Save Her Soul: An absolutely unputdownable crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Josie Quinn Book 9)

by Lisa Regan

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  He shrugged. “You come here when something has really gotten to you, especially when it’s something from your past. Since you just saw Ray’s name on that fingerprint report, that made it a little easier to guess where you’d gone, but to be honest, with what’s going on with Lisette, I would have bet on you being here regardless.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m ready to go back to work.” She hated that her voice quavered.

  “Let’s get it out in the open before you go back to work,” he said. “It’s just you, me, and Ray here. Say whatever it is you need to say and then we’ll go back.”

  She wanted to punch him. “Why do I always have to say things?”

  He smiled. “That’s how talking works. Seriously, it might help.”

  “It’s not going to help.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Then just say things to hear yourself talk.”

  In spite of the tension knotting her shoulder blades, Josie laughed. Then it turned into a strangled cry. She clamped a hand over her mouth. When she was certain she wasn’t going to sob, she took her hand away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m so emotional. Everything is just getting to me.”

  “It’s been a horrific week, Josie. Our city is damn near destroyed. You found a dead body. You got shot at. You almost died in the river with Vera Urban. Add Lisette’s news to that and it’s a lot to adjust to.”

  “But Gram’s news doesn’t matter,” Josie said. “Even finding Ray’s stupid fingerprints on that receipt and his jacket on Beverly’s body doesn’t matter.”

  Noah raised a brow. “How does it not matter?”

  “None of that should affect me or my work.”

  “But it is, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay for you to have a period of time where you need to mentally process big, difficult things like a normal person.”

  “I’m not normal,” she muttered.

  “Because of all the messed-up things that happened to you?” Noah asked.

  “Not just that,” Josie said. “Because I should be hunting down Beverly Urban’s murderer right now and instead, I’m in the goddamn graveyard where my ex-husband is buried because when we were in high school he might have cheated on me and gotten Beverly pregnant. Who cares?” She threw her arms in the air and began pacing.

  “You do,” Noah said. “So let’s go there. What if Ray was seeing Beverly behind your back? What if they were sleeping together, and he got her pregnant? How does that make you feel?”

  Josie paused long enough to roll her eyes. “What? Did you take a crash course in psychology or something? Are you serious right now? How does it make me feel?”

  When he didn’t respond, staring at her in a way that made it clear he expected an answer, she said, “It makes me feel like shit. It makes me feel sad and alone and like my whole life was a lie.”

  “Your whole life?” he coaxed.

  She shook her head as though that could clear it. “Noah, nothing about my life was what it seemed. My mother wasn’t really my mother. My dad wasn’t really my dad. He didn’t really kill himself. My grandmother wasn’t really my grandmother. My goddamn name wasn’t even Josie. Don’t you get it? The only thing that was real, that was true, that was consistent in my life was Ray. Since I was nine years old he was…” She searched for words, for the right metaphors. “My—my anchor. My—this is so stupid—”

  “He was your constant,” Noah filled in.

  “Yes,” Josie said, feeling a rush of relief that he understood. “He was the one person who knew everything that had happened to me and loved me anyway. Even my grandmother never knew all the things that Lila did to me. Ray was there through it all. He kept me sane, he kept me focused. He made me feel like I was worth something. I know that he turned out to be a drunk and a liar and a dishonorable person, but I’m talking about Ray the boy that I loved in school, not Ray the man I married. Ray was my foundation, Noah. If it was all a lie, if even back then he wasn’t who he pretended to be, what does that say about me?”

  “Nothing,” Noah said. “It says nothing about you.”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She fought to hold them back. “You’re wrong,” she argued. “If the one person who loved me when I was at my worst didn’t really love me—if he was a liar, then what does that mean? How can I be—how can I be—” She couldn’t finish.

  Noah stepped closer to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Josie,” he said. “You were a child.”

