by Lisa Regan
She stood up from her chair and left the room.
Josie said, “Noah, how about you call in some patrol units and canvass Hollister? Mett and I will interview swim team members and coaches and then later I’ll talk with Nysa’s parents.”
Noah said, “Sure. Have you heard from Gretchen yet?”
Josie shook her head and tapped Mettner’s shoulder. “How about you?”
“Not yet,” he answered. “I’ll call her.”
While Mettner tried to get in touch with Gretchen, Josie walked Noah outside. They moved around to the side of the building. Between two Japanese maple trees was a small clearing. The brick of the building had a green tinge to it, moisture causing a thin layer of lichen to grow in patches. A white five-gallon bucket, now gray with grime, sat upside down. Beside it was a smaller tin bucket filled with cigarette butts. Obviously, someone on the campus police used the enclave for smoke breaks.
Noah said, “What do you think?”
“I think that well-adjusted, relatively happy college swim stars who are so successful they’ve just won a major scholarship and been featured on the news don’t normally spend a night with a ‘friend,’ eat brownies laced with some kind of drugs and then drown themselves.”
“You think she drowned herself? Or did whatever she ingested make her pass out, and she accidentally drowned?”
Josie sighed. “I don’t know, Noah. I just don’t know.”
“How many overdoses do you think they get on campus every year?” he asked.
“Two or three a year? I’m sure Chief Hahlbeck has the exact number. You really think this is as simple as a drug overdose? The roommate was adamant that this girl wouldn’t take a thing.”
Noah laughed. “No college kid takes drugs. That’s like saying it never rains. Even the most dedicated students and student athletes try things from time to time. If I had to bet money, having seen all the things I’ve seen so far in my career, I’d say she met with a friend, the friend got her to try the brownies, she got messed up, walked to the pool for a swim and then passed out and drowned. Hell, maybe the friend didn’t tell her the brownies were laced. Maybe she just thought she was getting a chocolate fix and then she got messed up, decided to go for a swim, passed out, and drowned.”
Josie thought of the lobby video that Gerry Murphy had shown them. Nysa, steady on her feet, head swiveling. A smile spreading across her face. Her hand lifting in a wave. Good morning, Mr. Murphy. Josie said, “If she was under the influence of something that was strong enough to kill her once she was in the pool, wouldn’t she have been, at the very least, stumbling or slurring her words?”
“Seems that way,” Noah agreed. “But in the absence of evidence of anything else, that is the most obvious scenario.”
“I guess toxicology will confirm it if that’s the case,” she said.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, thinking of what a tragedy it would be if Nysa Somers—who, by all accounts, didn’t do drugs and rarely even drank—had decided to try some illicit drug, and it had led to her death. All the life she’d had ahead of her lost forever. She thought about Patrick. She’d have to give him a talk about not doing drugs, like a typical law enforcement officer or big sister. Then she thought about Harris getting old enough to go to college and try drugs, and her heart squeezed in her chest. Shutting down that entire train of thought, she opened her eyes.
Noah stared down at her. “You should go home and change.”
She shrugged and fingered the collar of her polo shirt. “There’s no time. Besides, I’m almost dry, and all my shirts look like this.”
Noah asked, “How was Harris this morning at school drop-off?”
“Nervous. But I think it went well,” she said, taking her phone out to check for any texts from Misty. There were none. No news was good news, Josie thought.
Noah stepped closer to her. He brushed a strand of her black hair away from her face. It hit her then how bedraggled she must look. She reached up to run her fingers through her hair, but Noah took her hand. “You look beautiful,” he said softly.
“Did you hit your head this morning?” Josie joked. “While you were missing in action?”
Noah laughed. His thumb traced the inside of her palm. “I’m telling you, that salmon color really brings out your eyes.”
“Oh piss off,” Josie said, laughing in spite of herself. She tried to wrest her hand away so she could slap his chest, but he tugged her into him and kissed her. With no eyes on them, Josie sank into him, feeling some of the stress of the morning quieting. Then he released her and started walking away.
Josie said, “Don’t disappear again.”
Over his shoulder, he said, “I won’t. We’ve got dinner with Misty and Harris tonight. I want to hear how the first day of Pre-K went.”
“I’ll see you there,” she said.
He turned briefly and waved his phone in the air. “Text me the picture of that sticker so I can show it around Hollister.”
She took out her phone and fired off the text to him. Then she watched him until he disappeared around the front of the building, headed toward one of the walking paths that led to lower campus. The moment of peace she’d felt while close to him leeched away, replaced by a deep ache thinking about how Nysa Somers’ family would never get to hear how any of her days had gone ever again.
Thirteen
Back inside the campus police headquarters, students had begun to arrive, most of them dressed in sweatshirts and shorts, some even in pajamas. All of them looked stricken and vaguely confused. Hahlbeck had corralled them into the reception area, which only had two guest chairs, both taken. The rest of the students leaned against the walls or sat on the tile floor. A low murmur found its way around the room. Josie heard the words “Nysa” and “dead” several times. A woman who appeared older than most of the students circulated around the room, giving out hugs and reassurances. One of the coaches, Josie thought.
