Faithless Read Online Free PDF Page A

on her knees, shielding her eyes as dirt sprayed into the air. The wood splintered, most of it still buried, but Jeffrey kept at it, using his hands to break the thin slats. A low, creaking moan like a dying gasp came as nails yielded against the strain. The odor of fresh decay wafted over Sara like a sour breeze, but she did not look away when Jeffrey lay flat to the ground so that he could reach his arm into the narrow opening.
    He looked up at her as he felt around, his jaw clenched tight. “I feel something,” he said. “Somebody.”
    “Breathing?” Sara asked, but he shook his head before she got the word out of her mouth.
    Jeffrey worked more slowly, more deliberately, as he pried away another piece of wood. He looked at the underside, then passed it to Sara. She could see scratch marks in the pulp, as if an animal had been trapped. A fingernail about the size of one of her own was embedded in the next piece Jeffrey handed her, and Sara put it faceup on the ground. The next slat was scratched harder, and she put this beside the first, keeping a semblance of the pattern, knowing it was evidence. It could be an animal. A kid’s prank. Some old Indian burial ground. Explanations flashed in and out of her mind, but she could only watch as Jeffrey pried the boards away, each slat feeling like a splinter in Sara’s heart. There were almost twenty pieces in all, but by the twelfth, they could see what was inside.
    Jeffrey stared into the coffin, his Adam’s apple moving up and down as he swallowed. Like Sara, he seemed at a loss for words.
    The victim was a young woman, probably in her late teens. Her dark hair was long to her waist, blanketing her body. She wore a simple blue dress that fell to mid-calf and white socks but no shoes. Her mouth and eyes were wide open in a panic that Sara could almost taste. One hand reached up, fingers contracted as if the girl was still trying to claw her way out. Tiny dots of petechiae were scattered in the sclera of her eyes, long-dried tears evidenced by the thin red lines breaking through the white. Several empty water bottles were in the box along with a jar that had obviously been used for waste. A flashlight was on her right, a half-eaten piece of bread on her left. Mold grew on the corners, much as mold grew like a fine mustache over the girl’s upper lip. The young woman had not been a remarkable beauty, but she had probably been pretty in her own, unassuming way.
    Jeffrey exhaled slowly, sitting back on the ground. Like Sara, he was covered in dirt. Like Sara, he did not seem to care.
    They both stared at the girl, watched the breeze from the lake ruffle her thick hair and pick at the long sleeves of her dress. Sara noticed a matching blue ribbon tied in the girl’s hair and wondered who had put it there. Had her mother or sister tied it for her? Had she sat in her room and looked at the mirror, securing the ribbon herself? And then what had happened? What had brought her here?
    Jeffrey wiped his hands on his jeans, bloody fingerprints leaving their mark. “They didn’t mean to kill her,” he guessed.
    “No,” Sara agreed, enveloped by an overwhelming sadness. “They just wanted to scare her to death.”

CHAPTER TWO
    At the clinic, they had asked Lena about the bruises.
    “You all right, darlin’?” the older black woman had said, her brows knitted in concern.
    Lena had automatically answered yes, waiting for the nurse to leave before she finished getting dressed.
    There were bruises that came from being a cop: the rub from where the gun on your hip wore so hard against you that some days it felt like the bone was getting a permanent dent. The thin line of blue like a crayon mark on your forearm from accommodating the lump of steel as you kept your hand as straight to your side as you could, trying not to alert the population at large that you were carrying concealed.
    When Lena was a rookie, there were even more problems: back aching, gunbelt chafing, welts from