  “But if everything I thought about the best parts of my childhood were a lie, what does that mean? If the foundation of my life—or the one thing left of it, Ray—was a lie, then what does that mean for me? Who the hell am I?”

  “You’re Josie Quinn,” Noah said simply. “And that doesn’t depend on Ray or Lisette or your biological family or me or anyone. That foundation you’re talking about? It wasn’t Ray. Foundations are built, Josie. They’re built up over time. Ray helped you lay that foundation just like your grandmother did by being a positive, loving, stable force when everything around you was completely fucked up. The foundation you’re talking about—that’s all you.”

  “How do you know that? How do you—how can you love me? You don’t even know who I am. I don’t even know who I am!”

  He smiled again. One of his hands tilted her chin up toward him. “I know exactly who you are. Everyone who loves you knows who you are. You’re the woman who shot me, trying to save a teenage girl who desperately needed help.”

  She looked away from him. “I wish you wouldn’t bring that up. I still feel guilty about that.”

  “Don’t,” he said, cupping her cheek to bring her gaze back to him. “You’re the woman who is now best friends with Ray’s girlfriend—a woman you used to hate. You’re Harris’s Aunt JoJo. You’re the woman who saved a baby from drowning in a river, who jumped into a burning car to try to save a man because he was the only person who knew where two missing persons were. You’re the woman who solved my mother’s murder. You’re the woman who delivered a baby in the back of your car in a damn thunderstorm. You run toward the danger, Josie. Every time. You never hesitate. What does that make you? I know what it makes you to me, but only you can say what it makes you to yourself. My point is that nothing you find out about the past, no matter how terrible, can change any of that.”

  She sank into his arms, pressing her face against his chest. Inhaling his familiar scent immediately sent her heart rate back down to a normal range. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “But I still wish I could know for sure about Ray and Beverly.”

  Noah pressed a kiss into her scalp. After a few moments, he said, “You know, we could ask Misty for a DNA sample from Harris. Well, I guess if we’re going to start asking people for DNA samples then we could just go directly to Mrs. Quinn. You think she’d give us one to compare against the DNA profile of Beverly’s baby?”

  “Probably,” Josie said. “But maybe I’m just being… I don’t know. I never would have believed that Ray slept with Beverly. Back then he was so good. He was still kind of innocent. We were deeply in love in the kind of crazy hormonal way that only teenagers can be. We had all these stupid plans. The summer before senior year we were going to take this road trip, drive to the beach and spend a week there. We had a list of places we were going to visit between here and there. It was so silly, and we were completely broke. But Ray wanted to make it happen for me, and he did. He spent that entire summer working construction. He was a day laborer for this general contractor. I barely saw him at all. He’d have to be on the job site at six in the morning and by the time he was finished, he’d be so tired. They were building that office building—oh my God.”

  She pulled away from him. Noah looked at her, confused. “What is it?”

  “Good God,” she said. “I know what we’re missing. I know why Beverly had Ray’s jacket and why his prints were on the Wellspring receipt.”

  Forty-Four />
  2004

  Ray and Josie stood outside the construction site. The structure had walls and windows now, resembling a building instead of some kind of Erector set. The noise from inside was still steady but less deafening. Josie swiped the sweat from her upper lip and squinted at Ray, wishing she’d brought her sunglasses. While she was wishing for things, she wished they were somewhere with air conditioning. The July heat was sweltering. She had no idea how he worked in it all day long.

  “Ray,” she said. “How much longer?”

  He checked his watch. “Not long. He said he’d be here to check out the site around noon today.”

  “You don’t know that he’s really going to show up. These rich office people say all kinds of things they don’t mean. This is a waste of time.”

  “No it’s not,” Ray insisted. “I’m telling you, this guy is really nice. He was one of the team sponsors last year. He was at the big game. Don’t you remember us having to take all those pictures?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t meet those guys,” Josie said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ray said. “I told him all about you. He was the one who told me to bring you around. He has some foundation or something, and all they do is give out scholarships to girls. I’m sorry. Young women.”

