Genesis by Karin Slaughter Read Free Book Online Page A

something to move on."
Amanda ended the call.
    Will closed the cell phone and tucked it into his jacket pocket just
as the rumble of thunder filled the air. Lightning lit up the sky again,
and he slowed the Mini, his knees pressing into the plastic dashboard.
His plan had been to drive straight up Route 316 until he found the
accident site, then beg his way onto the scene. Stupidly, he had not
anticipated a roadblock. Two Rockdale County police cruisers were
parked nose to nose, closing both lanes, and two beefy uniformed officers
stood in front of each. About fifty feet ahead, giant xenon
work lights illuminated a Buick with a crumpled front end. Crime-scene
techs were all over, doing the painstaking work of collecting
every piece of dirt, rock and glass so they could take it back to the lab
for analysis.
    One of the cops came up to the Mini. Will looked around for the
button to roll down the window, forgetting that it was on the center
console. By the time he got the window down, the other cop had
joined his partner. Both of them were smiling. Will realized he must
look comical in the tiny car, but there was nothing to be done about
it now. When Faith had passed out in the parking lot of the courthouse,
Will's only thought was that her car was closer than his and it
would be faster using the Mini to take her to the hospital.
    The second cop said, "Circus is thattaway." He pointed his thumb
back toward Atlanta.
    Will knew better than to attempt to pull out his wallet from his
back pocket while he was still in the car. He pushed open the door
and clumsily exited the vehicle. They all looked heavenward as a clap
of thunder shook the air.
    "Special Agent Will Trent," he told the cops, showing them his
identification.
    Both men looked wary. One of them walked away, talking into
the radio mike on his shoulder, probably checking with his boss.
Sometimes local cops were glad to see the GBI on their turf.
Sometimes they wanted to shoot them.
    The man in front of him asked, "What's with the monkey suit,
city boy? You just come from a funeral?"
    Will ignored the jab. "I was at the hospital when the victim was
brought in."
    "We've got several victims," he answered, obviously determined
to make this hard.
    "The woman," Will clarified. "The one who was walking on the
road and was hit by the Buick that was being driven by an elderly
couple. We think her name is Anna."
    The second cop was back. "I'm going to have to ask you to get
back in your car, sir. According to my boss, you don't have jurisdiction
here."
    "Can I talk to your boss?"
    "He figured you'd say that." The man had a nasty smile on his
face. "Said to give him a call in the morning, say around ten, ten-thirty."
    Will looked past their cruisers to the crime scene. "Can I get his
name?"
    The cop took his time, making a show of taking out his pad, finding
his pen, putting pen to paper, printing the letters. With extreme
care, he tore off the page and handed it to Will.
    Will stared at the scrawl over the numbers. "Is this English?"
    "Fierro, numbnuts. It's Italian." The man glanced at the paper, offering
a defensive "I wrote it clear."
    Will folded the note and put it in his vest pocket. "Thank you."
    He wasn't stupid enough to think the cops would politely return
to their posts while he got back into the Mini. Will was in no hurry
now. He leaned down and found the pump handle to lower the
driver's seat, then pushed it back as far as it would go. He angled himself
into the car and gave the cops a salute as he did a three-point turn
and drove away.
    Route 316 hadn't always been a back road. Before I-20 came
along, 316 had been a main artery connecting Rockdale County and
Atlanta. Today, most travelers preferred the interstate, but there
were still people who used it for shortcuts and other nefarious pursuits.
Back in the late nineties, Will had been involved in a sting operation
to stop prostitutes from bringing johns out here. Even