Chapter 11

ELEVEN

They took the stairs to the second-floor great room. It was a large open area crowded with desks, most of which were used by uniformed officers to complete paperwork. One of them was assigned to Amber Watts, their press liaison. The only other assigned desks were pushed together into a rectangle and belonged to their four-person investigative team. The Chief’s office was only feet from their little bullpen. As they reached the second-floor landing, they heard a raised male voice.

“Wonder what Turner did to piss off the Chief this time,” Noah muttered as he used his back to push open the door.

But the Chief wasn’t hollering. Josie watched in shock as an older, white-haired man stabbed an index finger into Chief Chitwood’s chest, shouting, “As a professional courtesy, I expect full disclosure when it comes to this investigation.”

Chief Chitwood pushed his hand away. Josie had never seen his acne-pitted face so red but his tone was carefully controlled, as calm as Josie had ever heard it. “A professional courtesy? You’re retired—and a family member of the victim. With all due respect, I will not allow you to come into my stationhouse and start demanding the details of an open and active investigation. You know I can’t do that. Go home. When we have an update, you’ll get it.”

From her desk, Gretchen watched the exchange. Turner was talking with someone on his desk phone. When he saw Josie, he waved a document at her. Had he really prepared the warrant in the half hour she’d been out? It was certainly possible, but it would still need to be signed by a judge and then forwarded to Bluelink.

“I won’t jeopardize the integrity of the investigation,” the man insisted, voice still raised. “You’re being ridiculous. Do you know how many times I was smack in the middle of cases like this?”

Josie studied the man. There was something familiar about him. He had several years on Chief Chitwood, who was in his sixties. Deep wrinkles lined his face. But he looked out of place in this room with the rest of them wearing either suits or their Denton PD polos. Pressed khaki shorts and a blue golf shirt made it look as though he’d just stepped off the golf course. His crepe-paper skin was deeply tanned as if he spent many hours playing.

Again, Josie was stunned at the way the Chief kept the agitation out of his voice. Normally, he’d be deep into an irrational tirade so caustic, it would raise the blood pressure of every person in the room. Instead, he sounded reasonable, almost compassionate. “That’s exactly why you should not be here.”

“Just give me the details you haven’t released to the press,” the man said.

The Chief shook his head. “I cannot do that.”

Noah handed Gretchen’s drink to her across the desks, along with the pastry bag, and then took his seat. Josie stood next to his chair, watching the scene play out. Turner appeared beside her. Quietly, he said, “Who is this fucking guy?”

Noah said, “Kellan Neal. He’s a retired city prosecutor.”

That’s why he looked familiar.

Kellan’s voice lowered only marginally. “I won’t leak any information. You have my word, not to mention the fact that the decades I spent serving this city speak for themselves.”

Turner glanced down at Josie. “You remember him?”

“I was still on patrol when he retired but yeah, now that I’ve heard his name, I remember him. He was ruthless. A pain in the ass. Where’s my warrant?”

“I respect your time in the DA’s office,” the Chief said. “And your record, but I cannot and will not give out sensitive details of the case at this time.”

Turner lifted one of the lapels of his suit jacket so Josie could see the warrant folded up inside his pocket. “But I already called Bluelink. Given the urgent nature of our request, they’re going to run the search on the car immediately. They’ll disable the engine, too. I just have to get this signed and over to them at some point today.”

Josie felt relief and excitement in equal measure.

“Come on,” Kellan said, tone pleading now. “We’re talking about my daughter. My daughter! My Cleo.”

Cleo Tate was the daughter of a former city prosecutor. It didn’t make a difference in terms of how they conducted their investigation, but it had potential ramifications.

“Our suspect pool might have just gotten exponentially bigger,” Josie murmured.

“And a lot higher-profile,” Turner said.

Noah twisted his coffee cup from the holder. “The Mayor will be breathing down our necks now. Not to mention Kellan Neal will be holding his own press conference probably the moment he leaves here.”

Josie sighed. “We can’t stop him from doing that.”

Chief Chitwood appeared unmoved by Kellan’s emotional appeal but said, “No one knows better than me what it’s like to be in this situation. I can assure you of that. But I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, as a former prosecutor, that every victim is someone’s daughter or son or loved one. Let us do our jobs. I will tell you what I can when I can, and I’ll do it personally if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” Kellan snapped. “I can’t sit on the sidelines. I need to do something.”

Turner stepped forward. “You wanna do something?”

Kellan turned, his curiosity piqued. He seemed oblivious to the tension that filled the rest of the room.

Josie looked over at the Chief. He arched a brow in a look Josie knew well. Turner was on thin ice.

When he noticed the Chief’s expression, he adjusted his tone to sound less confrontational. “Ask your son-in-law what he was doing this morning while Cleo was being abducted.”

The color drained from Kellan’s face. “What?”

Turner took a step forward, towering over the former prosecutor. “Ask your son-in-law why he left work right around the time Cleo left for the park. Ask him why he’s not on the home surveillance footage even though that’s where I found him this morning.”

One of the desk phones started ringing.

“Remy?” Kellan said.

Turner nodded. “Ask him for an alibi.”

Kellan looked back at the Chief, who folded his arms across his chest. Josie heard Gretchen answer the phone, speaking softly to whoever was on the line. For a moment, Kellan looked lost, as if he’d just awakened to find himself in a room full of detectives and had no idea how he got there. Josie remembered him as a fierce and commanding presence in every room he entered. He conducted press conferences with God-like authority. Now he looked like a frail, addled old man. His gaze dropped to the floor and he nodded, almost to himself.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, every last bit of his bluster gone. Then he left.

The moment the door swooshed shut, Gretchen said, “We got the car.”