Faithless

"Georgia medical examiner Sara Linton returns in Slaughter's Grant County crime thriller series, and this time she's hot on the trail of a demented killer who buries teenage girls alive.... Slaughter's fifth Grant County case offers tough love, suspenseful spadework and life-affirming vigor."-Publishers Weekly

"Faithless, Karin Slaughter's fifth novel, confirms her at the summit of the school of writers specialising in forensic medicine and terror, a field which includes Patricia Cornwell and Kathy Reichs.... Slaughter's characters talk in believable dialogue, She's excellent at portraying the undertones and claustrophobia of communities where everyone knows everyone else's business, and even better at creating an atmosphere of lurking evil."-The Times, London

"[Karin Slaughter is] one of the best crime novelists in America.... Her novels smolder with reality."-Washington Post

"The pleasure of Slaughter's Grant County series-this is the fifth installment-rests in how the characters deal simultaneously with their messy personal lives and some fairly horrific crimes."-San Francisco Chronicle Chapter One



Sara Linton stood at the front door of her parents' house holding so many plastic grocery bags in her hands that she couldn't feel her fingers. Using her elbow, she tried to open the door but ended up smacking her shoulder into the glass pane. She edged back and pressed her foot against the handle, but the door still would not budge. Finally, she gave up and knocked with her forehead.

Through the wavy glass, she watched her father making his way down the hallway. He opened the door with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

"Why didn't you make two trips?" Eddie demanded, taking some of the bags from her.

"Why is the door locked?"

"Your car's less than fifteen feet away."

"Dad," Sara countered. "Why is the door locked?"

He was looking over her shoulder. "Your car is filthy." He put the bags down on the floor. "You think you can handle two trips to the kitchen with these?"

Sara opened her mouth to answer, but he was already walking down the front steps. She asked, "Where are you going?"

"To wash your car."

"It's fifty degrees out."

He turned and gave her a meaningful look. "Dirt sticks no matter the climate." He sounded like a Shakespearean actor instead of a plumber from rural Georgia.

By the time she had formed a response, he was already inside the garage.

Sara stood on the porch as her father came back out with the requisite supplies to wash her car. He hitched up his sweatpants as he knelt to fill the bucket with water. Sara recognized the pants from high school--her high school; she had worn them for track practice.

"You gonna just stand there letting the cold in?" Cathy asked, pulling Sara inside and closing the door.

Sara bent down so that her mother could kiss her on the cheek. Much to Sara's dismay, she had been a good foot taller than her mother since the fifth grade. While Tessa, Sara's younger sister, had inherited their mother's petite build, blond hair and effortless poise, Sara looked like a neighbor's child who had come for lunch one afternoon and decided to stay.

Cathy bent down to pick up some of the grocery bags, then seemed to think better of it. "Get these, will you?"

Sara scooped all eight bags into her hands, risking her fingers again. "What's wrong?" she asked, thinking her mother looked a little under the weather.

"Isabella," Cathy answered, and Sara suppressed a laugh. Her aunt Bella was the only person Sara knew who traveled with her own stock of liquor.

"Rum?"

Cathy whispered, "Tequila," the same way she might say "Cancer."

Sara cringed in sympathy. "Has she said how long she's staying?"

"Not yet," Cathy replied. Bella hated Grant County and had not visited since Tessa was born. Two days ago, she had shown up with three suitcases in the back of her convertible Mercedes and no ex