Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Josie’s eyes burned, blurring the text on the pages she’d been reviewing for the last half hour. She’d already consumed one latte. Today she’d been smart enough to buy two at the same time before she reported for her shift. Picking the second one up from her desk, she drank down half of it. Blinking, she snatched up the packet containing Cleo Tate’s phone records again. Another half hour went by. There was nothing that could help them find the woman. Josie had been through hundreds of text messages, emails, private messages on social media, and nothing stood out. From what Josie could tell, Cleo genuinely loved being a mother. She was also exhausted from caring for little Gracie primarily on her own. Even when Remy came home from work, evidently, he didn’t take on much responsibility or attempt to give Cleo a break.

Momma needs a nap , Cleo had texted her sister, who lived in California just days before the abduction. How did I not notice before that my husband is completely useless?

Her photo gallery held well over five hundred photos of baby Gracie. Josie’s chest tightened at the thought of the poor infant possibly—probably—growing up without her mother. Everything in the phone’s contents was benign. No evidence that Cleo was being stalked prior to yesterday or that things were horribly awry with her husband.

The geofence results weren’t helpful either. Whether Google’s new policies had helped the abductor make himself invisible within the virtual perimeter or he’d found some other way to disable the GPS on whatever vehicle he’d escaped in, his identity remained a secret. The canvasses of the areas around the fifty-acre lot where Blue had lost Cleo’s scent also turned up nothing. There were no cameras within range of the perimeter of the lot so that was a bust as well. Noah had told her all this when he slid into bed next to her in the early morning hours. She hadn’t been able to sleep the entire night between obsessing over Cleo Tate and comforting Amber. Plus, the small, nagging question of how Trinity knew Kyle Turner. Josie hadn’t had a chance to ask her once she got back inside. Even after Shannon and Christian left and Drake went to bed, she and Trinity were up late talking with Amber. Then Josie had set her up in their other guest room.

Once Noah got home, wrapping his large, warm body around hers, she’d gotten a couple of hours of sleep but when she woke to get ready for her shift, the rest of the house was still and silent. Even Trout stayed in bed with Noah. Here she was now at the stationhouse, alone. Turner still hadn’t arrived even though he had been due in over an hour ago. Josie tossed the report aside and stood up, stretching her arms over her head. She walked over to the rolling corkboard that the Chief had bought over a year ago. They’d started using it with every major case. Gretchen had taken it upon herself to print out and pin up salient items. Before Josie was a map of a large part of Denton that had been pieced together using printouts from Google. Gretchen had marked the Tate household, the area of the park where Cleo was taken, the place where Charlotte Thompson had seen Cleo get into the white car with a man, the Hamptons’ home, and now the fifty-acre lot where the car was found.

The only other thing on the corkboard was a copy of the polaroid.

Josie was studying it when Turner finally made his appearance. As usual, he was in a suit with a can of his favorite energy drink poking from one of his jacket pockets. Phone in hand, his thumb scrolled endlessly. “We’re back to staring at pictures,” he said.

The last major case they’d worked had involved a child’s drawing. Josie had spent days trying to figure out what it meant. Turner thought it was useless but, in the end, it had proven crucial to solving the case.

“You have a better idea?” asked Josie.

Turner stopped at her desk and dropped two dollars into her jar. “Real evidence. Like fingerprints or something.”

“You still owe me fifty cents, Turner,” she reminded him.

He huffed and searched his pockets, coming up with some change, dropping it into her jar. “All I’ve got is thirty-five cents. That’s what you’re getting.”

She was inclined to forgive him the fifteen cents he still owed her because of what he’d done for Amber last night. Instead, she said, “Hummel couldn’t pull prints from the photo. He got a bunch of prints from the car but most of them did not come up in AFIS. There was one set that matched a guy named Edgar Garcia. He’s twenty-eight, has a conviction for simple assault. Second-degree misdemeanor. Served almost two years.”

Turner sat in his desk chair and picked up the tiny foam basketball next to his computer. He squeezed it in his hand. “Anyone interview this guy yet?”

Josie shook her head. “Hummel just called with the results. I looked him up. He works at an auto repair shop near the university. Schock’s Auto Repair.”

Turner threw the ball at the tiny net by his blotter. As usual, it missed. “Any chance Sheila Hampton has used Schock’s?”

Josie went back around to her desk and took another sip of her latte. “Yes. I already asked Mrs. Hampton. Actually, Hummel and Chan are over at her house now getting elimination prints from her and her husband. But I still think someone should talk with Edgar Garcia.”

Turner flipped the tab on his energy drink. “You volunteering me?”

Josie braced her hands on her desk and leaned toward him. “Maybe.”

“You don’t want to go with me?”

“Not particularly. How do you know Trinity?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he sucked down his drink, watching her the entire time. When he was done, he crushed the can in his hand and tossed it into his garbage bin. Pushing some papers around on his desk, he said, “She didn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t have time to ask.”

Turner stood up and went to the corkboard. “This guy left us a photo for a reason.”

Now that Josie wanted to know something, he was suddenly interested in the polaroid. “No shit.”

He tapped a finger over the blue object in the polaroid. “What’s this?”

Josie joined him. “I’ve been trying to figure it out since I saw this damn thing. You didn’t answer my question.”

He leaned in closer, squinting. “This looks like maybe it’s made of wood.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Part of a building? A step? A shed? What?”

“I don’t know.” Josie traced her finger over the edge of the blue object. “See the bottom? It looks almost curved. Stop avoiding my question. How do you know my sister?”

With a sigh, he dropped his hand, thrumming his fingers against his thigh. “That’s for her to tell you.”

The lattes in Josie’s stomach sloshed around. “Oh my God. You didn’t—you and Trinity weren’t?—”

He shot her a look, one eyebrow raised. “Relax, swee— Quinn. It was nothing like that. Although, if it had been, could you blame her? I mean, look at me.”

Josie rolled her eyes. “You know, if someone has a really annoying personality, that tends to make them unattractive. When did you meet her?”

He chuckled. “You know, you’re like one of those little ankle-biting, yappy dogs. It was right after your episodes of Dateline aired.”

Which meant it was pre-Drake. After Lila was arrested and Josie was reunited with the Payne family, Trinity had talked her into giving interviews to Dateline about their unique situation. Josie still kind of hated that those were out there. “You saw those?”

“Hasn’t everyone? Man, that Lila chick did a number on pretty much everyone she met, huh? She still alive?”

It always gave Josie a strange sense of peace knowing that Lila was no longer with them, that there was absolutely no chance of her hurting another person, even in prison. “No. She died six years ago. I spread her ashes in Co?—”

She broke off, her mind going back to the case she’d worked right around the time Lila died. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Turner,” she said. “I think I know where this photo was taken.”

His fingertips went still. “Really? Where?”

Josie went over to her desk and snatched up her keys. “Let’s go.”