Undone (24 page)

“Good Lord,” Faith mumbled, digging into her purse. There was a jar for donations on the counter by the front entrance, and she shoved in a couple of tens. “Who’s watching these kids?”

Will looked down the hall. The walls were decorated with paper Easter cutouts and some of the children’s drawings. He saw a closed door with the symbol for a women’s restroom. “She’s probably in the toilet.”

“Anyone could snatch them.”

Will didn’t think many people wanted these children. That was part of the problem.

“Ring bell for service,” Faith said, he supposed reading from the sign below the bell, which even a monkey could have figured out.

Will reached over and rang the bell.

She said, “They do computer training here.”

“What?”

Faith picked up one of the brochures on the counter. Will saw pictures of smiling women and children on the front, a couple of corporate logos that named the big-money sponsors along the bottom. “Computer training, counseling, meals.” Her eyes went back and forth as she skimmed the text. “Medical counseling with a Christian focus.” She dropped the pamphlet back in with the others. “I guess that means they tell you you’re going to hell if you have an abortion. Good advice for women who’ve already got one mouth they can’t afford to feed.” She tapped the bell again, this time hard enough to make it spin off the counter.

Will picked up the bell from the floor. When he stood, he found a large Hispanic woman behind the counter, an infant in her arms. She spoke in a distinctive Texas drawl, her words directed toward Faith. “If you’re here to arrest someone, we ask that you don’t do it in front of the children.”

“We’re here to talk to Judith Coldfield,” Faith replied, keeping her voice low, mindful that the kids were not only watching but had guessed her occupation just like the woman.

“Walk around the side of the building to the storefront. Judith’s working retail today.” She didn’t wait for a thank-you. Instead, she turned around with the child and went back down the hallway.

Faith pushed open the door, heading out into the street again. “These places annoy the hell out of me.”

Will thought a homeless shelter was a strange thing to hate, even for Faith. “Why is that?”

“Just help them. Don’t make them pray about it.”

“Some people find solace in prayer.”

“What if they don’t? Then they’re not worthy of being helped? You may be homeless and starving to death, but you can’t have a free meal or a safe place to sleep unless you agree that abortion is an abomination and that other people have the right to tell you what to do with your body?”

Will wasn’t sure how to answer her, so he just followed her around the side of the brick building, watching her angrily hitch her purse up on her shoulder. She was still mumbling when they rounded the corner to the storefront. There was a large sign out front that probably had the name of the shelter on it. The economy was bad for everybody these days, but especially for charities who depended on people feeling flush enough to help their fellow man. Many of the local shelters took in donations that they sold in order to help pay for basic operations. Window lettering advertised various items inside the store. Faith read them off as they walked to the entrance.

“‘Housewares, linens, clothes, donations welcome, free pickup for larger items.’”

Will opened the door, willing her to shut up.

“‘Open every day but Sunday.’ ‘No dogs allowed.’”

“I got it,” he told her, glancing around the store. Blenders were lined up on a shelf, toasters and small microwaves underneath. There were some clothes on racks, mostly the kind of styles that were very popular during the eighties. Canned soups and various pantry staples were stored away from the sun streaming in through the windows. Will’s stomach grumbled, and he remembered sorting cans of food that came into the orphanage over the holidays. Nobody ever gave the good stuff. It was usually Spam and pickled beets, just the sort of thing every kid wanted for Christmas dinner.

Faith had found another sign. “‘All donations are tax deductible. Proceeds go directly to help homeless women and children. God blesses those who bless others.’”

He realized that his jaw was aching from clenching his teeth so hard. Luckily, he didn’t have to dwell on the pain for long. A man popped up from behind the counter like Mr. Drucker from
Green Acres
. “How y’all doin’?”

Faith’s hand flew to her chest. “Who the hell are you?”

The man blushed so hard that Will could almost feel the heat coming off his face. “Sorry, ma’am.” He wiped his hand on the front of his T-shirt. Black finger marks showed where he had done this many times before. “Tom Coldfield. I’m helping my mom with…” He indicated the floor behind the counter. Will saw he was working on a push-style lawnmower. The engine was partially disassembled. It looked like he was trying to put on a new fan belt, which hardly explained why the carburetor was on the floor.

Will told him, “There’s a nut on the—”

Faith interrupted. “I’m Special Agent Faith Mitchell. This is my partner, Will Trent. We’re here to meet with Judith and Henry Coldfield. I assume you’re related?”

“My folks,” the man explained, a prominent pair of buckteeth sticking out as he smiled at Faith. “They’re in the back. Dad’s kind of unhappy about missing his golf game.” He seemed to realize how inconsequential this seemed to them. “Sorry, I know what happened to that woman was awful. It’s just that — well — they told that other detective everything that happened.”

Faith kept up her sweet side. “I’m sure they won’t mind telling us again.”

Tom Coldfield seemed to disagree, but he motioned for them to follow him to the back room anyway. Will let Faith go ahead of him, and they all had to pick their way around boxes and various piles of items that had been donated to the shelter. Will guessed Tom Coldfield had been athletic at one point in his life, but his early thirties had beaten that out of him, giving a round spread to his waist and a stoop to his shoulders. There was a bald spot on the crown of his head, almost like a tonsure that a Franciscan monk would sport. Without even asking, Will guessed that Tom Coldfield had a couple of kids. He looked like a textbook soccer dad. He probably drove a minivan and played online fantasy football.

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 build 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-size, 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 cars 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 Faith was probably younger than Tom.

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—”