Criminal by Karin Slaughter Page B

her. She lived in a condo in the heart of Buckhead. She had been on the job longer than he had been alive, which put her age in the mid-sixties. She kept her salt-and-pepper hair coiffed in the shape of a football helmet and wore pantyhose with starched blue jeans. She had a sharp tongue, more degrees than a college professor, and she knew that his name was Wilbur even though he’d had it legally changed when he entered college and every piece of paper the GBI had on file listed his legal name as William Trent.
    He cleared his throat again so that he could ask Sara, “Is there anything I should be doing?”
    “No, just stay where you are.” Sara used a raised, clear tone Will thought of as her doctor’s voice. “Amanda. This is Dr. Linton. Can you tell me today’s date?”
    She groaned out a pained breath. “I told Edna to shore up those steps a million times.”
    Will sat back on his heels. Something sharp pressed against his knee. He felt blood sliding across his ankle, dripping through his sock. His heart was pounding so hard that he was sure Sara could hear it.
    “Will,” Amanda mumbled. “What time is it?”
    Will couldn’t answer her. His mouth felt wired shut.
    Sara took over, saying, “It’s five-thirty.”
    “In the evening,” Amanda said, not a question. “We’re at the children’s home. I fell down the basement stairs.” She lay there taking deep breaths of the pungent air. “Dr. Linton, am I going to live?”
    “I’d be very surprised if you didn’t.”
    “Well, I suppose that’s as much as I can ask for right now. Did I lose consciousness?”
    “Yes,” Sara answered. “For about two minutes.”
    Amanda spoke more to herself. “I don’t know what that means. Are you touching my foot?”
    Will pulled away his hand.
    “I can move my toes.” Amanda sounded relieved. “My head feels like it’s been cracked open.” He heard movement, the rustling of clothes. “No, nothing sticking out. No blood. No soft spots. God, my shoulder hurts.”
    Will tasted blood. His nose was bleeding. He used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.
    Amanda let out another heavy sigh. “I’ll tell you what, Will. You get past a certain age and a broken bone or a cracked head is no laughing matter. It’s with you for the rest of your life. What’s left of the rest of your life.”
    She was quiet for a few seconds. From the sound of it, she was trying to keep her breathing steady. Despite the fact that he was obviously not going to answer, she told Will, “When I joined the Atlanta Police Department, there was a whole division assigned to checking our appearance. The Inspection Division. Six full-duty officers. I’m not making that up.”
    Will glanced up at Sara. She shrugged.
    “They would show up during roll call, and if you didn’t fix what they told you to fix, you were suspended without pay.”
    He put his hand to his watch, wishing he could feel the second hand ticking by. Grady Hospital was only a few blocks away. There was no reason for the ambulance to be taking so long. They knew Amanda was a cop. They knew she needed help.
    Amanda said, “I remember the first time I rolled up on a signal forty-five. Some jackass had a CB radio stolen out of his car. We were always getting forty-fives on CB radios. They had those big antennas pointing like arrows off their back bumpers.”
    Again, Will glanced up at Sara. She made a circling motion, indicating he should keep Amanda talking.
    Will’s throat was too tight. He couldn’t force out the words, couldn’t pretend that they were all just a bunch of friends who’d had a bad day.
    Amanda didn’t seem to need encouragement. She chuckled under her breath. “They laughed at me. They laughed at me when I got there. They laughed at me when I took the report. They laughed at me when I left. No one thought women should be in uniform. The station would get calls every week—someone reporting that a woman had stolen a squad car. They couldn’t believe