Chapter 9

NINE

Sheila walked over to the couch and snatched a tissue from the tissue box. She worked it over the stain on her arm, to no avail. “I left my travel mug in the car yesterday. I went out this morning around eight to get it, and the car was gone. I don’t know how long it was gone. I parked it in the driveway yesterday around dinner time.”

“No cameras?” asked Turner.

“No,” said Sheila. “This has always been a safe street. Some of the neighbors might have cameras, though. Can you ask them?”

“Yes,” said Josie. “We’ll do that. When is the last time you remember seeing the car, Mr. Hampton?”

“I went up to bed around nine. I looked outside before I locked the door. It was still there then.”

“Did either of you hear anything during the night?” asked Josie.

Both shook their heads.

Evidently bored with the conversation, Turner took his phone out and punched in his passcode. Josie said, “Call dispatch and tell them we need units out here to help canvass. Send the car information to Amber so she can get it out to the press.”

He was already scrolling. Josie edged closer, trying to see what was on his screen but he moved away from her. Clearly, it was on Josie to complete the interview. “Was the car locked?”

Color rose in Sheila’s cheeks. Her forearm was raw now from scrubbing it with the tissue. “I’m embarrassed to say it wasn’t. Like I said, this is a safe street. That’s why we chose it.”

“But the car has GPS.” Gently, Isaac took the tissue from Sheila’s hand and stuffed it into his pocket. He ran his fingers softly over her angry skin, as if to soothe her. “Can’t you track it that way?”

“Yes.” Josie’s heart went into overdrive. “Thank you for answering our questions. We’ll get units over here to see if any neighbors caught anything on camera. One of those officers will take a more detailed report. As soon as your vehicle is located, you’ll be notified.”

Isaac followed them outside. “You said the car was used to abduct someone today. Are you sure?”

“We’re still investigating,” said Josie.

He lowered his voice, as if Sheila might hear him from inside. “It’s that woman, isn’t it? The one all over social media? WYEP posted that she was taken from the city park. Is that true?”

“We’re still investigating,” Josie repeated. Turner was already on the sidewalk, glued to his phone.

Isaac dragged a hand down his face. Flecks of dried glue, clear and glinting in the sunlight, clung to his cheeks. He took a beat to study his palm. “She gets this shit everywhere. Everywhere.” He sounded annoyed but Josie had a feeling that his annoyance masked a much deeper, more painful feeling. “Sorry. I’m easily distracted these days. The woman from the park. Her family must be…I just can’t imagine.” His voice grew husky, and he took a moment to compose himself, swallowing several times.

Josie felt a strong urge to hug him. Since the loss of her first husband, her beloved grandmother, and her colleague, other people’s grief—especially when it was most raw and palpable—had a tendency to pierce right through the professional shell she’d constructed around her heart so that she could do her job. Mentally, she patched the breach, reminding herself that little Gracie Tate needed her mother. That was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

Isaac cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a mess since Jenna passed. Everything seems like it hits harder now.”

“I get it,” Josie said. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

The words felt meaningless, as they always did in the face of great tragedy, but they were the best ones. Everything else came out trite or insincere or insulting—sometimes all three at once. Josie had a lot of experience with these things.

“Thank you,” Isaac said. “Let us know if there’s anything else you need from us.”

He trudged back inside, closing the storm door softly.

Josie raced down to the sidewalk. “Turner.”

Without looking up from his phone, he waved a dismissive hand at her. “I got it, I got it. Dispatch. Units. Car. Press.”

“Let’s go,” she said. When he didn’t move, she took his elbow and started pushing him toward the car.

He snatched his arm away from her. “Hey, watch it, Quinn. You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t be touching you all the time without your permission.”

Josie stalked around to the driver’s side of her SUV. “Because you shouldn’t. I’m sorry, but sometimes it’s really hard to get your attention.”

A grin spread across his face. “Did you just say ‘sorry?’ To me?”

Josie yanked open her door. “I’m leaving right now so I can get back to the stationhouse and prepare a warrant for the GPS coordinates of Sheila Hampton’s car. Hyundai’s infotainment system is Bluelink. They’ll be able to disable the engine remotely. If you don’t get into this vehicle in the next three seconds, I’m leaving you here.”

Turner opened the door and folded himself into the passenger’s seat. As Josie tore away from the curb, he called dispatch to request units to canvass the Hamptons’ street and take a complete stolen vehicle report.

“Since you apologized to me, I’ll write the warrant for Bluelink when we get back,” he said.

“It will be faster if I do it.”

“Are you serious? You know I’ve been at this longer than you, right?”

“It will be faster if I do it,” she repeated.

“Unbelievable. Do you think I’m that slow when it comes to paperwork, or are you just a control freak?”

The answer was probably both, but Josie said, “The truth? You’re slow. You take forever to complete paperwork, if you complete it at all. You disappear in the middle of…everything. If I let you prepare the warrant, how do I know you won’t wander off in the middle of it and not come back until next week?”

From her periphery, she could see his mouth hanging open. She should have mentioned the phone while she was at it but right now, her brain was only half engaged in this ridiculous conversation. The other half was wondering how fast they could locate the car used to abduct Cleo Tate.

“I’ll do the warrant,” she said.

“You have a really low opinion of me, don’t you?” He sounded insulted.

In spite of the circumstances, Josie laughed. “Did you think I didn’t?”

“Listen, I know Park— Palmer hates me, and your hubby isn’t that thrilled with me either—although I gotta admit he’s been pretty fair and a hell of a lot nicer than you two chicks—shit, I mean ladies. Women. Whatever.”

“Just say detectives,” Josie said irritably.

“Fine. Anyway, I thought you and I were getting along.”

She took a quick glance at him, nonplussed to find he looked serious. “This is your idea of getting along? You know what? We don’t have time for this right now.”

There were a few beats of silence. Then Turner said, “Let me do the warrant. I’ll be fast and then you can apologize to me again because that is my new favorite thing. Josie Quinn apologizing to Kyle Turner.”

She briefly tried to calculate whether it was worth the disciplinary action if she punched him in the face. But Noah had told her repeatedly that they had to learn to work with Turner. “I’ll drop you off at the stationhouse and then I’ll go get food and coffee. If you’re not finished by the time I get back, I’m taking over.”

“And if it’s done, you’ll apologize?”

“No.”

She waited for him to continue nagging her, but he was surprisingly silent until she sped up.

“Slow down, Quinn.”

But Josie didn’t want to slow down. Every moment in the search for Cleo Tate was critical. Josie’s instincts and experience told her that every moment they didn’t locate Cleo brought her closer to death.