Page 31

THIRTY

It had only been a day since Josie was back at her desk, but it felt like she’d been gone for years. At first, she took comfort in being in the one place where things always made sense, where there was always a direction to take, where procedure dictated her next move. Then the sight of Noah’s desk taunted her. Thoughts of what would happen if they didn’t find him alive—if she didn’t find him alive—crowded her mind. She shut them down. That wasn’t happening. Not while she had breath in her lungs. Life—and Lila’s legacy, if that’s what was behind this—wasn’t taking one more damn thing from her.

A small foam basketball bounced off her shoulder.

“Shit,” Turner said. “I missed again.”

She thought about teasing him but didn’t have the energy. Tossing the ball at his head, she asked, “Did you look over the list of Phelan employees and anyone else who was on the build that day again?”

With a dramatic sigh, he edged his chair closer to his desk and went back to flipping through a document.

Josie had already looked over the armed robbery files, finding nothing of use. Next, she pulled up the geofence results from Gina Phelan’s murder. She’d never say it out loud, but Turner had been right. The results gave them nothing. With a sigh, she began reviewing the new surveillance footage the team had gathered from nearby businesses and residences. Most of the videos were useless. The cameras were either too far from the action to record anything of note or they revealed nothing new. Skimming the fourth one, Josie’s subconscious whispered, telling her something might be important. Her mind caught the detail but released it just as quickly. She needed to focus. Her eyelids were so heavy. The extra latte she’d bought before leaving Komorrah’s was empty.

Back to work. What was it that her brain had just alighted on? It took her three more scans to find it. Turner threw his basketball at her again. This time it glanced off the top of her head. Josie ignored it.

“What are you triple-checking now?” he said. “The additional videos? I already told you, they’re worthless.”

“No, they’re not. Come here.”

Turner made a point of hefting himself out of his chair like he weighed a thousand pounds and shuffling around to her desk like it was taking up all of his energy to do so. “What?”

“Here,” Josie said, indicating the screen, rewinding to the part of the video that had caught her attention and pausing it. “This car is double-parked here two blocks from the site. It’s pointed in the direction of the main entrance. The timestamp is five minutes before Gina was stabbed.”

“So?”

The vehicle was only visible from the driver’s side, but a small neon-blue glimmer radiated from the dash. Josie lined the cursor up next to it. “See this light? One of the local rideshare companies uses neon dash lights with their logo on it. Blue.”

“What’s your point, Quinn?”

“A lot of rideshares have dash cameras.”

Turner tapped his fingers against his leg. “I’m not kidding, Quinn. Get some sleep.”

“It could have driven past the site at the time of the stabbing. It’s possible that the dashcam caught something important. You could contact the rideshare company, give them the date and time, and see if they can put you in touch with the driver.”

“Rideshares make it their job to avoid giving police anything at all,” he countered.

Josie shifted in her chair so she could jam a hand into the pocket of her jeans. She came up with three dollars. As she spoke, she slapped the dollars one by one into Turner’s palm. “Stop being a douchebag, you absolute douchebag, and track down this vehicle. Also, you’re a jackass.”

The ghost of a smile played on his lips. “You done?”

Good God, she really was going to punch him in the throat.

“Probably not,” she managed, turning back to the computer.

Laughter trailed behind him as he returned to his desk.

Josie queued up a fifth video offered by a business across the street from the site but in the opposite direction from where Gina Phelan had been attacked. It showed the blonde running past, but there wasn’t anything more than what they already had.

Or was there?

Josie rewound and paused, freezing the blonde in profile, center-screen, mid-sprint along the sidewalk. Her cap was still pulled low. This side of her body wasn’t covered in so much blood. But what interested Josie the most was the smudge just below her ear. Josie zoomed in. “Turner.”

“I’m looking at the list of employees and contractors! Again. A couple of these guys have records. I can track them down tomorrow.”

“Blondie has a tattoo.”

His chair creaked. Then he was behind her again, leaning over her shoulder to squint at the screen. “That’s blood.”

“It’s a tattoo.” Josie found another video taken from a neighboring business and paused it at the point where the tattoo was most visible. The footage was crisper, though the more she zoomed in on the woman’s neck, the blurrier the image became. Still, it was enough to prove her point. “Look. It’s black. The shape of a star or something.”

It was no bigger than a quarter, but Josie counted at least four lines extending out from its center.

“That’s not a star, Quinn. The ends aren’t even pointy.”

She turned her face up toward his. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said irritably, as if this clue was a waste of his time.

