Page 4

THREE

Josie gave the scene another quick scan. The security guys stood several feet from one another, two of them being questioned by uniformed officers. All their eyes were locked on the tent. One swayed on his feet, his face taking on an unhealthy green hue. Maybe they were worried about being held liable for the fatality but the twinge of unease in her gut told her it was something more. She scanned the evidence markers on the sidewalk again. The brawl had taken place directly in front of the entrance, but she had a feeling that whatever led to the fatality had started down the street.

“You said the deceased was bleeding.”

Brennan glanced back at the tent. “She was stabbed. There’s a trail of blood from a half-block away. The perpetrator dropped the knife, left it behind.”

The victim had managed to get away from her attacker, fleeing toward the crowd, perhaps hoping for assistance. Or the perpetrator left her on the sidewalk, believing she would die before she could find help.

“Do we have an ID yet?” asked Josie.

Brennan tucked his clipboard under one arm and shifted his weight from leg to leg. Then he rolled his shoulders as if to loosen tension. He rarely got ruffled. In fact, the last time Josie had seen him flustered was when they’d found an infant abandoned in the city park and he’d been tasked with holding her. “Brennan,” she prodded.

“Oh yeah. We got an ID.” He scanned the area once more before lowering his voice. “The victim is Gina Phelan.”

Josie managed to hold back her “oh shit.”

Brennan watched her carefully. As if he’d heard her silent curse, he said, “Total shitshow.”

In recent weeks, WYEP had done several profiles on Phelan Construction. It was family-owned. After World War II, a returning veteran, Oren Ellis, had started the company, calling it Ellis Development, headquartered in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. When he passed away, the business went to his only heir, a daughter named Tilly and her husband, Clint Phelan. Eventually, the couple rebranded the company as Phelan Construction and moved its offices to Harrisburg. Although Josie had seen the elderly couple, now in their eighties, in several interviews and news pieces, she knew that their children were now responsible for the company. Their son, Mace, was the CEO. His older sister, Gina, was the company attorney.

Now she lay stabbed to death in front of their most consequential project in decades.

“Did anyone see anything?” Josie asked.

“We’re still getting statements but so far, no one has admitted to seeing anything. We don’t even know what she was doing out here. One of the security guys said she drove in through the back entrance this morning.”

From the interviews Josie had seen, Gina Phelan was shrewd. She would have known better than anyone that showing up at the front entrance without notifying security while it was packed with angry protestors was potentially unsafe. Then again, maybe she hadn’t intended to make contact with the protestors at all. Maybe it was only after she was attacked that she’d turned toward them. Or perhaps one of the protestors had spotted her a half-block away, recognized her, and decided to confront her.

Josie surveyed the witnesses still present at the scene. “You said seventeen protestors.”

“That’s how many were here when the first units arrived. There might have been more, but we won’t know until we get some surveillance footage.”

Josie nodded. “There are only thirteen protestors here.”

“Four of them had blood on their clothes so they were taken to the station.”

Over twenty people at a murder scene was a logistical nightmare. Ideally, all of them would be taken to the stationhouse for interviews but they’d have to be transported separately and kept apart once they were at police headquarters. Denton PD didn’t have the manpower or the necessary number of rooms at the stationhouse to accomplish that, which was why only the people with torn clothes, visible injuries, or blood on their person were taken in. The officers on-scene would get IDs and contact information from the rest of the witnesses in case they needed to be contacted at a later date.

“It’s Saturday,” said Josie. “Did they have a full crew working today?”

Brennan nodded. “Just like any other day. The project never stops, from what I’m told.”

“Is there a field administrator on-site?” Josie asked. She glanced up, scanning the top of the fences for cameras. There were two—one on each side of the gate—pointed at the entrance. Denton PD would also be able to narrow the list of people who should be taken for immediate questioning based on the footage from those cameras. More importantly, it would show them whether anyone fled the scene and in which direction.

“We’re going to need footage from Phelan and from anyone who was filming with their cell phone,” she said. “Plus, any video captured by residents or businesses across the street.”

Brennan rubbed a palm over his face again. “Shirley Swenson is the field administrator. She’s working on the Phelan footage right now. I’ll text you her number. Dougherty’s already getting the cell phone footage. Conlen’s canvassing the buildings across the street.”

“I’ll prepare a geofence warrant as soon as possible,” she added.

A geofence was a way for police to erect a virtual perimeter around a specific geographic area for a particular time period. Inside those confines, they could track some cell phones, vehicles, and other smart devices. Google had recently changed how it stored users’ location history, making it harder for law enforcement to use geofence warrants, but they were still an extremely valuable tool.

Movement near the tent caught Josie’s attention. Dr. Feist emerged, her silver-blonde hair tucked beneath her skull cap. A camera hung from her neck. She spotted Josie and gave her a pained smile before beckoning her. Josie held up her index finger to indicate she needed a minute.

“Listen,” Brennan said. “Mace Phelan is here too. Security notified him as soon as the fight cleared. The first units had already arrived by the time he came out—through the front here. When he saw Gina, he flipped. Had to be restrained. Conlen convinced him to go back inside the site and call their parents while we got everything processed.”

“Their parents? No husband? Children?”

“Her brother said she’s divorced,” Brennan answered. “No boyfriend. No kids.”

Just her elderly parents losing one of their children. Her brother losing his only sibling. All of them members of one of the wealthiest families in the state. A family whose company was already embroiled in scandal after Denton East’s star quarterback died on their construction site. A project worth an obscene amount of money. The pride of the city council.

A dull throb started behind Josie’s eyes. She used her thumb and forefinger to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You were right, Brennan. This is a giant steaming dump of a shitshow.”

He gave her a mirthless smile. “Bet you’re glad you caught this one instead of Turner.”

“Don’t even go there,” Josie said. “I’m going to suit up and have a look at the body. Let me know the minute Shirley Swenson has that footage ready.”