The Good Daughter. Karin Slaughter

watched the reflection of her raised hand in the mirror, her middle finger extending in a salute to DA Coin.

      Ben said, “I’ve taken nine witness statements that said you were inconsolable at the scene, and in the course of being comforted by Officer Brenner, your nose met with his elbow.”

      If he was going to talk to her like a lawyer, then she was going to be a lawyer. “Is that what the video on the phone showed, or do I need to get a subpoena for a forensic examination of any deleted files?”

      Ben’s shoulder went up in a shrug. “Do what you have to do.”

      “All right.” Charlie braced her palms on the table so that she could sit. “Is this the part where you offer to drop the bogus obstruction charge if I don’t file an excessive force complaint?”

      “I already dropped the bogus obstruction charge.” His pen moved down to the next line. “You can file as many complaints as you want.”

      “All I want is an apology.”

      She heard a sound behind the mirror, something close to a gasp. In the past twelve years, Charlie had filed two very successful lawsuits against the Pikeville Police force on behalf of her clients. Ken Coin had probably assumed she was sitting in here counting all of the money she was going to make off the city instead of grieving for the child who had died in her arms, or mourning the loss of the principal who had given her detention instead of kicking her out of school when they both knew that Charlie deserved it.

      Ben kept his head bent down. He tapped his pen against the table. She tried not to think about Huck doing the same thing at his school desk.

      He asked, “Are you sure?”

      Charlie waved toward the mirror, hoping Coin was there. “If you guys could just admit when you did something wrong, then when you said that you did something right, people would believe you.”

      Ben finally looked at her. His eyes tracked across her face, taking in the damage. She saw the fine lines around his mouth when he frowned, the deep furrow in his brow, and wondered if he had ever noticed the same signs of age in her face.

      They had met in law school. He had moved to Pikeville in order to be with her. They had planned on spending the rest of their lives together.

      She said, “Kelly Wilson has a right to—”

      Ben held up his hand to stop her. “You know that I agree with everything you’re going to say.”

      Charlie sat back in the chair. She had to remind herself that neither she nor Ben had ever bought into Rusty and Ken Coin’s “us against them” mentality.

      She said, “I want a written apology from Greg Brenner. A real apology, not some bullshit, ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ excuse like I’m a hysterical woman and he wasn’t acting like a God damn Brownshirt.”

      Ben nodded. “Done.”

      Charlie reached for the form. She grabbed the pen. The words were a blur, but she had read enough witness statements to know where you were supposed to sign your name. She scrawled her signature near the bottom, then slid the form back toward Ben. “I’ll trust you to keep your side of the bargain. Fill in the statement however you want.”

      Ben stared down at the form. His fingers hovered at the edge. He wasn’t looking at her signature, but at the bloody brown fingerprints she’d left on the white paper.

      Charlie blinked to clear her eyes. This was the closest they had come to touching each other in nine months.

      “Okay.” He closed the folder. He made to stand.

      “It was just the two of them?” Charlie asked. “Mr. Pink and the little—”

      “Yes.” He hesitated before sitting back down in the chair. “One of the janitors locked down the cafeteria. The assistant principal stopped the buses at the street.”

      Charlie did not want to think about the damage that Kelly Wilson could have done if she had started firing the gun a few seconds after the bell instead of before.

      Ben said, “They all have to be interviewed. The kids. Teachers. Staff.”

      Charlie knew the city wasn’t capable of coordinating so many interviews, let alone putting together such a large case on its own. The Pikeville Police Department had seventeen full-time officers. Ben was one of six lawyers in the district attorney’s office.

      She asked, “Is Ken going to ask for help?”

      “They’re already here,” Ben said. “Everybody just showed up. Troopers. State police. Sheriff’s office. We didn’t even have to call them.”

      “That’s good.”

      “Yeah.” He picked at the corner of the folder with his fingers. His lips twitched the way they always did when he chewed at the tip of his tongue. It was an old habit that wouldn’t die. Charlie had once seen his mother reach across the dinner table and slap his hand to make him stop.

      She asked, “You saw the bodies?”

      He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Charlie knew that Ben had seen the crime scene. She could tell by the somber tone in his voice, the slump in his shoulders. Pikeville had grown over the last two decades, but it was still a small town, the kind of place where heroin was a much larger concern than homicide.

      Ben said, “You know it takes time, but I told them to move the bodies as soon as possible.”

      Charlie looked up at the ceiling to keep the tears in her eyes. He had awakened her dozens of times from her worst nightmare: a day in the life, Charlie and Rusty going about their mundane chores inside the old farmhouse, cooking meals and doing laundry and washing dishes while Gamma’s body rotted against the cabinets because the police had forgotten to take her away.

      It was probably the piece of tooth Charlie had found in the back of the cabinet, because what else had they missed?

      Ben said, “Your car is parked behind your office. They locked down the school. It’ll probably be closed for the rest of the week. There’s already a news van up from Atlanta.”

      “Is that where Dad is, combing his hair?”

      They both smiled a little, because they both knew that her father loved nothing more than to see himself on television.

      Ben said, “He told you to hang tight. When I called him. That’s what Rusty said—‘Tell that girl to hang tight.’”

      Which meant that Rusty wasn’t going to ride to her rescue. That he assumed his tough daughter could handle herself in a room full of Keystone Kops while he rushed to Kelly Wilson’s house and got her parents to sign his fee agreement.

      When people talked about how much they hated lawyers, it was Rusty who came to mind.

      Ben said, “I can have one of the squad cars take you to your office.”

      “I’m not getting in a car with any of those assholes.”

      Ben ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a trim. His shirt was wrinkled. His suit was missing a button. She wanted to think he was falling apart without her, but the truth was that he was always disheveled and Charlie was more likely to tease him about looking like a hipster hobo than to take out a needle and thread.

      She said, “Kelly Wilson was in their custody. She wasn’t resisting. The moment they cuffed her, they were responsible for her safety.”

      “Greg’s daughter goes to that school.”

      “So does Kelly.” Charlie leaned closer. “We’re not living in Abu Ghraib, okay? Kelly Wilson has a constitutional right to due process under the law. It’s up to a judge and jury to decide, not a bunch of vigilante cops with hard-ons to beat down a teenage girl.”

      “I get it. We all get it.” Ben thought she was grandstanding for the great Oz behind the mirror. “‘A