Genesis (20 page)

Tom said, "Sorry about the mess. We're short volunteers."

Faith asked, "Do you work here?"

"Oh, no. I'd go crazy if I did." He gave a chuckle at what must
have been Faith's surprised reaction. "I'm an air traffic controller. My
mom guilts me into helping out when they're shorthanded."

"Were you in the military?"

"Air Force—six years. How'd you guess?"

Faith shrugged. "Easiest way to get training." Then, probably to
bridge a rapport with the man, she added, "My brother's in the Air
Force, stationed in Germany."

Tom moved a box out of their way. "Ramstein?"

"Landstuhl. He's a surgeon."

"That's a bad mess over there. Your brother's doing the Lord's
work."

Faith was in cop mode now, her personal opinions set aside. "He
certainly is."

Tom stopped in front of a closed door and knocked. Will looked
down the hallway, seeing the other end of the shelter, the counter
they'd stood in front of while they waited for the woman to come
out of the bathroom. Faith noticed this, too, and she rolled her eyes
at Will as Tom opened the door.

"Mom, this is Detective Trent and—I'm sorry, is it Mitchell?"

"Yes," Faith confirmed.

Tom introduced his parents, though this was certainly a formality
as the room contained only two people. Judith was sitting behind a
desk, a ledger opened in front of her. Henry was in a chair by the
window. He had a newspaper in his hands, and he shook the paper,
creasing it carefully before he gave Will and Faith his attention.

Tom hadn't been lying when he'd said his father was annoyed
about missing his golf game. Henry Coldfield looked like a parody of
a grumpy old man.

"Should I get some more chairs?" Tom offered. He didn't wait for
a response, disappearing before anyone could answer. The office was
regular-sized, which was to say it was big enough for four people to
occupy without knocking elbows. Still, Will stood in the doorway
while Faith took the only other vacant chair in the room. Normally,
they figured out ahead of time who would do the talking, but they
were going into this interview cold. When Will looked to Faith for
guidance, she only shrugged. The family was hard to read. They
would have to figure this out as they went along. The first step in an
interview was to make the witness feel comfortable. People didn't
tend to open up and start being helpful until you made them realize
that you weren't the enemy. Since she was sitting closest to them,
Faith started.

"Mr. and Mrs. Coldfield, thank you for meeting with us. I know
you already spoke to Detective Galloway, but what you went
through the other night was very traumatic. Sometimes it takes a few
days before you remember everything."

"We've never really had anything like this happen to us before,"
Judith Coldfield said, and Will wondered if she thought people routinely
rammed their car into women who had been raped and tortured
in an underground cavern.

Henry seemed to realize this as well. "Judith."

"Oh, dear." Judith put her hand to her mouth, covering the embarrassed
smile on her face. Will saw where Tom had gotten his
buckteeth as well as his easy blush. The woman explained, "I meant
to say, we've never talked to the police before." She patted her husband's
hand. "Henry got a speeding ticket once, but once was
enough. When was that, dear?"

"Summer of '83," Henry answered, the set to his jaw indicating
he still hadn't gotten over the experience. He looked at Will as he
spoke, as if only a man would understand. "Seven miles over the
limit."

Will tried to think of something that sounded commiserating,
but his mind drew a blank. He asked Judith, "You're from up
North?"

"Is it that obvious?" She laughed, putting her hand to her mouth
again, covering her smile. She was painfully self-conscious about her
protruding teeth. "Pennsylvania."

"Is that where you lived before you retired?"

"Oh, no," Judith said. "Henry's job moved us around a bit.
Mostly in the northwest. We lived in Oregon, Washington State,
California—but we didn't like that, did we?" Henry made a grumpy
sound. "We were in Oklahoma, but not for long. Have you ever
been? It's so flat there."

Faith cut to the chase. "How about Michigan?"

Judith shook her head, but Henry supplied, "I saw a football game
in Michigan back in '71. Michigan and Ohio State. Ten to seven.
Nearly froze to death."

Faith lighted on the opportunity to draw him out. "You're a football
fan?"

"Can't stand it." His frown seemed to indicate he was still unhappy
about the situation, though most people would kill to see a rivalry
game.

