Page 69 of Lies He Told Me

“No, that’s okay. There wasn’t that kind of contact. Go ahead and clean his fingers if you need to. Whatever it takes for a good print.”

He steps back, lets Ginny do her work. Like most people who’ve been grievously wounded, David looks almost like a different person lying in that bed, all color removed from his face. Were it not for his chest expanding and contracting, in fact, he’d look like someone who’d already died.

Marcie,he thinks.Boy, has her life taken a sudden turn for the worse.

“And then one more thing, Ginny,” he says. “Whenyou’re done with prints, let’s maybe get a couple of samples for DNA.”

Yes, he knows Blair already plans to do the DNA testing at the FBI offices. But no reason why he should miss the chance to collect a few more, just in case.

Prints and DNA, ballistics on the bullet — he’s going to make sure HGPD does its part of this case right.

SEVENTY-ONE

TOMMY MALONE PUTS ON sunglasses and a COVID mask before he leaves his car. Say what you want about the pandemic, but it normalized the practice of disguising one’s face. Especially when you’re on the grounds of a hospital, where most people still wear a mask as a matter of course.

In his case, it helps obscure the fat lip he has from last night, from David’s headbutt. He needed another round of painkillers this morning, too, though he’s feeling better now.

The hospital parking garage is the perfect cover. People are always coming and going. So much easier than going to Marcie’s house, which is basically off-limits now with the police car stationed outside.

He finds her SUV on the second story of the covered garage. He keeps walking and looks casually around, pretending to use a device on his key chain to find his own car. But seeing nobody around, he doubles back to Marcie’s car.

Another quick look around, then he drops to his haunchesand slips the GPS device under the rear fender, hearing the hardclickof the magnet.

Just as effortlessly, almost without breaking stride, he heads back to the stairs of the parking garage. He pulls out his phone and sees a nice round orange dot for Marcie’s vehicle.

He’ll be tracking her wherever she goes.

“Now I just need to get you alone,” he whispers.

SEVENTY-TWO

THREE HOURS LATER. THE kids need to get out of this room. They’ve weathered the initial shock, seeing their father in this state. They’ve talked to him, told him stories, stared at him. There is a limit, especially for children. They don’t want to leave, and they claim they’re not hungry, but they need a change of scenery.

I send a text message to Camille, who meets us downstairs in the hospital cafeteria. I get chicken nuggets for Lincoln and some buttered noodles for Grace and put them at a table. Camille is standing at a distance, waiting for me.

“Tough times,” she says, nodding at the kids. “I can’t imagine.”

“You’ll be imagining soon enough. Though I hope not under these circumstances.”

“Oh, yeah.” She puts a protective hand over her belly. “That’s right. So how do you want to do this?”

“Stay with the kids at all times,” I say. “They won’t be going to school for the foreseeable future. Certainly not next week. I’d like them to stay at home or here at the hospital, but … I’m not sure kids can be cooped up like that 24-7.”

“If they want to get out — like, to a park or something — I’ll go with them.”

“Good. I’ll be around a lot, too.”

She cocks her head. “A lot, but not all the time?”

I look back at the kids. “A lot, but not all the time,” I say. “I can’t completely give up my law practice. People are counting on me.”

“You need protection, too, Marcie.”

Maybe. But not the same kind of protection as the kids.

“David would want me to protect you, too,” she says.

I pivot, looking directly at her. But this is not the place for a scene, so I take a breath and lean into her ear. “Don’t ever tell me what David would or would not want, as if you know him better than I do. You don’t. Got it?”

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