by Lisa Regan
They were halfway to their vehicle when Pace came out onto the front stoop. The windchimes swung toward him, brushing his head, and he stepped to the side. “Hey,” he said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Josie and Mettner stared at him for a beat before turning back to the car.
Pace called, “This is going to ruin my life, isn’t it?”
Josie turned back, a faint smile curling her lips. “That’s not really the question you should be asking yourself, is it?”
A line of confusion creased Pace’s forehead. “What?”
Josie said, “This is going to ruin your life, yeah, but will it kill you?”
Twenty-Eight
Josie and Mettner made it back to the station by lunchtime. She was relieved to see that Noah was there with Gretchen, and they’d brought lunch as well. They convened at their desks and ate until Chitwood emerged from his office for a briefing. Noah and Gretchen had nothing to report yet. They’d done several interviews with Clay Walsh’s friends, coworkers, and acquaintances but hadn’t yet turned up any red flags or connections to Nysa Somers. Josie and Noah told the team about the conversation they’d had with Shannon the night before, including her suggestion that scopolamine, or something similar to it, in large doses, could cause docility and suggestibility. Chitwood promised to ask his DEA contact about the drug. Josie and Mettner then outlined their conversation with Brett Pace.
“What a sorry excuse for a human being,” Gretchen said.
“No shit,” Mettner replied.
“Quinn,” said Chitwood. “You believe Pace is good for this?”
“I really don’t know, sir,” she said. “He’s a proven liar. He’s got no alibi. He’s admitted to being with Nysa on Sunday night, and his nickname for her was ‘mermaid.’”
“We can’t rule him out,” Chitwood said. “He gives me a bad feeling, especially since he’s trying to get the hell out of here only a couple of days after this woman died. I want you all to be looking for connections between Pace and Clay Walsh, you got that? Maybe one of you can go back down to the East Bridge and show Pace’s photo around. See if he ever bought drugs down there.”
“Chief,” Josie said.
He held up a hand. “I know, I know, Quinn. I’ve put in three calls to my DEA friend already. As soon as I hear from him, you’ll know.”
Josie opened her mouth to thank him, but the door to the staircase slammed open. All heads swiveled in the direction of the doorway where a breathless Sawyer Hayes stood, chest heaving, one hand holding out a cardboard cupholder with four cups of Komorrah’s coffee in it. He thrust it toward them and said, “Did you send your desk sergeant into the bell tower for some reason?”
“What?” Chitwood and Josie said at the same time.
Sawyer took a few steps into the room and handed the coffees to the closest person, which happened to be Mettner. “He’s up in the bell tower. What’s his name? Lamay?”
“Dan,” Josie said, springing from her seat. She looked at her colleagues. “Anyone know why Dan is in the bell tower?”
Mettner said, “I didn’t even know you could get to the bell tower.”
Sawyer said, “I was coming out of Komorrah’s—I got you all coffee since it’s been a rough week and I was in the area—when I saw him up there, leaning out the window. Scared me because I thought he would fall. He keeps leaning further and further out. I have no idea what he’s doing.”
Josie pushed past him with her colleagues in tow. “Then let’s not leave him up there. Come on.”
She raced into the stairwell and took the steps two at a time to the third floor. The bell tower was on the east side of the building. Josie navigated two hallways until she found the door. She pushed through it and scrambled up the narrow, twisting steps to the top of the belfry, which extended almost a full floor length above the third floor of Denton’s police station. Another door, this one made of heavy wood, waited at the top of the belfry. It creaked as Josie opened it. Stepping onto the wooden platform that formed a pentagon around the enormous bell, she hesitated. Only once had she been in the bell tower and that was during her tenure as interim chief, when she had had a structural engineer assess the tower and the integrity of the structure holding it all in place lest the two-ton bell topple onto the city street below and cause a catastrophe. She hadn’t been comfortable in the tall, confined area even though the windows were open with no screens or shutters. It was at least ten degrees cooler up here, and noises from the street carried upward—the sounds of tires over asphalt, beeping horns, dogs barking, people shouting greetings to one another.
