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Authors: Karin Slaughter
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criminal?”
“Mother, it’s all right.” Claire didn’t remind her that technically, she was a criminal. As part of her parole, the police could trespass all they wanted. She opened her purse to look for her wallet. And then she remembered that the Snake Man had taken her wallet.
Claire saw the tattoo again, the gold-plated fang. The Snake Man’s skin was white, a detail that had startled Claire when she’d relayed it to the detective at the police station. Was it racist to assume that rich white people were only robbed by black or Hispanic gang members, or had Claire listened to too much rap music in spin class? It was the same thinking that had made her conjure the image of a shiny black gun when it was actually a knife being held to Paul’s back. A knife that didn’t even look real, but had still managed to murder her husband.
The earth started to tremble. Claire felt the vibrations move up from her feet and into her legs.
“Claire?” Helen said.
They’d been in Napa a few years ago when an earthquake hit. Claire had been thrown from bed, Paul on top of her. They’d grabbed their shoes but little else as they ran past broken water pipes and shattered glass.
“Insufficient shear reinforcement mode,” Paul had said, standing in the middle of the crowded, broken street in his boxers and undershirt. “A newer building would have base isolation bearings, or a quake-resistant sill-anchoring system that could buffer the shearing effect.”
Listening to him drone on about seismic loading was the only thing that had calmed her.
“Claire?”
Claire blinked open her eyes. She looked up at her mother, wondering why their faces were so close.
“You fainted.”
“I didn’t,” Claire argued, though evidence pointed to the contrary. She was lying on her back in her own driveway. The policewoman was standing over her. Claire tried in vain to think of an insect the woman resembled, but honestly, she just looked overworked and tired.
The cop said, “Ma’am, just stay there. There’s an ambulance ten minutes out.”
Claire forced away the image of the paramedics who had rushed down the alley with their gurney in tow, the way they had spent less than a minute examining Paul before shaking their heads.
Had someone actually said, “He’s gone,” or had Claire said the words herself? Heard the words. Felt the words. Watched her husband go from being a man to being a body.
Claire asked her mother, “Can you help me up?”
“Ma’am, don’t sit up,” the cop ordered.
Helen helped her sit up. “Did you hear what the cop said?”
“You’re the one who helped me sit up.”
“Not that. Someone tried to rob the house.”
“Rob the house?” Claire repeated, because it didn’t make sense. “Why?”
“I imagine they wanted to steal things.” Helen’s tone was patient, but Claire could tell she was unsettled by the news. “The caterers walked in on the burglars.”
Burglars. The word sounded antiquated in her mother’s mouth.
Helen continued, “There was a fight. The bartender was badly hurt.”
“Tim?” she asked, because she thought knowing the details might make her understand that this had really happened.
Helen shook her head. “I don’t know his name.”
Claire looked up at the house. She was feeling disembodied again, drifting in and out of the wake of Paul’s absence.
And then she thought of the Snake Man and snapped back into the present.
Claire asked the cop, “There was more than one burglar?”
“There were three African American males, medium builds, mid-twenties. They were all wearing masks and gloves.”
Helen had never had much faith in police officers. “With that description, I’m sure you’ll find them in no time.”
“Mother,” Claire tried, because this wasn’t helping.
“They were in a silver late-model four-door.” The cop gripped the baton handle on her belt, likely because she longed to use it. “We’ve got a state-wide BOLO on the
“Mother, it’s all right.” Claire didn’t remind her that technically, she was a criminal. As part of her parole, the police could trespass all they wanted. She opened her purse to look for her wallet. And then she remembered that the Snake Man had taken her wallet.
Claire saw the tattoo again, the gold-plated fang. The Snake Man’s skin was white, a detail that had startled Claire when she’d relayed it to the detective at the police station. Was it racist to assume that rich white people were only robbed by black or Hispanic gang members, or had Claire listened to too much rap music in spin class? It was the same thinking that had made her conjure the image of a shiny black gun when it was actually a knife being held to Paul’s back. A knife that didn’t even look real, but had still managed to murder her husband.
The earth started to tremble. Claire felt the vibrations move up from her feet and into her legs.
“Claire?” Helen said.
They’d been in Napa a few years ago when an earthquake hit. Claire had been thrown from bed, Paul on top of her. They’d grabbed their shoes but little else as they ran past broken water pipes and shattered glass.
“Insufficient shear reinforcement mode,” Paul had said, standing in the middle of the crowded, broken street in his boxers and undershirt. “A newer building would have base isolation bearings, or a quake-resistant sill-anchoring system that could buffer the shearing effect.”
Listening to him drone on about seismic loading was the only thing that had calmed her.
“Claire?”
Claire blinked open her eyes. She looked up at her mother, wondering why their faces were so close.
“You fainted.”
“I didn’t,” Claire argued, though evidence pointed to the contrary. She was lying on her back in her own driveway. The policewoman was standing over her. Claire tried in vain to think of an insect the woman resembled, but honestly, she just looked overworked and tired.
The cop said, “Ma’am, just stay there. There’s an ambulance ten minutes out.”
Claire forced away the image of the paramedics who had rushed down the alley with their gurney in tow, the way they had spent less than a minute examining Paul before shaking their heads.
Had someone actually said, “He’s gone,” or had Claire said the words herself? Heard the words. Felt the words. Watched her husband go from being a man to being a body.
Claire asked her mother, “Can you help me up?”
“Ma’am, don’t sit up,” the cop ordered.
Helen helped her sit up. “Did you hear what the cop said?”
“You’re the one who helped me sit up.”
“Not that. Someone tried to rob the house.”
“Rob the house?” Claire repeated, because it didn’t make sense. “Why?”
“I imagine they wanted to steal things.” Helen’s tone was patient, but Claire could tell she was unsettled by the news. “The caterers walked in on the burglars.”
Burglars. The word sounded antiquated in her mother’s mouth.
Helen continued, “There was a fight. The bartender was badly hurt.”
“Tim?” she asked, because she thought knowing the details might make her understand that this had really happened.
Helen shook her head. “I don’t know his name.”
Claire looked up at the house. She was feeling disembodied again, drifting in and out of the wake of Paul’s absence.
And then she thought of the Snake Man and snapped back into the present.
Claire asked the cop, “There was more than one burglar?”
“There were three African American males, medium builds, mid-twenties. They were all wearing masks and gloves.”
Helen had never had much faith in police officers. “With that description, I’m sure you’ll find them in no time.”
“Mother,” Claire tried, because this wasn’t helping.
“They were in a silver late-model four-door.” The cop gripped the baton handle on her belt, likely because she longed to use it. “We’ve got a state-wide BOLO on the
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