by Lisa Regan
“None,” Plummer answered.
It would be easy enough to check with the State Police or FBI to find out whether he was lying or not. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Plummer,” Josie said. “We look forward to receiving that list of contractors from your…”
“Secretary,” he answered without missing a beat.
They thanked him and made their way back to the car. The rain had diminished to a light drizzle, for which Josie was grateful. It had to stop sometime, didn’t it? As they pulled away, Gretchen made a face of disgust. “A guy like that? With a thing for young women?” she said. “There’s no way he didn’t notice Beverly Urban, as attractive as she was.”
“Unless he’s telling the truth that he never met her,” Josie argued as they cruised out of Quail Hollow, waving goodbye to the gaggle of protestors. “He doesn’t seem like the type to be bothered with lowly tenants, unless their rent is past due.”
“True,” Gretchen said. “Still, I don’t think we can rule him out completely.”
“Put him on the list then,” Josie said. With Ray, she added silently.
Gretchen took out her phone. “It’s late,” she said. “We still have to wait for the list of contractors from Tammy the Secretary, and the City Codes office is closed. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. Should we call it a day?”
“Sure,” Josie said. “I’m going to take my yearbook home, though, and see if I can put together a list of Beverly’s closest friends.”
Twelve
The downstairs windows of Josie’s house were alight. Inside, the dogs greeted her in a frenzy. The house was redolent with delicious smells coming from the kitchen. On the couch, little Harris snoozed in a pair of Spiderman pajamas. From the kitchen, Misty called out, “Josie, is that you?”
“Yeah,” Josie replied, squatting to pet both dogs. Pepper lost interest after a moment, but Trout stayed, pushing his fat little body into Josie’s hands.
“I’m making a roast,” Misty said. “I hope you didn’t eat.” She poked her head out of the kitchen, a hopeful look on her face. “Did you bring anyone with you? I made a lot of food.”
Josie smiled. “No, sorry. But Noah’s car is out front. Isn’t he here?”
“In the shower,” Misty replied, disappearing back into the kitchen. “We’ll eat in a half hour!”
Josie trudged up the steps with Trout racing anxiously behind her. She found Noah in their bedroom; a towel slung low across his hips, chest bare, toweling his thick brown hair dry with another towel. Sometimes, they got so caught up in their day-to-day lives, she forgot to admire him. She leaned against the closed door and studied the muscular lines of his body, her eyes landing on a circle of puckered flesh in his right shoulder, the sight of it bringing back a wave of guilt. She’d shot him once. He’d forgiven her, but she’d probably never forgive herself.
“Hey,” he said, tossing the towel he was using to dry his hair onto the bed. His brown locks stuck up in every direction. Josie walked over and smoothed them down, away from his face. He rested his palms on her forearms and smiled at her. “I saw you on the news today.”
She raised a brow. “I thought you were on emergency calls all day. You still found time to watch television?”
He pulled her in for a hug. She rested her cheek against his warm flesh. He said, “Mett and I stopped in at the station after we were finished and found out about it from a couple of patrol guys. It was easy enough to find the clip on the WYEP website. I’m glad you’re okay.”
She pulled back and looked into his face, glad that he didn’t lecture her for doing something dangerous. “Did you hear about the press liaison the Mayor sent over?”
“I met her actually. She came in trailing the Chief after some meeting with the Mayor, just as cheery as could be. He went into his office and slammed the door in her face.”
Josie shook her head. “I guess the meeting went well.”
“Looks like we’re stuck with her. Mett seems pretty happy about it though.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means? I think he’s got a crush on her. Either that or he was trying to make her feel really comfortable.”
“When’s the last time Mett tried to make someone comfortable? He’s all about doing the job and that’s it.”
“Not today,” Noah said. He let go of her. “Today he was all about this woman. Anyway, tell me about the body.”
As he got dressed, Josie sat on the bed and ran through everything she and Gretchen had discovered that day. Noah listened without comment.
Josie said, “You were, what, two years behind me in high school?”
“Three,” Noah said.
“Do you remember Beverly?”
“No, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have been in Denton East when she was a junior.”
“Right,” Josie said.
“I remember you and Ray, though.”
Josie stared at him. Noah hadn’t been on her radar at all until he joined Denton’s police force only a few years after she and Ray had.
Noah sat beside her and took one of her hands. “I know you don’t remember me from high school,” he said. “I was a freshman when you two were seniors. I wouldn’t expect you to remember anyone in the freshman class.”
“But you remember me,” Josie said.
Color rose to his cheeks. “Josie, come on, you’ve always known that I had a crush on you.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought that started when you joined Denton PD.”
He shook his head. “No. I knew who you were in high school. You were very beautiful then, just as you are now, and smart and…”
“And what?”
He laughed. “And you never took shit from anyone.”
They sat in silence for a long moment. Josie said, “I didn’t know. You remember Ray?”
“Of course,” Noah answered. “I was jealous of him. I spent a lot of years being jealous of that guy.”
Misty called from downstairs, interrupting them. Noah patted Josie’s leg. “Listen, whatever you find out about Ray during this case, everything is going to be fine. Okay?”
