“Hazel. Ama said ‘Hazel.’ ”
“You’re sure?”
“That’s what her nurse reported.”
Eddie leaped to his feet, and his face lit up with a smile. “That’s good, right? That’s better than good. She might know something.”
“That’s what I thought, Mr. Stevens. But when I went to question Ama, she said she didn’t remember anything.”
“Well, that’s okay. It’s in there. It’ll come out. When people go through that kind of thing, sometimes they forget, right?”
“That could be.”
Eddie went still, but Martin could see the wheels of his mind turning behind his weary eyes.
“You don’t think so. You think it’s something else,” Eddie said.
“I think she’s remembering a lot more than she lets on.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because it wasn’t the first time she’d tried to tell someone about Hazel. I think she tried to tell you, too.”
“She didn’t say a word to me. She was… she was dying.”
“She didn’t say it.” Martin paused and stared blankly at the ground as he considered what to say, how to tell him about his daughter’s name written in blood. “Come with me,” he said.
Eddie followed at a distance, nearly tiptoeing at first. Martin led him to room two. He wondered how Eddie would react to seeing his daughter’s picture in a line of others. No doubt his mind would jump to the worst conclusion. Sometimes the worst conclusion suited. Martin’s gut told him this was one of those times.
“Mr. Stevens, if I show you this, if I bring you in on this investigation, it is off-the-record. Do you understand that? We do this after hours. Me and you. Nobody else knows. Business hours come and you go back to the office for the time being. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Martin opened a manila folder and retrieved the picture of Eddie’s jacket. He pinched it hard between his fingers, waiting as Eddie took in each photo on the board.
“What is all this?” Eddie asked.
“These are people who walked into Tarson Woods or have a strong association with the area, and have disappeared without a trace.” Martin scanned the line. “Except her. Her body was found.” He pointed to the redhead. “She’s related to an old case of mine.”
“So why is she up there?”
“I’m not quite sure why I put her up there, to be honest with you. I just feel like…” Martin’s voice dropped off. Like I was more interested in sailing away on a cloud of diazepam when she called for help from a rest stop twenty miles from here. “Like she belongs,” he finally said.
“So if she didn’t disappear in Tarson Woods, why does she belong?” Eddie pressed.
Martin glanced at his profile. “You had her case in your notebook. So why don’t you tell me why she’s up there?”
“There’s a footpath that ends at that rest stop and goes all the way to the edge of Tarson Woods. A little overgrown, but it’s there. I found it when I was looking for Hazel. I think transients use it, mostly. A woman getting cut up and killed like that a few feet from a trail nobody knows about… it just felt like she belonged,” Eddie echoed.
“You know, that folder and the fact that you had that case in it is one of the reasons I thought you were guilty.”
“Well, damn.” Eddie shook his head. “Thought?”
“You shot Ama, no question there. But I don’t think you hit her on the head, bound her wrists, and burned lines into her legs.”
“I didn’t even see anything like that on her. There was so much blood,” Eddie said softly. “It was dark. And I swear to God, I didn’t aim for her. I tried to shoot the man who had her, and she jumped in front of him.”
“You realize what a stretch that is to believe, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going out on a limb for you, though. In all fairness, you had a folder full of information about other murders and missing people in your van. You couldn’t have made yourself look more like a serial killer if you’d tried.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” Eddie sat on the table. He wiped his face, but the heaviness remained. “I wanted someone to remember Hazel, to look for her, someone to believe that she didn’t run off and leave me. Hazel wouldn’t leave me like that, not by choice.”
“Mr. Stevens, all due respect, but had you killed yourself at the trailhead where your daughter disappeared and had a stack of unsolved cases in your possession when you did it, best case, it would look like a grieving father who couldn’t live life without his runaway daughter. Worst case, it would look like a confession. The case would have stayed closed forever. I know it hasn’t all gone like you thought it would, but it’s a really good thing for Hazel that you went in after Ama. Whether we’re looking for her or her body, now at least we know to look.”
Martin’s own words tunneled through his brain and into his ears. When a victim was missing this long, bodies were often found only if a killer led police to where they’d taken them. Hazel had been missing for a year. Dead or alive, they weren’t going to find her without help. If Eddie had shot the man who had taken Hazel, they may never have found her. Eddie’s story, then, might be absolutely true: Ama may have jumped in front of the bullet in hopes that Hazel would be found.
But why? She didn’t know Hazel beyond her name, as far as Martin could find, and Eddie swore he’d never met her before that night. A parent would take a bullet for a child, a spouse for a spouse, a friend for a friend… but one stranger for another when an escape option is already presented? Recognition washed over Martin, and hope clawed from the depths of his racing heart, made buoyant by the sudden current. All of these scenarios had one thing in common: one person was saving another living soul.
“Are you absolutely sure your daughter has never met Ama Chaplin? Has she spent any time in Atlanta?” Martin pressed.
“We went to Atlanta a couple times a year—go see the World of Coke, maybe catch a Braves game—but she never went without me. Hazel doesn’t have many friends. She isn’t social.” Eddie glanced down. “Wasn’t.”
“She’s not a body yet, Mr. Stevens.”
“I know the statistics. I could quote them in my sleep.”
“Then answer me this. Let’s say Ama jumped in front of the bullet like you say. Why would she do that?” Martin’s voice sped up.
“I don’t know.”
Martin handed Eddie the picture of his jacket, the HAZ circled in black ink. “Why would a woman take a bullet for her captor and then try to write a name in blood if the only thing out there to find is a dead body?”
MARTIN Chapter 45 | 10:15 PM, December 3, 2006 | Tarson, Georgia
EDDIE WAS ALL MOTION, NONE of his limbs satisfied to rest for longer than a full second. Even if he stopped to stare at a photograph or a page of notes, his fingers would tap the closest solid surface. Martin’s attention was divided between Eddie and his notes. He felt more useless by the second, especially in the presence of Eddie’s renewed sense of hope, which was a palpable thing. It spurred Martin to dig deeper. It made it hard to breathe.