  “That’s it?” Josie said. “You just have to be a female?”

  Ray gave a half shrug and adjusted the tool belt slung around his waist. “I mean, I guess you have to be studying a certain field. Like science or whatever. Technology. Computers.”

  “I’m going into criminal justice, Ray. That’s none of those things.”

  “Come on, Jo. Just talk to the guy. Even if you don’t qualify, it’s worth a try.”

  Two large droplets of sweat raced down Josie’s back before soaking into her shirt. “Ten minutes,” she said. “Then I’ll be so sweaty he won’t even want to shake my hand.”

  Ray pulled his hardhat down so it shaded his eyes and looked down the street. “There,” he said. “There he is!”

  Two men walked from the direction of the old theater. They both wore suits even in the intense summer heat. As they drew closer, Josie recognized them from the championship game. One wore glasses and the other was the man she’d run into. The one on her list. Tanned and Toned. She was about to tell Ray she wasn’t comfortable with this, but Ray was already walking up to them, hand extended. The man with glasses shook it. “Hello, Ray.”

  “Mr. Prather,” he said. “Nice to see you.”

  Forty-Five

  Noah followed Josie to the City Codes office. Having been there recently, he was able to help her find what she was looking for relatively quickly. Still, it took over an hour. Josie spent that time on her phone, locating the other pieces she needed to present her theory to the team. Back at the stationhouse, Gretchen, Mettner, and the Chief waited. In the corner, Amber lurked.

  Everyone was seated at their desks except the Chief who stood behind Josie, arms folded over his thin chest. “What’ve you got, Quinn?”

  Across her desk, Josie spread a map of Denton’s central business district which she’d gotten from the City Codes office. She pointed to Aymar Avenue, which was a few blocks from where they stood and still underwater. “Here,” she said. “On this corner of Aymar is the Denton Theater Ensemble Playhouse. It’s been a fixture here since before I was a kid.”

  “So?” Chitwood said.

  “You’re not from here so you won’t know the background,” Josie said. “It’s a historic building. It used to be run by various theater companies. Then they ran out of money. Eventually the college took it over. Now it just features student performers and guest speakers.” Josie pointed across the street from the playhouse. “There,” she said. “It’s a pizza shop now, but it used to be the ice cream shop where Beverly Urban worked in the fall of 2003 and spring of 2004, which was mine, Ray’s, and Beverly’s junior year of high school. The theater was being remodeled that same year.”

  “I’m listening,” Chitwood said.

  She ran her finger down the line that represented Aymar Avenue. “Here,” Josie said. “This is the corner of Aymar and Stockton. This is an office building. One of the businesses it houses is Joe Prather’s software company. The Prather Foundation is also located there. Construction on this building started six months after the theater remodel, in the spring of our junior year. Ray worked on the site as a laborer during the summer between our junior and senior years. And over here,” she pointed to another square directly across from the office building, “was the Wellspring Clinic.”

  Chitwood had gone from looking frustrated to looking bored.

  Gretchen said, “Beverly worked within a block of the clinic and the construction site where Ray was working the summer she was killed.”

  Mettner added, “And you’ve got the Prathers moving in after this office building was built. That seems a little coincidental.”

  “Not really,” Josie said. “Guess who orchestrated and supervised the remodel of the theater and the building of that office complex?”

  They all stared at her.

  “Dutton Enterprises,” Josie said. “I looked it up. It’s all there in the permits and land records. Kurt Dutton has always been in commercial real estate development. The Duttons have been friends and neighbors of the Prathers for decades, so of course they rented out space to them.”

  Noah held up a sheaf of papers he had printed out before the meeting started. “Then there’s this.”

  Everyone crowded around him. He held up the page for them all to see. It was an article from the Denton Tribune dated September 3, 2003. The headline read:

  Dutton Enterprises to Revitalize Historic City Theater.