Josie nodded, although somewhere deep in her core, she wasn’t sure that was true. Thoughts and memories from high school played in the back of her mind all through dinner. If Noah, Misty, or Harris found her to be distracted, they didn’t say anything. After dinner, she curled up on the couch with Trout snuggled against her and flipped through her yearbook while Noah chased a giggling Harris around the first floor, playing a game of tag.
Beverly hadn’t had many friends. It didn’t take long for Josie to find her two best friends in the yearbook: Kelly Ogden and Lana Rosetti. Both had been in Josie’s homeroom. Lana had had eighth period chemistry with Josie in junior year. They were Beverly’s crew—her “cronies” Josie’s grandmother, Lisette, had called them. Beverly was the leader, and like a three-headed snake, the trio wreaked havoc on the other girls in school. Kelly had been almost as mean as Beverly, never questioning orders, but Lana—if Josie remembered correctly—was kinder and more sensitive, often at odds with Beverly.
Josie remembered how once, at the beginning of junior year, Lana had been cast out for not agreeing to take part in a cruel joke. Beverly had wanted her to forge a note in the handwriting of the most popular, good-looking boy in their class and give it to a girl who was frequently made fun of for being overweight, asking her to homecoming. Luckily, because of Lana’s resistance, the plan hadn’t been carried out. The rest of the class had only found out about it after Beverly and Kelly had turned on Lana for not going through with it. They stopped talking to her and told everyone in the school that she had wet herself on a roller coaster ride at the beach over the summer. Humiliated, Lana sat alone and dejected in the cafeteria for two weeks. Then, as if by magic, she’d been taken back into the fold. Even then, Josie hadn’t understood how Lana continued to be friends with them when they spent their time coming up with ways to torture their most vulnerable
classmates. Especially since whenever Lana didn’t go along with their schemes, they punished her.
Josie found her laptop on the coffee table beneath a pile of Harris’s toys and opened it, pulling up Facebook to search for the two women. Kelly Ogden’s profile picture showed a woman who looked much older than her early thirties, her brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and already graying at the roots. Her account was not private, but there weren’t many photos or posts. Josie was able to glean that she had a teenage daughter and worked at a local supermarket. Lana’s page had much stricter privacy settings, but her profile photo showed her, a man, and a small blond boy on a beach somewhere. All three were smiling. Lana looked like something out of a magazine, long blonde hair flowing in the wind, tanned skin, her blue eyes bright. Josie closed out Facebook and logged into one of the police databases, finding Kelly’s address in town immediately. Lana’s list of addresses was long, but her most current address was in Denton.
Josie didn’t relish having to talk with either woman. She was content to leave her memories of high school in the past, but there was little choice now. Someone had murdered her high school bully, and it was her job to find that person and put him or her away.
The sound of two cell phones ringing at once startled her. Noah and Harris paused in the foyer. Noah took his phone from his back jeans pocket. “It’s Mettner,” he said.
Josie picked hers up from the coffee table. “I’ve got the Chief,” she said.
Noah sighed. “This can’t be good.”
He swiped to answer the call and Josie did the same on her own phone. Chief Chitwood barked into her ear. “Quinn. I need someone down at the shopping district in South Denton. We got looters. Lots of ’em. Patrol rounded them up, but they need to be processed.”
“I thought South Denton was under two feet of water,” she said.
“Apparently, looters don’t mind all that,” Chitwood said.
He hung up. Josie looked at Noah, who had just hung up with Mettner. “I’ll go,” he said. “Mett’s already on his way there.”
Josie thought about arguing, but she was exhausted. She smiled at him. “I’ll take the next call.”
Thirteen
Noah slipped into bed beside Josie sometime in the middle of the night. Trout, who had taken Noah’s spot in his absence, groaned as Noah nudged him. He stood up and went to Josie’s feet, circling and dropping back down, his furry back soft and warm against her shins. She opened her eyes and could just make out Noah’s form in the dim light cast by the green numbers on their alarm clocks. “How was it?” she asked.
“Sad,” he told her. “The liquor store, the Spur Mobile store, that little clothing boutique, the pharmacy, all cleaned out. Everything gone except for the bookstore. Guess criminals don’t read.”
“That sucks,” Josie replied. “Did you get them all?”
“Five of them,” he told her. “They’ll probably be released in the next two days once they’re arraigned. Most of them were East Bridgers displaced by the flooding.”
There were two bridges in Denton, one in the south and one to the east. The area beneath the eastern bridge had long been a gathering place for the city’s homeless and drug trade.
Josie felt sleep pulling her back under and let her eyes drift closed. Noah touched her cheek. “Josie?”
She opened her eyes once more, blinking to bring him into focus. “Get some sleep,” she told him. “It’s after three. We have to be back at the station in a few hours.”
“I just—” he began, but the sound of Josie’s cell phone trilling stopped them. She rolled toward her nightstand and looked at it. “It’s dispatch,” she said.
Flicking on her lamp, Josie snatched the phone up and swiped answer. “Quinn.”
“Detective Quinn?” said a male voice. “It’s Officer Hiller. Sorry to bother you so late. We’ve got a woman on the line who wants to talk to you directly.”