Josie made the mistake of looking down, a wave of dizziness instantly assailing her. Wooden scaffolding ran the length of the shaft beneath the belfry. Thick beams had been fitted together in a Jenga-like pattern, all designed to support the weight of both the bell and the structure built around it. Josie was relatively certain there was a ladder along one of the walls below the belfry but from where she stood, she couldn’t see it.
The platform surrounding the bell, which stood between the bell and the windows, had only a thin, rough-hewn wooden rail along the bell side. For a terrifying moment, all Josie could focus on were all the openings she could easily slip through on either side of the platform. There was at least a person-sized gap between the stone walls and the stand. The gap on the bell side was slightly larger. A fall from the belfry to the bottom of the tower shaft would definitely kill her. Taking a deep breath, she placed a foot onto the platform, noting it looked like nothing more than a few two-by-fours pushed together. She placed another foot onto the wood, letting all her weight rest on it as her left hand clutched the rail, splinters digging into her palm. It didn’t bow beneath her but still, it seemed far too flimsy for her taste.
She inched around the large, weathered bell. The enormous wheel beside it loomed over her, easily twice her height. Josie quickly took measure of all of the mechanisms. The structural engineer had been most enthusiastic about his job and had explained to her that the large block of wood to which the bell, the wheel and the stay were attached was called a headstock. Metal loops called cannons held the bell fast to the headstock. On one side of the bell, fixed to the headstock, was the stay, a piece of wood that held the bell in place so that it rested on a slider beneath it. On the other side of the bell, also connected to the headstock, was the wheel which held the rope one needed to pull to ring the bell. The rope hung down the shaft and out of Josie’s view. The bell hadn’t been used in ages. It was merely decorative at this point. Josie couldn’t think of any reason for Dan to be in here, although having been on the force nearly fifty years, he was probably one of the only officers, other than Josie and the Chief, who knew how to get into the bell tower. Josie remembered him telling her that when he was a rookie, they used to ring it any time a police officer died—on or off the job.
Taking more tentative steps, her eyes were again drawn to the center of the belfry. For all her lovely knowledge of the mechanisms of the giant bell, all Josie could think about was how disastrous it would be if the headstock or any piece attached to it failed, and everything in the belfry—including herself and Dan—went tumbling down the shaft.
Shaking those images from her mind, Josie concentrated on the task at hand, taking more careful steps along the wooden platform that circled the bell. Dan came into view as she rounded the bell on the Main Street side of the tower. A cool wind blew through the arched windows, caressing her face. Dan stood with his back to her, leaning out of one of the windows, one of his feet lifted from the ground.
Josie stopped a few feet away from him. “Dan?”
If he heard her, he made no indication, instead leaning further out of the window, his paunch resting on the stone sill. Josie stepped closer. Behind her, the wooden platform creaked. She turned to see Noah and motioned with one of her hands for him to go around the bell the other way. He gave a nod and disappeared behind the bell. “Dan,” Josie said again.
No response.
Dan thrust a hand out the window, as if trying to grasp something. “Dan!” Josie said, more sharply, but his other foot lifted from the ground. His upper body levered over the window sill. Josie dove for his feet, only managing to catch one of them before he went into freefall out the window. Her own legs scrabbled to gain purchase on the narrow platform. She felt her right leg slip into the gap between the platform and the stone wall. Only emptiness and a long fall to concrete waited beneath.
“Noah,” she cried.
She tried to use her left knee on the wooden floor to steady herself and bring her right leg back up, but above her, Dan flailed, making it impossible for her to find any stability. “Dan!” she shouted. “Stop.”
He froze, his legs sinking back to the floor inside the tower but causing Josie to drop, her left leg now slipping into the gap, only a pantleg and a grasp between her and a plummet to her death. Finally, a hand slid under her armpit. She looked up to see Noah, one hand clutching the belt of Dan’s pants while the other scooped under her arm to try to get her back onto the platform. Josie took one hand from Dan’s leg and latched onto Noah. He pulled and she scrambled, using his body to climb back onto the platform. Keeping hold of Noah’s shoulder, she dared not look down again. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest, it felt like each beat rattled her bones.
