and she kicked herself for not waiting for him to come to the car. He probably thought she was looking for a gun.
Lena dropped the badge in her lap and held her hands in the air, offering, "Sorry," out the open window.
The cop took a tentative step forward, his square jaw working as he came up to the car. He took off his sunglasses and gave her a close look.
"Listen," she said, hands still raised. "I'm on the job."
He interrupted her. "Are you Detective Salena Adams?"
She lowered her hands, giving the patrolman a questioning look. He was kind of short, but his upper body was muscled in that way short men have of overcompensating for what they lacked in height. His arms were so thick they wouldn't rest flat to his sides. The buttons of his uniform were pulled tight against his chest.
"It's Lena," she offered, glancing at his name tag. "Do I know you?"
"No, ma'am," he returned, slipping on his sunglasses. "We got a call from your chief. I'm supposed to escort you back to Grant County."
"I'm sorry?" Lena asked, sure she hadn't heard correctly. "My chief? Jeffrey Tolliver?"
He gave a curt nod. "Yes, ma'am." Before she could ask him any further questions, he was walking back to his car. Lena waited for the patrolman to pull back onto the road, then started off after him. He sped up quickly, edging up to ninety within minutes. They passed the blue Civic, but Lena did not pay much attention. All she could think was, What did I do this time?
Chapter Four
THOUGH the Heartsdale Medical Center anchored the end of Main Street, it was not capable of looking nearly as important as its name would imply. Just two stories tall, the small hospital was equipped to do little more than handle whatever scrapes and upset stomachs couldn't wait for doctors' hours. There was a larger hospital about thirty minutes away in Augusta that handled the serious cases. If not for the county morgue being housed in the basement, the medical center would have been torn down to make way for student housing a long time ago.
Like the rest of the town, the hospital had been built during the town's upswing in the 1930s. The main floors had been renovated since then, but the morgue was obviously not important to the hospital board. The walls were lined with light blue tile that was so old it was coming back into style. The floors were a mixed check pattern of green and tan linoleum. The ceiling overhead had seen its share of water damage, but most of it had been patched. The equipment was dated but functional.
Sara's office was in the back, separated from the rest of the morgue by a large glass window. She sat behind her desk, looking out the window, trying to collect her thoughts. She concentrated on the white noise of the morgue: the air compressor on the freezer, the swish-swish of the water hose as Carlos washed down the floor. Since they were below ground, the walls of the morgue absorbed rather than deflected the sounds, and Sara felt oddly comforted by the familiar hums and swishes. The shrill ring of the phone interrupted the silence.
"Sara Linton," she said, expecting Jeffrey. Instead, it was her father.
"Hey, baby."
Sara smiled, feeling a lightness overcome her at the sound of Eddie Linton's voice. "Hey, Daddy."
"I've got a joke for you."
"Yeah?" She tried to keep her tone light, knowing humor was her father's way of dealing with stress. "What's that?"
"A pediatrician, a lawyer, and a priest were on the Titanic when it started to go down," he began. "The pediatrician says, 'Save the children.' The lawyer says, 'Fuck the children!' And the priest says, 'Do we have time?' "
Sara laughed, more for her father's benefit than anything else. He was quiet, waiting for her to talk. She asked, "How's Tessie?"
"Taking a nap," he reported. "How about you?"
"Oh, I'm okay." Sara started drawing circles on her desk calendar. She wasn't normally a doodler, but she needed something to do with her hands. Part of her wanted to check her briefcase, to see
Janwillem van de Wetering