People remembered tattoos. A friend or loved one watching the news or scrolling social media might not recognize the woman based on her stature or hair color but those things together with the tattoo could spark something. Even if they couldn’t make out the precise nature of the tattoo, its location, color, and size might be just what was needed for someone who knew her to put all the pieces together and contact police.

Josie opened her mouth to lecture Turner on exactly this when he sighed and leaned in closer to her monitor. One of his hands rested on the back of her chair while the other splayed across her desk, caging her in.

He must have sensed her annoyance because he muttered, “Relax. I know. I’m too close. Just give me a second.”

Josie turned her attention back to the screen, trying to make sense of the image. Maybe a drawing of the sun with its rays extending outward? Probably not. It pained her to even think it, but Turner was right again. The points weren’t pointy enough for that.

“It’s an ink splotch,” he said. “Or a hand or something.”

“It’s missing a finger.”

Turner tapped against the monitor. “Or that finger is hidden under her earlobe. Take some screenshots. I’ll make sure Amber gets this out.”

Without another word, he went back to his desk. The whoosh of him tossing his little basketball sounded, followed by curses.

Josie watched him in shock. He was never this easy to work with, even when they agreed.

Clenching the ball in his large hand, he said, “You’re off this case, though, so I’m taking credit for the tattoo.”

Josie rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It didn’t matter to her who got credit as long as the photos got out to the public. She started taking as many screenshots as she could, pausing the footage at different points and zooming in to try to get the clearest picture. Even as her hand manipulated the mouse, her eyelids drifted closed. Somewhere between waking and sleeping, a low hum started in her ears. White noise. The faint sound of Coldplay’s “All My Love” joined it. Noah’s aftershave drifted over her consciousness. His hands were warm on her hips. They swayed together. He was there, right there, if she could just?—

“Quinn!” the Chief’s voice boomed, jolting her out of her dreamlike state.

She startled, heart thundering in her chest. With clammy hands, she wiped sweat from her face. The memory of dancing with Noah in what would be their child’s nursery slipped away. It felt like another life now.

“Are you listening to me or what?” The Chief stood over her now, his acne-pitted face lobster red. Wisps of his white hair floated over his scalp. “Why the hell are you here? What are you doing?”

“I wouldn’t go there, Chief,” Turner said without looking up from the packet on his desk. “You’re volatile right now, aren’t you, Quinn?”

Josie blinked up at the Chief, still slightly dazed.

“You volatile right now, Quinn?” he barked, folding his arms across his thin chest.

Josie nodded, trying to shake off her fatigue. She needed another latte. Hell, she’d be willing to try one of Turner’s disgusting energy drinks at this point. Especially for the tirade she was about to endure given the way the Chief glowered at her.

But he didn’t yell, didn’t berate her. Instead, he said, “Good. Stay that way. You’re off the Phelan case. Don’t let me catch you snooping or it’ll be your ass. Now get the hell out of here.”

Then he disappeared into his office.

Josie shook her head, as if that would get rid of her bone-crushing fatigue. Reluctantly, she closed out the open files on her computer.

A gust of air ruffled her hair. Trinity stepped through the door to the stairwell, holding a paper coffee cup from a gas station minimart.

“Miss Payne.” Turner greeted her with that stupid conspiratorial smile.

“Kyle.” Trinity smiled back.

She set the cup in front of Josie and perched her rear against the edge of the desk. The coffee scalded Josie’s tongue, but she gulped it down anyway. It wasn’t the blonde latte she’d become so fond of, but it was exactly what she needed, made the way she liked it. She and Trinity took their coffee the same.

“Anything?” asked Trinity.

“Not sure,” Josie said. “I’ve officially been pulled off?—”

The ringing of her cell phone interrupted. With trembling hands, Josie took it from her pocket, expecting—hoping—to see Heather’s name. It wasn’t Heather. She stared dumbly at the caller ID, shock rooting her in place, icing her skin. There was only one reason this call would come so late, but she already knew it wasn’t that. The other possibility made her hands shake even more.

“No.” The word was barely a whisper.

This wasn’t happening. Not now.

Trinity’s quick intake of breath snapped Josie from her momentary paralysis. She looked at her sister.

“Are you going to answer it?” Trinity whispered, color high in her cheeks.

Turner said something but Josie didn’t hear it. She was only vaguely aware of him pushing away from his desk and sauntering out of the room.

“Josie?” Trinity croaked.

Josie’s finger slashed the decline icon. For several seconds, she held her breath, staring as the screen faded to black. Everything was cold and she could feel herself retreating. Default settings. Dead inside. She could still get there. Sometimes, it was the only setting that kept her from splintering.

Trinity’s palms were warm on her shoulders. “Let’s go.”