Genesis (43 page)

The same as they'd found in the basement of the house behind
Olivia Tanner's.

A
S WILL DROVE TO JAKE BERMAN'S HOUSE IN COWETA
County, he debated with himself the level of fury Faith would feel
when she found out that he had tricked her. He wasn't sure which
would make her angrier: the outright lie he had told her on the
phone about Sam finding the wrong Jake Berman or the fact that
Will was going down south to talk to the man on his own. There was
no way she would've kept her doctor's appointment if Will had told
her that the real Jake Berman was alive and well and living on Lester
Drive. She would have insisted on coming along, and Will wouldn't
have been able to come up with a good excuse for her not to, other
than that she was pregnant and diabetic and had enough on her plate
without having to put herself at risk by interviewing a witness who
could very well be a suspect.

That would have gone over really well with Faith. Like a lead
football over the Mississippi.

Will had gotten Caroline, Amanda's assistant, to cross-reference
Jake Berman with the address on Lester Drive. With that key piece of
information, they had opened up Berman's background fairly easily.
The mortgage was in his wife's name, as were all of the credit cards,
the cable bill and the utilities. Lydia Berman was a schoolteacher. Jake
Berman had drawn his full lot of unemployment and still not found
a job. He had declared bankruptcy eighteen months ago. He'd
walked away from around half a million dollars in debt. The reason
behind his being hard to find might have been as simple as a desire to
elude creditors. Considering he'd been arrested a few months ago for
public indecency, it made sense that Berman would want to keep a
low profile.

Then again, it would also all make sense if Berman was their suspect.

The Porsche wasn't comfortable for long distances, and Will's
back was aching by the time he reached Lester Drive. Traffic had been
worse then usual, an overturned tractor-trailer jackknifed across the
interstate bringing everything to a standstill for almost a full hour.
Will hadn't wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He had listened to
every station on the dial by the time he crossed into Coweta County.

Will pulled up beside an unmarked Chevy Caprice at the mouth
of Lester Drive. A lawnmower was sticking out of the back of the
trunk. The man behind the wheel was dressed in overalls, a thick
gold chain hanging around his neck. Will recognized Nick Shelton,
the regional field agent for District 23.

"How they hangin'?" Nick asked, turning down the bluegrass
blaring from the radio. Will had met the agent a few times before. He
was so country his neck glowed red, but he was a solid investigator,
and he knew how to do his job.

Will asked, "Is Berman still in the house?"

"Unless he sneaked out the back," Nick answered. "Don't worry.
He struck me as the lazy type."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Posed as a landscaper looking for work." Nick handed him a
business card. "I told him it'd be a hundred bucks a month, and he
said he could take care of his own damn lawn, thank you very
much." He snorted a laugh. "This from a guy who's still in his pajamas
at ten o'clock in the morning."

Will looked at the card, seeing a drawing of a lawnmower and
some flowers. He said, "Nice."

"The fake phone number comes in handy with the ladies." Nick
chuckled again. "I got a good look at ol' Jakey while he was lecturing
me on competitive pricing. He's definitely your guy."

"Did you get into the house?"

"He wasn't that stupid." Nick asked, "You want me to stick
around?"

Will thought about the situation, the fact that, if he had given her
the chance, Faith would have been right: Don't go into an unknown
situation without backup. "If you don't mind. Just hang back here
and make sure I don't get my head blown off."

They both laughed a little louder than the words called for, probably
because Will wasn't really joking.

He rolled up his window and drove down the road. Just to make
things easier, Caroline had called Berman before Will had left the office.
She had posed as an operator for the local cable television company.
Berman had assured her he would be home to let in the
technician who was doing a general upgrade so that their service
wouldn't be interrupted. There were a lot of tricks you could use to
make sure people were home. The cable ruse was the best. People
would go without a lot of things, but they would put their lives on
hold for days at a time in order to wait for the cable company to show
up.

