Older people just died.
He checked for a pulse through a gloved hand.
None.
The settling of the body and rapid color change provided further corroboration.
Death was verified.
DAY FIVE
SATURDAY, JUNE 10
10:15A.M.
BRENT WAITED UNTIL THE WEEKEND TO MAKE THE FORTY-MINUTEdrive west to Statesboro. He’d wanted to go sooner, but work had commanded his undivided attention all week. What had Joan Bates said?The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it.He’d done a little more research and learned that the biblical passage was generally thought to mean that clever or sensible people could see trouble coming and avoid it. But the gullible? Or the childish? They just went ahead and suffered the consequences. He wasn’t sure which category he supposedly fell into.
Or how those words of wisdom even applied to him.
He hadn’t mentioned anything about Joan Bates’ visit to anyone, especially his mother or Hank. The woman had sought him out specifically, gone to a lot of trouble actually, so he’d decided to fully investigate before sharing any information. That caution came from being a prosecutor. He’d learned in Atlanta that things worked best when kept close.
Statesboro sat in neighboring Bulloch County. For a long time the town wasn’t much. As the story went, during the Civil War a Union officer asked someone for directions to Statesboro. Reportedly, the answer he received was, “You’re standing in the middle of town.” After the war the whole area grew, becoming a majorcenter for cotton and tobacco sales. Today thirty-five thousand people lived and worked there at various manufacturing and distribution centers. But its biggest employer, and main claim to fame, was Georgia Southern University. His alma mater. Twenty thousand students. Home to the Soarin’ Eagles. Six-time national football champions. He’d loved going to those games, which he’d continued to attend long after graduation.
A sea of middle-class neighborhoods ringed busy central downtown with a mix of single- and multifamily homes, many of the dwellings rentals catering to students. During his four years at college he hadn’t availed himself of the local housing, as he’d lived at home and commuted back and forth. The address he’d obtained from the company records was for one of the newer subdivisions east of town, just off the highway from Concord. The Bates residence was a single-story ranch-style home that filled a wooded lot. He parked on the street and walked toward the front door, passing the same Tahoe that had sat parked in the driveway on Tuesday night. Sprinklers irrigated the front yard.
He pushed the doorbell.
A few moments later the door was opened by the woman who’d confronted him. She was dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans, one hand holding a dish towel. Her manner remained stoic, except for a momentary glimmer of recognition and a brief smile of welcome.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bates,” he said to her. “I thought it best you and I talk further.”
She stared at him with eyes that almost seemed born to worry. He’d seen that look before in the eyes of victims, along with a severe consternation that flowed across her every feature that signaled only one thing. Pain. She motioned for him to come inside and they sat in an oversized living room with exposed wood beams and a brick fireplace.
“My children are out,” she said. “So we have privacy.”
He wondered how much this woman had cried during the past four months. She made no attempt to hide her solemnness. Noneat all. He gave her a moment to compose herself and took in the room, noticing the large crucifix on the wall and an array of family photos framed on a side table. Many with her husband.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he felt compelled to say.
She nodded an acknowledgment.
“Why didn’t you just introduce yourself the other night?”
“I thought it best not to.”
“Why did you findme?”
“I was told you would be replacing Peter at the mill.”
“That’s the how. I asked why.”
“You sound angry.”
“I’m confused. Help me understand.”
“My husband gave that company many years of his life. He worked hard. He took care of me and our children. He did what a good husband and father was supposed to do.”
Again, not an answer. But it seemed there was a lot inside her that needed to bubble out. And he could relate. Plenty of bubbles were percolating inside him too.