She looked at Noah for a beat, silently thanking him. Then she let go of him and turned her attention to Dan. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she said, “Dan, are you okay?”
His upper body still leaned slightly out the window. He pulled himself back in and turned to her. Eyes blank, he stared into her face, sweat beaded along his receding hairline and his upper lip. “I have to get it,” he mumbled.
Noah kept hold of Dan’s belt. Josie met his eyes and gave a small shake of her head to indicate that Dan was not okay.
“Dan,” she said. “What is it that you have to get?”
“Here,” he said, turning back toward the window. “I’ve got to get this here.”
Josie caught the look of concern that crossed Noah’s face and gently squeezed Dan’s shoulder. “There’s nothing up here.”
“I have to put it back,” Dan said into the breeze flowing past outside.
Josie turned his upper body, and he let her, facing her once more. “Dan, do you know who I am?”
Another blank stare. Josie leaned in closer and noted that his pupils were dilated. Still, she managed a smile for him, trying to stay calm. “It’s me, Dan. Josie Quinn.”
Noah shuffled around behind Dan, blocking off his access to the window.
“Josie Quinn,” Dan said, mystified.
“Lieutenant Fraley is right behind you,” Josie said. Gently she pulled him toward her. “Why don’t we go downstairs and talk, okay, Dan? This isn’t a good place to talk. It’s a little dangerous up here.”
“Dangerous,” he repeated.
Josie turned so that he could squeeze up beside her. She put an arm around his shoulders. “Walk with me.”
Obediently, he walked alongside her, the platform now bowing slightly beneath their combined weight. He let her guide him through the door, back down the twisting steps to the door into the third floor where a crowd of their colleagues waited. Noah followed closely behind. Chief Chitwood said, “Sergeant Lamay, are you all right?”
“He needs to go to the hospital,” Josie answered, an arm still wrapped protectively around Dan’s shoulders.
Sawyer muscled his way between Mettner and Gretchen. “What’s going on?”
“He’s disoriented,” Josie said. “He’s talking but not making sense. Doesn’t seem to know where he is or who I am.”
Dan looked around at all the faces. Josie felt him tense beneath her arm. “I have to get it,” he repeated, except that now his voice was far more high-pitched, a note of panic making it crack.
Noah drew up on Dan’s other side and linked arms with him. “Everything’s fine, Dan. We’re going to call your wife and take you to the hospital, okay?”
Josie squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s walk down the steps, okay, Dan?”
He hesitated a beat and then took a small step. “Walk.”
“Yes,” Josie said. “We’ll walk down the steps and to the parking lot.”
As Chitwood, Mettner, Gretchen, and Amber parted to let them through, the Chief said, “I’ll call the hospital to let them know you’re on the way.”
Mettner added, “And I’ll call Dan’s wife.”
“Go get her,” Josie told him. “They only have one car and Dan drives it to work. Their daughter is away at school.”
“You got it, boss.”
Sawyer said, “I’ll drive.”
“No,” Josie said. “I will.”
Sawyer went ahead of them down the stairwell. “This is my job, you know.”
An edge to his voice, Noah said, “If Josie said she’ll drive, then she’ll drive.”
“I’ll get there faster, Sawyer,” Josie explained as they proceeded down the stairs to the ground level with Dan sandwiched between her and Noah, walking dutifully. “I assume you didn’t come here in an ambulance.”
Sawyer held the door to the parking lot open. “No, I didn’t. At least let me ride with you. I can assess him.”
They reached Josie’s vehicle. “That would be great,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Twenty-Nine
I checked the WYEP news site for two days to see if there were any more stories about me—or rather, about what I had unleashed. I was disappointed to see nothing at all. Not yet, anyway. Had I miscalculated the effectiveness of my newest tool? Surely not. It was the easiest, most effective method I had used to date. It made my previous efforts seem so unsophisticated—even my second killing, which I had always found so clever.