"Henry was a salesman" Judith supplied. "He traveled around
quite a bit even before that. His father was in the army for thirty
years."

Faith took over, trying to find a way to open up the man. "My
grandfather was army."

Judith jumped in again. "Henry had a college deferment for the
war." Will guessed she meant Vietnam. "We had friends who served,
of course, and Tom was in the Air Force, which we're really proud
of. Isn't that right, Tom?"

Will hadn't realized Tom was back. The Coldfields' son smiled an
apology. "Sorry, no more chairs. The kids are using them to build a
fort."

"Where were you stationed?" Faith asked him.

"I was at Keesler both tours," he answered. "I started out my
training, then worked my way up to the Three-Thirty-Fourth's
Master Sergeant in charge of tower class fundamentals. They were
talking about sending me to Altus when I put in for discharge."

"I was going to ask you why you left the Air Force, then I remembered
Keesler's in Mississippi."

The blush came back in full force, and Tom gave an embarrassed
laugh. "Yes, ma'am."

Faith turned her attention to Henry, probably guessing that they
wouldn't get much from Judith without Henry's blessing. "Ever
leave stateside?"

"Always stayed in the U.S."

"You have an army accent," Faith noted, which Will gathered
meant he had no accent at all.

Henry's reticence seemed to slowly melt away under Faith's attention.
"You go where they tell you to go."

"That's exactly what my brother said when he shipped overseas."
Faith leaned forward. "If you want the truth, I think he likes moving
around all the time, never putting down roots."

Henry started to open up some more. "Married?"

"Nope."

"Lady in every port?"

"Lord, I hope not." Faith laughed. "As far as my mother's concerned,
it was the Air Force or the priesthood."

Henry chuckled. "Most mothers feel that way about their sons."
He squeezed his wife's hand, and Judith beamed proudly at Tom.

Faith turned her attention to the son. "You said you're an air traffic
controller?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered, though Tom was probably younger
than Faith.

Tom told them, "I work out of Charlie Brown." He meant the
general aviation airport just west of Atlanta. "Been there about ten
years. It's a nice gig. Sometimes we handle Dobbins traffic
overnight." Dobbins was an Air Force base just outside the city. "I
bet your brother's flown out of there before."

"I bet he has," Faith agreed, keeping eye contact with the man
just long enough to make him feel flattered. "You live out in Conyers
now?"

"Yes, ma'am." Tom smiled openly, his buckteeth jutting out like
tusks on an elephant. He was more relaxed now, talkative. "I moved
to Atlanta when I left Keesler." He nodded toward his mother. "I
was real happy when my parents decided to move down here."

"They're on Clairmont Road, right?"

Tom nodded, still smiling. "Close enough to visit without having
to pack a suitcase."

Judith didn't seem to like the easy rapport that was developing between
the two. She quickly inserted herself back into the conversation.
"Tom's wife loves her flower garden." She started to rummage
around in her purse. "Mark, his son, is obsessed with aviation. Every
day, he looks more and more like his father."

"Mom, they don't need to see—"

He was too late. Judith pulled out a photograph and handed it to
Faith, who made the proper appreciative noises before passing it to Will.

He kept his expression neutral as he looked at the family photo.
The Coldfield genes were certainly strong. The girl and boy in the
picture were carbon copies of their father. Making matters worse,
Tom had not found himself an attractive wife to dilute the Coldfield
gene pool. She had stringy-looking blonde hair and a resigned set to
her mouth that seemed to indicate this was as good as it would ever get.

"Darla," Judith supplied, naming the wife. "They've been married
for almost ten years. Isn't that right, Tom?"

He shrugged in that embarrassed way children shrug at their parents.

"Very nice," Will said, handing the picture back to Judith.

Judith asked Faith, "Do you have children?"

"A son." Faith didn't offer any more information. Instead she
asked Judith, "Is Tom an only child?"

"That's right." Judith smiled again, covering her mouth. "Henry
and I didn't think we'd be able to . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she
just stared at Tom with obvious pride. "He was a miracle."

Again, Tom shrugged, obviously embarrassed.