  Chitwood said, “Just give us the highlights, Fraley.”

  Noah read quickly and then summarized it for the others: “Basically, the theater changed hands several times during the one hundred fifteen years it’s been in Denton. Dutton Enterprises bought it for a song. Kurt promised to restore it and worked with the City Council to have it added to the city’s historic registry. He wanted to do a full remodel, which would take about a year, and bring it back to its ‘former glory.’ Then at the end of the article, he says, ‘I’m going to be personally on site here every day until the project is finished. It’s an honor to be a part of a project so dear to this city.’”

  Once he finished reading the article’s highlights, Noah said, “There’s a photo here too.”

  Josie squinted at it as he held it out for everyone to see. There stood Kurt Dutton and several other town officials in front of the then-dilapidated theater, grinning. Dutton cut a handsome figure, just as she remembered when they had met behind the bleachers at the championship game. He looked vastly different now that he was in his sixties. Josie hadn’t realized that the present-day mayoral candidate who had negotiated so smoothly with the Chief from behind bars was the same man who had groped her at the championship baseball game.

  Gretchen said, “So, during Beverly Urban’s junior year of high school, she worked at the ice cream stand which was right across the street from the theater where Kurt Dutton was personally overseeing a remodel.”

  “Right,” Josie said.

  Gretchen went on, “And the summer after your junior year, Ray was working at a site across from the Wellspring Clinic where Beverly went, probably to confirm her pregnancy.”

  “Yes,” Josie said. “I think that’s how she got his jacket and how his prints got on her receipt. Ray must have seen her there or coming from there. She was probably upset. Ray could never help himself when it came to vulnerable women being upset. He’d spent his entire childhood trying to comfort his mother every time his father beat her up. Then when his father finally left, Ray was fiercely protective of her.”

  “But Ray was fiercely protective of you as well,” Noah pointed out. “And Beverly was your enemy.”

  “I know,” Josie agreed. “But if he’d seen Beverly coming out of the clinic upset, he would have helped her o
r tried to comfort her. I know he would.”

  Gretchen said, “Ray sees her, goes to her, comforts her. Gives her his jacket. That’s why he never told the truth about what happened to it. He couldn’t get it back from her because she was buried in it. Like everyone else in your high school class, he figured she just moved away and took the jacket with her.”

  Josie nodded. “And Ray knew how much she liked him. He wouldn’t have been surprised that she left town with his beloved jacket. He definitely would not have told me what happened at the time because he would have known I’d go ballistic back then.”

  Mettner said, “All right, we’ve got the Ray connection sorted out. It makes sense, and if we’re wrong, we’ll know it from the baby’s DNA test. If we’re right, Ray definitely didn’t kill her. What’s the final piece?”

  “Kurt Dutton,” Josie said. “He and Beverly were having an affair. He was the father of her baby. That would have been problematic for a number of reasons, including the fact that Vera had a prior connection to Dutton’s wife.”

  Chitwood said, “How did you get from Beverly working across the street from Dutton to him fathering her child?”

  “From this,” Josie said. She laid another piece of paper on the desk for all of them to see. It was a color photograph pulled from Marisol Dutton’s Facebook page. The post had been made nearly ten years ago, but that didn’t matter. The picture told them everything they needed to know. In it, Kurt Dutton stood on a beach staring out at a sunset. A drink rested in his hand. His head was turned back toward the camera, a smile on his face. On his left shoulder was a skull tattoo. Marisol had captioned it simply: Paradise. Josie placed the photo they’d found among Beverly’s things beside it for comparison.

  Mettner gave a low whistle. “Damn.”

  “All right,” Chitwood said. “We have a solid link between Beverly and Kurt Dutton. I think a defense lawyer’s gonna argue that in Beverly’s photo you can’t see the guy’s face so we can’t prove it was Dutton, but we’ll let the lawyers sort that out at trial.”