It wasn’t as spectacular as what I’d done to Nysa Somers and Clay Walsh, but I still recalled that day fondly. Waiting outside on her front step, nervous but also excited. Remembering all her sins against me as I stood there, hurt, but it was nothing compared to the knowledge that I was about to get payback.
“Did you clean yourself off?” she asked after I walked in.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why were you at the shelter today anyway?”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I reached into the brown grocery bag dangling from one arm and held out the carton of orange juice she asked me to bring by. Extra pulpy.
She took it without thanks. Always without thanks. She ambled into the kitchen, and I followed. I watched her pour a glass. Glancing back at me, she said, “You know, if you were at the shelter today, you should have taken a shower before you came here. I told you I’m allergic to cats.”
“I know.”
She touched the glass to her lips. Hesitated. Her eyes locked on me. “Extremely allergic,” she reminded me.
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
She didn’t even get through the whole glass before the anaphylaxis took hold. Her lips and tongue swelled first. Then came the clutching of her throat, the wheezing, the falling, the writhing, and finally, stillness. The last bit of life was bleeding from her eyes when I walked over and stared down at her—one of the only times I saw someone take their last breath. I had loved her once.
“I deserved better,” I said.
Smiling, I walked over to the counter, dumped what was left in her glass, and rinsed it out. Then I took out the other carton of orange juice from my grocery bag. No pulp. I filled the cup halfway with that and left it on the counter. I took out the last item in my grocery bag: broccoli soup made with cashew cream. She was also highly allergic to cashews.
I took the extra-pulpy orange juice with me when I left. I didn’t expect anyone to raise any questions, but it was just good practice not to leave behind a carton of orange juice with finely shaved cat hair in it.
Thirty
An hour later, Josie paced in the waiting area of the Emergency Room. Dan Lamay’s wife had just been allowed back to see him. The doctors
said he was stable, and although they hadn’t found any evidence of a stroke or heart issue, they were running additional tests to see if they could pinpoint a reason for his behavior. They’d also taken blood. Since he presented with disorientation but no immediate signs of a stroke or heart attack, they’d run toxicology, but it had come back clean. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the unusual event with Dan was somehow connected to the Nysa Somers and Clay Walsh cases. Chief Chitwood must have agreed because he had immediately ordered Mettner to track down every place Dan had been that morning, every person he’d come into contact with, and everything he’d ingested. He’d also sent Noah and Gretchen out to do the work on the Clay Walsh case, as they’d previously discussed before Sawyer had burst into the great room to alert them that Dan was in the bell tower. No one had wanted to leave the hospital, but the Chief insisted.
“There’s work to be done, people,” he had hollered outside of Dan Lamay’s room, causing nearby nurses to startle.
Everyone had scattered except for Josie, who stood resolute before the Chief, hands on her hips, chin jutted forward. Chitwood looked at her, cheeks pinkening. “That means you too, Quinn. You are one of my detectives, are you not?”
“I’m not going,” Josie said.
“The hell you’re not.”
Her heart did a double tap, but she didn’t move. Dan Lamay was more than a colleague to Josie. He was a friend. Three years ago, she’d hit rock bottom, personally and professionally, and Dan had come to her aid. He’d put his own job at risk for her even though his wife was battling cancer and their daughter was in college. He had helped her when no one else would or could. Josie was not walking away from him now that he was in trouble.
Chitwood sighed and said, “Quinn, they’ll call if there’s any news or any change.”
“Sir,” Josie said. “You saw how Dan was acting. His eyes were dilated. He wasn’t making any sense, but he did whatever we told him to do. I told him to come down from the bell tower, and he did. I told him to walk, to get in the car, to walk into the hospital with us, and on the ride over, Noah made several suggestions—kind of like a field sobriety test—and Dan did them all without question. He was suggestible, docile, but not incapacitated. Medically, he’s fine. No stroke, no cardiac issues. His tox screen was clean.”
