Chapter 23

TWENTY-THREE

A tingle went up Josie’s spine where Noah rested his hand on her lower back as he ushered her out of the stairwell and into the basement of Denton Memorial Hospital. They were on their way to the city morgue. Their footsteps echoed along the empty hall. This area of the hospital was always deserted. Besides the suite of rooms presided over by Dr. Anya Feist, all the other rooms were unused. The entire floor was windowless and looked like something out of a horror movie with its grimy yellowed floor tiles and drab white walls, dingy from age and dirt. As they got closer to the exam room, the combined smells of human decomposition and cleaning chemicals filled the air.

She leaned in closer to Noah, her back arching into his hand, and inhaled his aftershave to offset the odor. It was late afternoon but both of them were freshly showered. Josie had stayed at the Rowland house until the body was ready to be moved. Then she’d gone back to the stationhouse to get started on reports. The welfare check on Stella Townsend had turned up nothing. No one at her apartment answered. The door was locked. Denton PD had no compelling reason to force their way in or to request that the landlord let them in. At least, not yet. Noah had also been at the stationhouse, finishing up paperwork on his interview with Remy Tate, who had given a written statement but still refused to name his mistress.

Noah brushed a quick kiss over her temple while they were still alone. “We should not sleep all day more often.”

Josie smiled, a shiver of delight working its way down her spine at the memory of his hands and mouth on her skin not even an hour ago. “We should.”

Once Josie and Noah had finished their paperwork in the early morning hours after discovering the second body—and spent an inordinate amount of time studying the new polaroid without figuring out where it had been taken—they’d gone home together. Gretchen had stayed. The Chief had agreed to let them change the rotation since Josie and Noah both needed to be present for Drake’s proposal to Trinity the next evening. Josie was just relieved she’d get a break from Turner, even if it meant that Gretchen might kill him. She and Noah were supposed to sleep during the day, but they’d come home to an empty house. Drake had taken Trinity to breakfast. Shannon and Christian were meeting with their realtor. They had taken full advantage of their time alone, getting very little rest but making up for the last few weeks during which they’d been busy, occupied with guests, or on opposite shifts and unable to indulge in one another.

At the door to the morgue’s exam room, the residual bliss coursing through Josie’s body fled. She tried to hold onto its vestiges because once they passed over the threshold, they would be fully immersed in the horror of the case at hand. Her chest tightened at the thought that there was another victim out there already, waiting for them to decipher the polaroid and find her. She took in a steadying breath as Noah pushed the door open, holding it for her.

Turner’s voice came from inside the room. “I’m not flirting, Doc. I swear. I’m just trying to get to know you. We gotta work together.”

On the other side of the room, past the two exam tables, which both held shrouded bodies, Turner leaned against the stainless-steel countertop that lined the wall. A few feet away, Anya stood, eyes fixed on her laptop screen. With a sigh, she said, “You don’t need to know anything personal about me in order for us to work together.”

Noah grumbled something inaudible as they crossed the room. Josie glanced up at him to see his jaw tensed.

“Hey, lovebi— LT, Quinn,” Turner said, smiling like they were old friends.

“What’s going on?” Noah said.

Turner looked at Anya, but she stayed focused on her laptop. Josie took in her body language. Bored, mildly annoyed, but not afraid or angry. She said, “He came to discuss the autopsy results of your two victims.”

Noah eyed Turner. “And then?”

Turner rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do anything! I was making small talk.”

Anya finally looked at him, one brow arched. “You have a weird way of making small talk.”

Josie said, “He’s socially inept. It’s one of his many gifts.”

“Who needs a sign now?” Turner groused. “It’s been zero days since Quinn insulted me.”

“That’s enough,” Noah said. “Turner, you should go home and get some rest. We’ll take over from here.”

Turner took out his phone and punched in a passcode. “You don’t want my update first?”

“It’s on your phone?” Josie asked.

His thumb tapped and scrolled. Without looking away from the screen, he said, “It is now. My— someone told me about this notes app thing. You ever hear of it?”

A sharp stab of grief pierced Josie’s heart. Mettner had always used his notes app to keep track of the details of investigations. She tried to force words past her lips but none came. Luckily, Turner just kept on talking. “The body recovered at the Rowland place has a forearm tattoo that says, ‘I am the storm.’ I know that this killer stole a car last time but since the car at the scene belonged to Stella Townsend and she didn’t answer her door last night or this morning, I figured it was best to eliminate her as the victim first thing. I checked her social media. Found a photo of her with the tattoo visible.”

He turned the screen toward Josie and Noah. An Instagram post showed Stella Townsend as she had been in life. Her eyes were shaded with sunglasses, but a wide smile spread across her heart-shaped face. Wind lifted the ends of her blonde hair. Although she was dressed in a long-sleeved white blouse and fitted black skirt, she held a tiny duckling in her hands. She had tagged the Denton Wildlife Sanctuary and thanked them for the tour. “Story to follow,” she’d added. The sleeves of her shirt had been folded to her elbows. Turner zoomed in so that they could see the edge of her right forearm. In black script, the tattoo read, ‘I am the storm.’ They wouldn’t have been able to see the tattoo at the crime scene given the position of the body and all the blood.

“It’s the same,” Anya said. “He was able to locate her dental records and bring them in. It’s a match.”

Turner grinned, as if waiting for praise. When none came, he turned the screen back around and started swiping again. “She lived alone. Closest relative is her mother, who lives in Virginia.”

“I’ve asked the coroner’s office there to make the death notification,” Anya said. “Now, let me give you my findings so the three of you”—she looked pointedly at Turner—“can get out of here. I’m sure you have lots of work to do.”

Turner was too busy looking at his phone to notice. Presumably, something that didn’t have to do with the case captured his attention. “I already heard all this. I’ll meet you guys in the cafeteria after you hear the doc’s spiel and give you the rest of my update before I head home.”

He didn’t wait for a response, sailing out the door without even looking up from the screen.

Noah sighed. “Anya, if he’s a problem?—”

She held up a hand to silence him, laughing. “He’s completely harmless, Noah. He’s just…annoying. And odd. But I can handle him.”

“What was he asking you?” Josie said. She shouldn’t care but part of her was curious.

“He wanted to know if I was trapped on a deserted island but had access to a DVD player and I could only watch three movies for the rest of my life, which movies would I choose?”

“What?” Noah said.

Anya shook her head. “Like I said, odd. I know that’s not really personal information, but he claimed that my choice of movies would say a lot about me. I just—I’m tired, and I didn’t feel like dealing with him.”

“I get it,” Josie said.

Noah said, “We won’t take up much of your time here because we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us, so why don’t you tell us what you’ve got?”