Triptych (Will Trent, #1)

by Karin Slaughter

The thought of what he had done, the depths to which he had sunk, made him sick. All this time, John had believed Michael was the animal, but in that one moment when the opportunity had presented itself, John had been just as sadistic, just as vengeful as his cousin. Was this what Emily had fought for? Was this why his mother had spent hour upon hour writing in her notebooks, so that her little Johnny could get out of jail and mutilate a fifteen-year-old girl? For the first time in his life, John was glad his mother was gone, glad that he would never have to look into her beautiful eyes and know that she was looking at someone who was capable of such atrocities.

What was it about John Shelley that made her want to save him? Maybe it was because he was all alone in the world. Maybe it was because he wore his loneliness like a suit of armor that only Angie could see. He was like Will. Exactly like Will.

“It must’ve been hard all those years. You being in prison like that, her on the outside.” “She knows I didn’t do it.” “That must have made it even harder.” “Stop trying your psychology bullshit on me.” “I was just curious about what it was like.” “What was it like?” John repeated, some of his anger starting to seep out. “What was it like to ruin my family, send my mother to an early grave? What was it like to be treated like some kind of fucking pariah by my own father? What do you think, man? What the fuck do you think?” John’s words hung in the air, his voice echoing in Will’s ears. What did Will think? He thought that the pieces were finally fitting into place.

“After she figured out Mike wasn’t home, she wouldn’t let them into the house.” Leo added with some appreciation, “She may hate his fucking guts, but she’s still a cop’s wife. She knows you don’t let nobody poke around unless they’ve got a paper from the judge.” “What am I missing here?” “Lemme finish,” Leo cautioned. “This cop, Barkley, he’s pretty pissed standing around with his dick in his hand. So, he takes it out on me, tells me to get the fuck off the property.” Will heard a lighter flick open as Leo lit a cigarette. “Me, I mosey out into the street. It’s a free country, right? Barkley don’t own the street.” Will could imagine the scene. You didn’t tell a cop to leave unless you wanted him to hang around your neck for the rest of your natural life.

Will kept his cell phone to his ear as he drove, praying that Amanda would be in her office. He had brought John with him because he needed to hear his story, wanted to know what kind of animal he would be dealing with when he reached Tennessee. For his part, John was more than willing to oblige. All of the man’s recalcitrance had disappeared, and Will’s head was spinning from his theories.

“Amanda,” Will said, trying to control his voice. “You are a nasty, horrible person, but you have always had my back every time I worked a case. Don’t do this to me now.” “Well, Will,” she countered. “You are a high-functioning dyslexic who reads on a second-grade level, but let’s not throw stones.”

Will kept his hands tight around the wheel. John had brought this down on Angie. She would be safe now but for the man’s arrogance and stupidity. “You were baiting him. You knew exactly what you were doing.” John snapped the map along a crease, folding it into a smaller section as he kept trying to defend himself. “You tell me what I should’ve done and I’ll get back in my magic time machine and do it. Tell you what, though, let’s don’t stop at four days. Let’s go back twenty years. Give me my youth back. Give me my mother and my grandparents and my family. Hell, throw in a wife and a couple of kids for me while you’re at it.” “She was running away from something in that yard.” John was still working on the map, but Will could hear the anguish in the other man’s voice when he said, “Don’t you think I know that?”

For his part, John wasn’t sure if Michael’s death brought him any peace. Standing there in that cellar, he had wanted with every ounce of his being to fall to his knees, beat the life back into Michael’s chest, do whatever it took to bring him back to life so he could kill him again with his own hands. But, he hadn’t. John had saved Jasmine instead. She had stopped breathing, and John had breathed for her, giving her CPR for over forty minutes until the ambulance had arrived at the little cabin Michael had bought in John’s name. The same hands that had mutilated Cynthia Barrett had given life to another little girl. There had to be some kind of justice in that. There had to be some kind of peace.

Will closed the front door with a heavy sigh. A man who has grown up in an orphanage cannot take a dog to the pound. Even if it is a Chihuahua.