Will checked the numbers on the mailbox, making sure they
matched the note Sam Lawson had given Faith. Courtesy of
MapQuest, which printed large arrows on their directions, and a
couple of stops at some convenience stores, Will had managed to
navigate his way through the rural town with only a few wrong
turns.

Still, he checked the number with the mailbox a third time before
getting out of the car. He saw the heart Sam had drawn around the
address, and wondered again why a man who was not the father of
Faith's child would do such a thing. Will had only met the reporter
once, but he didn't like him. Victor was all right. Will had talked to
him on the phone a couple of times and sat by him during an incredibly
tedious awards ceremony that Amanda had insisted her team attend,
mostly because she wanted to make sure someone clapped
when her name was called. Victor had wanted to talk about sports,
but not football and baseball, which were the only two sports Will
paid attention to. Hockey was for Yankees and soccer was for
Europeans. He wasn't quite sure how Victor had gotten interested in
both, but it made for pretty dull conversation. Whatever Faith had
seen in the guy, Will had been glad a few months ago when he started
to notice that Victor's car wasn't in Faith's driveway when he went to
pick her up for court days.

Of course, Will was not one to judge about relationships. His
whole body was still sore from being with Angie last night. It was
not a good sore—it was the kind of sore that made you want to crawl
up into bed and sleep for a week. Will knew from experience it
wouldn't matter, because as soon as he started putting one foot in
front of the other, rebuilding some semblance of a life, Angie would
return and he'd be back in that same place again. It was the pattern of
his life. Nothing was ever going to change it.

The Berman home was a one-storey ranch spread out over a large
lot. The house looked lived-in, but not in a good way. The grass was
overgrown and weeds tangled the flowerbeds. The green Camry in
the driveway was filthy. Mud caked the tires and there was a sheen of
filth on the car that looked like it had been there for quite a while.
There were two baby seats in back and the requisite Cheerios stuck to
the windshield. Two yellow, diamond-shaped signs were hanging
from the side window, probably reading
Baby on Board.
Will pressed
his hand to the hood of the car. The engine was cold. He looked at
the time on his phone. It was coming up on ten o'clock. Faith would
probably be at her doctor's by now.

Will knocked on the door and waited. He thought about Faith
again, how furious she would be, especially if Will was about to
come face-to-face with the killer. Though it looked as if he wasn't
going to come face-to-face with anyone. No one answered the door.
Will knocked on the door again. When that didn't work, he stepped
back from the house and looked up at the windows. All the shades
were open. Some lights were on. Maybe Berman was in the shower.
Or maybe he was fully aware that the police were trying to talk to
him. Nick's hayseed landscaper act was pretty impressive, but he'd
been sitting at the end of the road for about an hour. In a neighborhood
this small, phones had probably been ringing off the hook.

Will tried the front door, but it was locked. He walked around
the house, peering in the windows. There was a light at the end of
the hallway. He was going to the next window when he heard a noise
inside like a door slamming shut. Will put his hand to the gun on his
belt, feeling all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something
wasn't right, and Will was keenly aware that Nick Shelton was sitting
in his car listening to the radio right now.

There was the unmistakable sound of a window banging shut.
Will jogged around to the back of the house in time to see a man
darting through the back yard. Jake Berman was wearing pajama
pants with no shirt, but he'd managed to put on his sneakers. He
glanced over his shoulder as he ran past an elaborate swing set,
toward the chain-link fence that separated the property from the
neighbor on the opposite side.

"Crap," Will mumbled, bolting after him. Will was a good runner,
but Berman was fast—his arms pumping, legs moving in a blur.

"Police!" Will yelled, misjudging the height of the fence so badly
that his foot caught. He fell to the ground and scrambled up as
quickly as he could. He saw Berman go down a side yard, past another
house and toward the street. Will did the same, taking advantage
of the angle, shortening the distance as he chased Berman across
the road.

There was a screech of wheels as Nick Shelton's Caprice pulled
up. Berman dodged the car, slamming his hand on the hood as he
made his way toward another backyard.