Faith subtly shifted the topic onto the reason they were all here.
"And you were visiting Tom and his family the day of the accident?"

Judith nodded. "He wanted to do something nice for our fortieth
anniversary. Didn't you, Tom?" Her voice took on a distant quality.
"Such a horrible thing to happen. I don't think another anniversary
will go by without remembering . . ."

Tom spoke. "I don't understand how this could happen. How
could that woman—" He shook his head. "It makes no sense. Who
the hell would do something like that?"

"Tom," Judith shushed. "Language."

Faith gave Will a glance that indicated she was using every ounce
of willpower in her body not to roll her eyes. She recovered quickly,
directing her words toward the elderly couple. "I know you've already
told Detective Galloway everything, but let's start fresh from
the beginning. You were driving down the road, you saw the
woman, and then—?"

"Well," Judith began. "At first I thought it might be a deer. We've
seen deer on the side of the road many times. Henry always goes slow
if it's dark in case one darts out."

"They see the lights and it just freezes them," Henry explained, as
if a deer caught in headlights was an obscure phenomenon.

"It wasn't dark," Judith continued. "It was dusk, I suppose. And I
saw this thing in the road. I opened my mouth to tell Henry, but it
was too late. We had already hit it.
Her.
" She took out a tissue from
her purse and pressed it to her eyes. "Those nice men tried to help
her, but I don't think—surely, after all that . . ."

Henry took his wife's hand again. "Has she . . . is the woman . . . ?"

"She's still in the hospital," Faith provided. "They're not sure if
she'll ever regain consciousness."

"My Lord," Judith breathed, almost a prayer. "I hope she doesn't."

"Mother—" Tom's voice rose in surprise.

"I know that sounds mean, but I hope she never knows."

The family went quiet. Tom looked at his father. Henry's throat
worked, and Will could tell the man was starting to get overwhelmed
by his memories. "Thought I was having a heart attack," he managed
around a harsh laugh.

Judith lowered her voice, confiding as if her husband were not
right beside her, "Henry has heart issues."

"Nothing bad," he countered. "Stupid air bag hit me square in the
chest. Safety device, they call it. Damn thing almost killed me."

Faith asked, "Mr. Coldfield, did you see the woman on the road?"

Henry nodded. "It's what Judith said. It was too late to stop. I
wasn't speeding. I was going the posted limit. I saw something—
thought it was a deer, like she said. Jammed my foot on the brake. She
just appeared out of nowhere. Right out of nowhere. I still didn't
think it was a woman until we got out of the car and saw her there.
Awful. Just awful."

"Have you always worn glasses?" Will broached the subject carefully.

"I'm an amateur pilot. Get my eyes checked twice a year." He
took off the glasses, his feathers ruffled but his tone steady. "I may be
old, but I'm flight ready. No cataracts, corrected to twenty-twenty."

Will decided he might as well get it all out of the way. "And your
heart?"

Judith intervened. "It's nothing really. Just something to keep an
eye on, make sure he's not straining himself too much."

Henry took over, still indignant. "Nothing that concerns the doctors.
I take some horse pills. I don't do any heavy lifting. I'm fine."

Faith tried to soothe him, changing the subject. "An Army brat
flying airplanes?"

Henry seemed to be debating whether or not to let the topic of
his health go. Finally, he answered, "My dad got me lessons when I
was a kid. We were stationed up in Nowhere, Alaska. He thought it
was a good way to keep me out of trouble."

Faith smiled, helping him relax again. "Good flying weather?"

"If you were lucky." He laughed, wistful. "Had to be careful
landing—cold wind would whip that plane around like a flyswatter.
Some days, I'd just close my eyes and hope I touched down on the
field and not in the ice."

"Cold field," Faith pointed out, making a play on his name.

"Right." Henry said, as if he'd heard the pun many times. He put
his glasses back on, all business. "Listen, I'm not one to tell other people
how to go about their business, but why aren't you asking us
about that other car?"

"What other car?" Faith echoed. "The one that stopped to help?"

"No, the other one we saw streaking down the road, opposite. It
must have been about two minutes before we hit that girl."