Free Undone by Karin Slaughter Page B

and Faith had felt the same knee-jerk dislike she’d felt in high school when the cheerleaders had bounced by. She’d like to think a new strength of character, a spurt in maturity, had allowed her to overcome the petty response, but the truth was that it was hard for Faith to hate someone who was a widow, especially the widow of a cop.
    Sara asked, “Have you had anything to eat since we talked?”
    Faith shook her head, looking down at the doctor’s food selection: a scrawny piece of baked chicken on a leaf of wilted lettuce and something that may or may not have been a vegetable. Sara used herplastic fork and knife to cut into the piece of chicken. At least she tried to cut into it. In the end, it was more like a tearing. She moved the roll off her bread plate and passed Faith the chicken.
    “Thanks,” Faith managed, thinking that the fudge brownies she had spotted when she walked in were much more appetizing.
    Sara asked, “Are you officially on the case?”
    Faith was surprised by the question, but then again, Sara had worked on the victim; she was bound to be curious. “Will managed to snag it for us.” She checked the signal on her cell phone, wondering why he hadn’t called yet.
    “I’m sure the locals were very happy to step aside.”
    Faith laughed, thinking Sara’s husband had probably been a good cop. Faith was a good cop, too, and she knew that it was one in the morning and Sara had said six hours ago that she was at the end of her shift. Faith studied the doctor. Sara had the unmistakable glow of an adrenaline junkie. The woman was here for information.
    Sara offered, “I checked on Henry Coldfield, the driver.” She hadn’t eaten anything yet, but then she had come into the cafeteria to find Faith, not choke down a piece of chicken that had hatched just as Nixon was resigning. “The air bag bruised his chest, and the wife took a couple of stitches in her head, but they’re both fine.”
    “That’s actually what I’m waiting on.” Faith checked the clock again. “They were supposed to meet me down here.”
    Sara looked confused. “They left at least half an hour ago with their son.”
    “What?”
    “I saw them all talking to that detective with the greasy hair.”
    “Motherfucker.” No wonder Max Galloway had looked so smug when he left the cafeteria. “Sorry,” she told Sara. “One of the locals is smarter than I thought. He played me like a violin.”
    “Coldfield is an unusual name,” Sara said. “I’m sure they’re in the phone book.”
    Faith hoped so, because she didn’t want to have to go crawling back to Max Galloway and give him the satisfaction of relaying the information.
    Sara offered, “I could pull the address and phone number off the hospital intake form for you.”
    Faith was surprised by the offer, which usually required a subpoena. “That’d be great.”
    “It’s not a problem.”
    “It’s, uh—” Faith stopped, biting her tongue to keep from telling the other woman that she would be breaking the law. She changed the subject. “Will told me you worked on the victim when she came in.”
    “Anna,” Sara supplied. “At least that’s what I think she said.”
    Faith tested the waters. Will hadn’t given her the gritty details. “What were your impressions?”
    Sara sat back in her chair, arms folded. “She showed signs of severe malnutrition and dehydration. Her gums were white, her veins collapsed. Because of the nature of the healing and the way the blood was clotting, I would assume that the wounds were inflicted over a period of time. Her wrists and ankles showed signs of being bound. She was penetrated vaginally and anally; there were indications that a blunt object was used. I couldn’t really do a rape kit before surgery, but I managed to examine her as best I could. I removed some splinters of wood from under her fingernails for your lab to look at—not pressure-treated from the look of it, but that will have to be confirmed by your