“Are you kidding me?” she said. “It’s the middle of the night. You couldn’t take a message?”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “I thought you’d want to talk to her. She knew the name of the Hempstead victim.”
Josie sat up. Trout poked his head up from the foot of the bed, his ears perfect steeples. Noah patted the bedcovers next to him and Trout scampered over, settling against Noah’s stomach. Josie asked, “What exactly did she say?”
“She called in and said that she needed to talk to Detective Josie Quinn about the Beverly Urban murder.”
Josie’s hand tightened around the phone. Beverly Urban’s name hadn’t been released to the press, nor had the fact that she was a homicide victim. The only people who knew her name and manner of death were Dr. Feist, members of Josie’s team, and Calvin Plummer and his secretary. It couldn’t be Tammy calling, could it?
“Did she give her name?” Josie asked. She glanced back at Noah, but his eyelids were heavy. He’d be asleep in moments.
“She would only give us the name Alice. That’s it.”
Josie stood up and padded quietly out to the hall and downstairs to the kitchen. “Put her through and text me the number she called from in case we get disconnected.”
“You got it, boss.”
The light over the sink had been left on in case Misty or Harris got up during the night. As she waited to be connected to Alice, Josie looked around, amazed at how clean Misty kept the kitchen. She wanted a drink of water but didn’t want to disturb the orderliness. Instead, she leaned a hip against the counter and waited. There was a delay and then a change in the quality of the silence. Finally, a female voice said, “Hello? Detective Quinn?”
Too old to be Tammy, Josie thought. Unless she was somehow disguising her voice. A smoker, judging by the scratchiness. “This is Josie Quinn. What can I do for you, Alice? You have some information about the body we recovered from under the house on Hempstead?”
Hesitation. Then, “Y-yes. I do.”
“What kind of information?” Josie asked.
“I know what happened to that girl,” said Alice.
Josie listened for any background noise, but there was nothing. “What do you mean?”
“I know she was murdered. I know who did it.”
It wouldn’t be the first time that the department had received a call from someone looking for a bit of attention who claimed to have information about a crime. Josie needed to know that Alice was genuine. “How did Beverly die?”
“I can’t talk to you on the phone about this,” Alice said. “We need to meet.”
Josie said, “Alice, I get a lot of phone calls. A lot of tips. I’m just trying to figure out whether you’re telling the truth or not.”
More hesitation. “She was shot in the head, okay?”
A chill rippled over Josie’s body. “Okay, Alice. I think you’re right. We need to meet.”
“I can meet with you in private. Only you. No one else,” Alice said hurriedly.
“Good,” Josie said. “How about tomorrow at the police station in Denton? Do you know where that is?”
“I can’t meet you there. It’s not safe.”
“Alice, I can assure you that there is no safer place in this city than the police station. I’ll be there at nine a.m. You’ll have to come in through the back. I can wait for you outside if you’d like, in the parking lot.”
Alice’s voice lowered to a whisper. “If you think the police station is safe, you’re not as smart as I thought.”
Before Josie could respond, the line went dead. Josie found the text from dispatch with the number and tried calling it back. It rang seven times before going to voicemail, but the outgoing message was an automated voice that read off the number she’d just called and told her to leave a message. “Alice,” Josie said after the beep. “This is Josie Quinn. It’s extremely important that you call me back. I need to talk to you. Please call me at this number as soon as you can. I’ll meet you wherever you’d like.” Josie rattled off her number and hung up.
She waited ten minutes but there was no return call. There was no way she was going back to sleep now. Questions whirled through her mind. Who was Alice? How did she know about Beverly’s murder? Why had she kept it a secret for sixteen years? Had she murdered Beverly?
Josie went upstairs to get dressed.
Fourteen
Although two news vans sat in the municipal parking lot, no reporters waited near the entrance to the stationhouse. The rain was still coming down in a light drizzle. Josie was able to slip inside under the cover of darkness unnoticed. She checked in with the night desk sergeant and went up to her desk. She searched various databases, but the number that Alice had called from was a prepaid burner phone. Josie wrote up a warrant that would allow her to contact the major cellular networks and attempt to locate Alice’s phone. Even burner phones had to use existing cellular networks to make calls. If Josie could figure out which network the number was using, she would be able to triangulate the phone’s location. It would only bring her within a few miles, and she might not get the information for a few days, depending on the speed of the network’s legal department, but it was better than nothing. She’d wait until regular working hours to ask a judge to sign it.
She tried calling Alice again but got only the voicemail. Next, she went through Calvin Plummer’s files and her high school yearbook but found no one named Alice. Her eyes burned with fatigue as daylight crept through the windows. Rain spattered against the glass and Josie suppressed a groan. It seemed as though the rain would never end. The flooding was reaching doomsday proportions, and the river hadn’t even crested yet. She heard the stairwell door swing open and a moment later, a steaming cup of coffee and a box of baked goods appeared in front of her.
Noah said, “The pastries are from Misty. You didn’t even leave me a note. Everything okay?”
Josie sipped the coffee gratefully and leaned back in her chair. Noah took a seat across from her at his own desk. She told him about the call.