"Dammit," Will cursed. "Police! Stop!"

Berman kept going, but he was a sprinter, not a marathoner. If
Will was good at anything, it was endurance. He caught his second
wind as Jake Berman slowed, trying to open the wooden gate to a
neighbor's backyard. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Will, then
took off again. Berman was too winded, though, and Will could tell
from the slow way his legs were moving that the man was about to
give up. Still, Will wasn't going to take any chances. When he got
close enough, he lunged, bringing Berman down in a heavy tackle
that knocked the wind out of both of them.

"Dumbass!" Nick Shelton yelled, kicking Berman in the side.

Considering his run-in with the doorman at Anna's building yesterday,
Will would've thought he'd be more gentle in his approach,
but his heart was beating so hard in his chest that he felt nauseated.
Worse, adrenaline was pumping all kinds of bad thoughts into his
head.

Nick kicked Berman again. "Never run from the law, motherfucker."

"I didn't know you were cops—"

"Shut up." Will started to put the cuffs on him, but Berman
squirmed, trying to get away. Nick raised his foot again, but Will
drove his knee into Berman's back so hard that he could feel the ribs
bend. "Stop it."

"I didn't do anything!"

"Is that why you ran?"

"I was going for a run," he screamed. "I always run this time of
day."

Nick asked, "In your pj's?"

"Fuck off."

"It's a felony to lie to the police." Will stood, yanking up Berman
with him. "Five years in prison. Plenty of men's bathrooms in jail."

Berman's face turned white. Some of his neighbors had congregated.
They didn't look happy—or, Will noticed, particularly supportive.

"It's all right," Berman told them. "Just a misunderstanding."

Nick said, "A misunderstanding by this dumbass who thinks he
can run away from the police."

Will wasn't worried about appearances. He jerked Berman's hands
high, making him bend over as he walked him back across the street.

"My lawyer is going to hear about this."

Nick said, "Be sure to tell him how you ran away like a scared little
schoolgirl."

Will pushed Berman into the road, keeping his hands high so that
the man had to walk with a stoop. He asked Nick, "Mind calling this
in?"

"You want the cavalry?"

"I want a police car screeching up to his house with lights and
sirens blaring so everyone in the neighborhood knows it's there."

Nick gave him a salute as he trotted off toward his car.

Berman said, "You're making a mistake."

"Your mistake was fleeing the scene of a crime."

"What?" he turned around, a look of genuine surprise on his face.
"What crime?"

"Route 316."

He still looked confused. "That's what this is about?"

Either the man was delivering an Oscar-worthy performance or
he was completely clueless. "You witnessed a car accident four days
ago on 316. A woman was hit by a car. You talked to my partner."

"I didn't leave that girl alone. The ambulance was there. I told
that cop at the hospital everything I saw."

"You gave a false phone number and address."

"I was just—" He glanced around, and Will wondered if he was
going to bolt again. "Get me out of here," Berman pleaded. "Just
take me to the police station, okay? Take me to the station, give me
my phone call, and we'll work all of this out."

Will turned him around, keeping a hand on his shoulder in case
the man decided to try his luck again. Every step, Will could feel his
temper getting more and more riled up. Berman was looking more
and more like a pathetic, weaselly excuse for a human being. They
had wasted the last two days looking for the asshole, and then the idiot
had made Will chase him across half the neighborhood.

Berman turned around. "Why don't you take off these cuffs so I
can—"

Will spun him back around so hard that he had to catch Berman
before he fell flat on his face. The nearest neighbor was standing in
her open front doorway, watching them. Like the other women, she
didn't look exactly displeased to see the man being led away in handcuffs.

Will asked, "Do they hate you because you're gay? Or because
you're sponging off your wife?"

Berman spun around again. "Where the fuck do you get off—"

Will pushed him back around so hard that this time he lost his balance.
"It's ten o'clock and you're still in your pajamas." He marched
Berman through the tall grass in his yard. "You don't have a lawnmower?"