Page 81 of Lion & Lamb

“I don’t spend nearly enough time in my backyard,” Cooper said. “I thought it was one of the selling points of this place.”

“This is a glorified alley, my friend.”

“Yeah, but it’smyalley; no one else has access but me. I was thinking this spring I could put a grill out here, maybe hang a few twinkle lights. You think the kids would like that?”

“I think this alley is so narrow, the kids will have to watch from inside as you flip burgers.”

“The other selling point?” Cooper continued as if Veena hadn’t spoken. “No one would think to plant a bug out here.”

Veena’s eyes narrowed. “You think somebody wired your place?”

“I have to assume so, yes. Yours too.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Veena said. “I won’t need words to explain what I’ve found.” She removed the folder from her briefcase and handed it to Cooper, who in turn handed her the Yuengling. Veena finished the bottle, slid the empty into a slot, and removed another beer from the cardboard carrier.

Cooper quickly read Janie’s memo, then flipped to the next page. It was a printout of a photograph, just like every other item in this folder.

Cooper was puzzled. He flipped to the next. And the next. And the next, and soon, the images fell together into a complete picture. Just as they had for Veena.

Cooper looked up and locked eyes with her. His eyes were wet. Veena passed the beer over to Cooper. He nodded his thanks, drained half of it, passed the bottle back, and continued flipping pages.

Veena pulled out her phone and did a quick search forFrancine Pearl HughesandKennedy Center. The video was the first to appear in the search. It was a concert from last summer, with the president and his wife in the audience. Critics ranked her iconic performance as right up there with greats like Aretha Franklin, Beyoncé, Patti LaBelle, and Pink.

Veena pointed at Francine’s arms on the screen.

“Yeah, it’s a nice dress,” Cooper said.

“But look at the style. That dress? On a hot summer evening?”

Cooper squinted, then slowly understood. “He hit her only where clothes would hide the bruises.” He said it softly, not because he was afraid of being overheard, but because he was still reeling from what he’d seen in the folder.

The abusive texts were bad enough. But the violence inflicted on Francine’s body earned her abuser a special place in hell.

The bruises somehow looked raw and tender, even though he was seeing them in two-dimensional, black-and-white images. He felt as if touching the photo would make the subject flinch.

Big powerful hands inflicted that damage. You could make out the dark purple finger marks from where he’d grabbed her and decided to make her suffer.

The folder was stuffed with similar images from all over Francine’s body—where no one else would see.

No one except Archie.

“Keep flipping,” Veena said.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to.”

“What am I going to see?”

“Just keep flipping.”

Cooper continued flipping, and soon the images changed. Were these bruises shot at a different angle? It looked like Francine Pearl Hughes had somehow shrunk, as if the savage beatings had diminished her, made her a frail shadow of herself.

But the photos weren’t of Francine. Once Cooper understood, he felt an atom bomb explode in his chest.

“He hit the kids too.”

Sunday, January 30

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