“I remember our first date,” she continued. “He was driving me back to the house in the rain and he stopped the car all of a sudden. I thought it was a joke, because we’d both been talking about how much we liked to walk in the rain just a few minutes earlier. But he left the lights on and he got out of the car.” Sara closed her eyes, seeing Jeffrey standing in the rain, his coat collar turned up to the cold. “There was a cat in the road. It had been hit, and it was obviously dead.”

  Tessa was silent, waiting. “And?” she prompted.

  “And he picked it up and moved it out of the road so that no one else would hit it.”

  Tessa couldn’t hide her shock. “He picked it up?”

  “Yeah.” Sara smiled fondly at the memory. “He didn’t want anyone else to hit it.”

  “He touched a dead cat?”

  Sara laughed at her reaction. “I never told you that before?”

  “I think I’d remember.”

  Sara sat back in the swing, using her foot to keep it steady. “The thing was, at dinner he told me how much he hates cats. And here he was, stopping in the middle of the road in the dark, in the rain, to move the cat out of the road so that no one else would hit it.”

  Tessa could not mask her distaste. “Then he got back in the car with dead-cat hands?”

  “I drove, because he didn’t want to touch anything.”

  Tessa wrinkled her nose. “Is this the part where it gets romantic, because I’m feeling slightly sick to my stomach.”

  Sara gave her a sideways glance. “I drove him back to the house, and of course he had to come in to wash his hands.” Sara laughed. “His hair was all wet from the rain and he kept his hands up like he was a surgeon who didn’t want to mess up his scrub.” Sara held her arms in the air, palms facing back, to illustrate.

  “And?”

  “And I took him into the kitchen to wash his hands because that’s where the antibacterial soap is, and he couldn’t squeeze the bottle without contaminating it, so I squeezed it for him.” She sighed heavily. “And he was leaning over the sink washing his hands, then I was lathering up his hands for him, and they felt so strong and warm and he’s always so goddamn sure of himself that he just looked up and kissed me right on the lips, without any hesitation, like he knew all along that while I was touching his hands all I could think about was how it would feel to have his hands on me, touching me.”

  Tessa waited until she was finished, then said, “Except for the dead cat part, that’s the most romantic story I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well.” Sara stood, walking over to the deck railing. “I’m sure he makes all his girlfriends feel special. That’s one thing he’s very good at, I guess.”

  “Sara, you’ll never understand that sex is different for some people. Sometimes it’s just fucking.” She paused. “Sometimes it’s just a way to get some attention.”

  “He certainly got my attention.”

  “He still loves you.”

  Sara turned, sitting on the railing. “He only wants me back because he lost me.”

  “If you were really serious about getting him out of your life,” Tessa began, “then you would quit your job with the county.”

  Sara opened her mouth to respond, but she could not think of how to tell her sister that some days her county work was the only thing that kept her sane. There were only so many sore throats and earaches Sara could take before her mind started to go numb. To give up her job as coroner would be giving up a part of her life that she really enjoyed, despite the macabre aspects.

  Knowing Tessa could never understand this, Sara said, “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  There was no response. Tessa was looking back at the house. Sara followed her gaze through the kitchen window. Jeffrey Tolliver was standing by the stove, talking to her mother.

  The Linton home was a split level that had been constantly renovated throughout its forty-year life. When Cathy took an interest in painting, a studio with a half bath was added onto the back. When Sara became obsessed with school, a study with a half bath was built into the attic. When Tessa became interested in boys, the basement was renovated in such a way that Eddie could get from anywhere in the house to the basement in three seconds flat. A stairway was at either end of the room and the closest bathroom was one floor up.

  The basement had not changed much since Tessa moved away for college. The carpet was avocado green and the sectional sofa a dark rust. A combination Ping-Pong/pool table dominated the center of the room. Sara had broken her hand once, diving for a Ping-Pong ball and slamming into the console television instead.

  Sara’s two dogs, Billy and Bob, were on the couch when Sara and Jeffrey walked down the stairs. She clapped her hands, trying to get them to move. The greyhounds did not budge until Jeffrey gave a low whistle. Their tails wagged as he walked over to pet them.

  Jeffrey didn’t mince words as he scratched Bob’s belly. “I tried to call you all night. Where were you?”

