Martin Misunderstood by Karin Slaughter Read Free Book Online Page B

pounding into her body –
but never her face.
    It was embarrassing, really, to be a 23-year-old
woman who put on a uniform and gun every day
to keep the peace, only to have the pulp beaten
out of her almost every night. She never fought
back, though surely Charlie deserved it. What
was it about An's nature that made her seem like
a victim? She saw domestic violence so much at
work that it seemed almost commonplace. Those
early years on the force, half of her calls were
because some man had gotten drunk and taken it
out on a woman. Her eyes would glaze over at
their stories of love, the excuses they made. And
then she would go home and Charlie would beat
her.
    Really, it was luck that he'd slipped in the
bathtub and hit his head. When An had found
him there, the only question in her mind was
whether to leave the water running or not while
he slowly bled to death. She was the child of
Dutch parents, and knew better than to waste
water. She had turned off the shower, then gone
in to watch Wheel of Fortune .
    This was back when you had to buy
merchandise with your winnings. An could still
remember the woman who had won that night.
The camera panned over all the exotic, expensive
items while a second camera showed the
winner's excited face as she called out her
purchases. 'I'll take the dinette set for fiveninety-
nine, and the matching sideboard for
three-fifty.' There was always a couple of
hundred dollars left over, and invariably the
winner would have to choose the white, ceramic
greyhounds. An had always wanted one of those
greyhounds. She'd yet to find one at a store. It
was the kind of thoughtful gift Jill would've
found for her if she'd had the strength to get out
of bed (not that they had a lot of money; Jill's
disability pay from the hospital barely helped
with her part of the mortgage).
    Bruce knocked on the door as he entered the
interrogation room. He held a folder in his hand;
the crime-scene photos. He put the folder on the
table and slid it toward An as a twelve-year-old
boy in a suit walked in behind him.
    Well, the public defender couldn't have
actually been twelve, but he looked it. When he
walked across the room, his shoes squeaked. She
noticed that his hair was wet at the crown where
he'd combed down a cowlick. The sleeve of his
suit still had the manufacturer's label sewn on to
the cuff.
    'I'm Max Jergens,' he said, and An nearly
laughed, thinking the name would be more fitting
for a well-endowed porn star. She couldn't help it,
her eyes went directly to his crotch. Jergens
noticed, of course. His lip curled up in a smile.
    An tried to sound professional, and to not look
at his crotch, when she told him, 'I'm Detective
An Albada. We have some questions for your
client in connection with the death of one of his
co-workers, Sandra Burke.'
    He put his briefcase on the table, opened the
locks, took out a legal pad, closed the briefcase,
put it on the floor, sat down at the table, took a
pen out of his breast pocket, took the cap off the
pen and put it on the opposite end, then wrote
down the word, 'Anabada.'
    Martin said helpfully, 'I made the same
mistake myself,' as he took the pen from his
lawyer, crossed through the word and wrote in a
flourishing script much like a teenage girl's,
'Detective Anther Albada.' He even put a circle
instead of a dot over the 'i'.
    Bruce chuckled behind An. She didn't have to
turn around to know that he had his arms
crossed over his chest and was staring down his
nose at Martin.
    Jergens asked, 'What evidence do you have
against my client?'
    Martin began, 'It's silly, really—' but An cut
him off with a 'Was he talking to you?' look.
    She said, 'We found blood on Mr Reed's car,
his own mixed with that of the victim. We have
conclusive evidence that it was Mr Reed's car
that ran over Ms. Burke.'
    Martin's face turned a whiter shade of pale. 'I
cut my hands,' he explained. 'The bumper was
hanging off the front of my car. My hands got
cut.' He held up his palms and she saw