“Boss.” Her attention was pulled away from the tableau by Mettner. Josie looked over her shoulder and saw him standing in the hallway. He waved her back.
“You want to interview each witness together, or you take one and I take one in separate rooms?” he asked once they were out of earshot of everyone else.
“Let’s do separate interviews,” Josie answered. “We’ll get through them faster.”
Hahlbeck offered them each a room. The one Mettner went into was clearly an interview room, with only a table and some chairs inside it. Josie was stationed across the hall in a room with two desks, positioned opposite one another, each bracketed by a filing cabinet and a guest chair. She guessed this was where the officers did their paperwork. She chose the desk closest to the door and sat down. Hahlbeck had provided a pen and legal pad. As a campus police officer ushered in the first student, Josie patted the guest chair. “Sit,” she said. “I just have a few questions.”
Most of the interviews didn’t take very long. Primarily because no one had anything to offer. No one had seen or heard from Nysa the night before—unless one of them was lying, but Josie didn’t get that impression from any of them. The whole exercise felt more like giving a half dozen death notifications than anything else. Nearly all the students took news of Nysa’s death extremely hard. She was well liked and known for her kindness and sense of humor. Listening to the other students talk so highly of her only made Josie’s heart ache even more. All of them said the same things that Christine Trostle had said: Nysa didn’t use drugs and rarely drank alcohol; they didn’t recognize the sticker; Nysa hadn’t seemed depressed; and none of them were aware of her having any history of anxiety or depression. None of them knew—or would admit to knowing—whether or not Nysa had been seeing anyone.
At some point, Josie and Mettner conferred in the hallway to compare notes. The results of his interviews were the same. They were getting nowhere. The only news had come from Gretchen, who had let Mettner know that Nysa’s parents had made a positive ID and that they had returned to the
ir hotel. “They’re going to stay in town until her body is released,” Mettner said. “Gretchen says she didn’t ask them much. They were too distraught.”
“I’m sure,” Josie said. “We can talk with them later. Have you talked to any student named Hudson?”
Mettner scrolled down the list of students he’d made on his phone. “No.”
“How many are left?”
Mettner walked to the end of the hall, peeked into the reception area, and returned. “Five,” he said.
It was after lunch, and Josie was exhausted and starving. “See if we can get a pizza or something,” she told him. “We still have a long day ahead of us.”
He nodded and walked back to the reception area. “I’m sending the next person back to you.”
Josie pegged her next candidate for the coach immediately because he looked older than everyone else. He was tall and solid, with large features, and dark hair trimmed close to his head. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a Denton U windbreaker. A lanyard hung around his neck. On closer inspection, Josie saw that it had a photo of him over the name Brett Pace, Head Coach. She recognized him then from the WYEP news story. WYEP had only given him a short sound bite, a few seconds, wherein he had praised Nysa Somers.
“Mr. Pace,” she said, gesturing to the guest chair. “Please have a seat.”
The chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his large palms together. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I guess it’s true then. About Nysa? She’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” Josie said. “I’m very sorry.”
“What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Josie said. “Tell me, how long have you been coaching?”
He smiled at her as if they were old friends, and she realized that he was used to getting his way using his looks and any charm he might possess. “Officer,” he said.
“Detective.”
“Detective, listen. I know you can’t tell these kids anything, but I’m the head coach. I worked directly with Nysa almost every day. I promise you nothing that you tell me will leave this room.”
Josie raised a brow at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pace.”
“Coach,” he said.
Josie smiled. “Coach, I’m not at liberty to give out any details of an ongoing investigation.”
“So this is an investigation? Nysa wasn’t… murdered, was she?” His brow furrowed.
Josie leaned in toward him. “Do you have reason to believe she was murdered, Coach Pace?”
He leaned away from her. “No. I don’t. Unless it was some random attack. But she was found in the pool, wasn’t she?”
Ignoring his question, Josie said, “How long have you been coaching here?”
“About six years.” He scooted forward in his seat, flashing her a dazzling grin that quickly morphed into an earnest look of concern. He lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. “Detective, we’re two reasonable adults, aren’t we? I’m telling you, I can keep a secret. I just can’t believe that Nysa was found dead in the pool. She’s the strongest swimmer on the team. Something had to have happened to her. Was she… beaten? Did someone…” He didn’t finish, and Josie saw what she thought was the first flicker of true emotion flash in his eyes. “Did someone hurt her?”
“We won’t know anything until after the autopsy,” she told him. “I know this is very distressing and very shocking, but you have to let the process play out, and that means waiting on the autopsy and the results of our investigation. It would really help if you answered some of my questions. I understand that you’re the head coach?”
He bit the inside of his cheek, and after a moment, decided to answer. “Yes.”
“Did you know Nysa well?”
“I knew her as well as I know any of my students. I always encourage them to talk to me or come to me with any issues during the year, even if they’re not swim-related. Sometimes these kids just need someone to talk to, you know?”
“Did Nysa ever need someone to talk to?”
“Sure. They all come to me at some point or another.”