  Sara didn’t feel he was entitled to that kind of information. She asked, “Did you get anything on Sibyl yet?”

  He shook his head. “According to Lena, she wasn’t seeing anybody. That rules out an angry boyfriend.”

  “Anybody in her past?”

  “Nobody,” he answered. “I guess I’ll ask her roommate some questions today. She was living with Nan Thomas. You know, the librarian?”

  “Yeah,” Sara said, feeling things starting to click in her head. “Did you get my report yet?”

  He shook his head, not understanding. “What?”

  “That’s where I was last night, doing the autopsy.”

  “What?” he repeated. “You can’t do an autopsy without someone present.”

  “I know that, Jeffrey,” Sara snapped back, crossing her arms. One person questioning her competency in the last twelve hours was quite enough. She said, “That’s why I called Brad Stephens.”

  “Brad Stephens?” He turned his back to her, muttering something under his breath as he stroked underneath Billy’s chin.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said you’re acting strange lately.” He turned, facing her. “You performed the autopsy in the middle of the night?”

  “I’m sorry you find that strange, but I have two jobs to do, not just what I do for you.” He tried to stop her but she continued. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have a full patient load at the clinic in addition to what I do at the morgue. Patients, by the way”—she checked her watch, not really noting the time—“that I have to start seeing in a few minutes.” She tucked her hands into her hips. “Was there a reason you came by?”

  “To check on you,” he said. “Obviously you’re all right. I guess that should come as no surprise to me. You’re always all right.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sara Linton, stronger than steel.”

  Sara gave what she hoped was a condescending look. They had played out this scene so many times around the time of their divorce that she could recite both sides of the argument by heart. Sara was too independent. Jeffrey was too demanding.

  She said, “I have to go.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “The report?”

  “I faxed it to you.”

  It was his turn to put his hands on his hips. “Yeah, I got that. You think you found something?”

  “Yes,” she answered, then, “No.” She crossed her arms defensively. She hated when he downshifted from an argument into something to do with work. It was a cheap trick, and it always caught her off guard. She recovered somewhat, saying, “I need to hear back on the blood this morning. Nick Shelton is supposed to call me at nine, then I can tell you something.” She added, “I wrote this on the cover page for my report.”

  “Why did you rush the blood?” he asked.

  “Gut feeling,” Sara answered. That was all she was prepared to give him at this moment. Sara did not like to go on half pieces of information. She was a doctor, not a fortuneteller. Jeffrey knew this.
br />   “Take me through it,” he said.

  Sara folded her arms, not wanting to do this. She glanced back up the stairs to make sure no one was listening. “You read the report,” she said.

  “Please,” he said. “I want to hear it from you.”

  Sara leaned against the wall. She closed her eyes for a brief second, not to help her recall the facts, but to give herself some distance from what she knew.

  She began, “She was attacked on the toilet. She was probably easily subdued because of her blindness and the surprise element. I think he cut her early on, lifting her shirt, making the cross with his knife. The cut to her belly came early. It’s not deep enough for full penetration. I think he inserted his penis more to defile her than anything else. He then raped her vaginally, which would explain the excrement I found there. I’m not sure if he climaxed. I don’t imagine climax would be the issue for him.”

  “You think it’s more about defiling her?”

  She shrugged. Many rapists had some sort of sexual dysfunction. She didn’t see why it would be any different with this one. The gut rape practically pointed it out.

  She said, “Maybe it’s the thrill of doing it in a semipublic place. Even though the lunch rush was over, someone could have come in and caught him.”

  He scratched his chin, obviously letting himself absorb this.

  “Anything else?”

  “Can you clear some time to come by?” he asked. “I can set up a briefing at nine-thirty.”

  “A full briefing?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want anybody to know about that,” he ordered, and for the first time in a long while, she was in complete agreement with him.

  She said, “That’s fine.”

  “Can you come in around nine-thirty?” he repeated.

  Sara ran through her morning. Jimmy Powell’s parents would be in her office at eight. Going from one horrible meeting to another would probably make her day easier. What’s more, she knew that the sooner she briefed the detectives on Sibyl Adams’s autopsy results, the sooner they could go out and find the man who had killed her.

  “Yeah,” she said, walking toward the stairs. “I’ll be there.”