“When was this?” Josie asked.
He waved a large hand dismissively. “Oh, last year. She was worried about returning to school this year because of finances. Her dad had got laid off from his job. I knew that the Vandivere Alumni Scholarship had become available—they were looking for applicants for this fall—so I told her to apply. She was a sure thing. Strongest swimmer I’ve ever coached.”
“She must have been thrilled,” Josie said.
“We both were. She got to keep going to college, and I got to keep my star.” He paused. Josie saw a range of emotions streak across his face. Then he lowered his head into his hands. From behind his palms, he said, “I’m sorry. I keep going from profound disbelief—like surely, this isn’t really happening—to devastation. But acting like it’s not real isn’t going to bring her back, is it?”
“I’m afraid not,” Josie said.
He lifted his head and slapped his palms onto his thighs. “I have to act strong for the kids. They’re really freaked out. I’m sorry. What else do you need to know?”
“Does the university conduct regular drug testing of the students on the swim team?”
“Oh yeah. It’s random. Twice a semester. More if we suspect something is going on. A positive result is an immediate suspension followed by an investigation. But we’ve never had any issues with my swim team.”
“You ever have any problems with your swimmers using drugs? Edibles? Anything like that?”
Pace shook his head. “No, I haven’t had a positive test come up in about four years. If these kids are doing stuff like edibles, they’re either hiding it really well or getting lucky on random drug tests. We found a joint in someone’s swim bag last year, but no positive tests.”
“How about you? Any recreational drug use?”
His face went from a smile to a pinched expression. Incredulity, Josie thought, except it came off exceedingly fake. “Officer,” he said.
“Detective.”
“Detective, I’m the head coach of Denton University’s swim team. Drug use is forbidden.”
“Right,” she said, noting that he didn’t say that he didn’t use drugs, only that the use of them was forbidden. She took out her phone and swiped until she found the photo of the sticker. Turning it in his direction, she asked, “Have you ever seen this before?”
He laughed but when he saw her expression, the sound cut off in his throat. “I’m sorry. You’re serious. No, I’ve never seen it. What is it? A doodle or something? The drawing isn’t half bad, but what the hell is it?”
“We don’t know,” Josie said. “It was found in Nysa’s things.”
He pointed a finger at her phone. “You found that in Nysa’s things? Looks like whoever drew that was high. Is that why you’re asking so many questions about drugs? You think Nysa was using them? Nysa didn’t do drugs, and I can’t see her drawing something as bizarre as that. She was more of a dogs and hearts kind of person. She was completely obsessed with her Havanese.”
“Really?” said Josie, flashing back to the framed photo of a small white dog in Nysa’s room. “What’s her dog’s name?”
“Oh, I, uh, I don’t remember. The kids just always teased her about how much she loved her dog. It was her phone screensaver.”
“When’s the last time you saw Nysa?”
“Friday,” he said. “That was our last practice.”
“You were in the piece that WYEP did this weekend. You didn’t see her then?”
“Oh, they taped my interview separate from the students, so no, I didn’t see her Saturday.”
“How did Nysa seem at practice on Friday?”
“She seemed like Nysa.” A genuine smile crossed his face. “She was great.”
“She didn’t seem depressed or upset to you?”
One eyebrow kinked upward. “Upset? Why would she be upset?
Listen, Nysa wasn’t like the other girls, okay? She was driven and ambitious, sure, but not high-strung. She used to have this joke with the other kids where if they were whining about something, she’d say, ‘But did it kill you?’ The whole team started saying it. ‘My roommate kept me up all night with loud music. But did it kill you?’ or ‘I tanked my history test. But did it kill you?’ Man, and now she’s dead. Shit. Why are you—why are you asking these things?”
“Standard procedure,” Josie replied. “Did Nysa have any problems with anyone on the team? Any feuds or bad blood?”
“No, not at all. The kids get along pretty well. Also, I don’t allow that kind of thing. If people have issues with one another, we address it head-on so it doesn’t affect the rest of the team dynamic.”
“Are there any team members she was particularly close with?”
“No, not that I can think of. She was friendly to everyone, but I don’t think she had a best friend on the team.”
“How about a boy named Hudson?”
“Hudson Tinning?”
Josie jotted down the last name. “I understand they’re quite competitive, and that he may have had a crush on her.”
Pace laughed. “He’s always trying to impress her. He’s had a thing for Nysa from day one, but he’s kind of immature. Kind of a momma’s boy. He’s got a lot of growing up to do. Someone as independent as Nysa wouldn’t have time for a kid like that.”
Josie took down some notes. “Do you know if Nysa was dating anyone?”
“I doubt it,” Pace said. “Like I said, Nysa was laser-focused on school and swimming. If she wasn’t in class, she was at the pool. If she wasn’t at the pool, she was at the gym doing conditioning exercises. If she wasn’t there, she was at the library. If she managed to fit a relationship into her busy schedule, I’d be really surprised.”
“Coach Pace, you said you hadn’t seen Nysa since Friday. Had you heard from her, though? By phone or text? Social media? Anything like that?”
“Oh no,” he said.
