Chapter 31

THIRTY-ONE

By the time Josie and Gretchen entered the second interview room, Kellan Neal was seated at the scarred table, looking cool and unflappable. Like any prosecutor worth his salt. Josie and Gretchen joined him, sitting as close to him as possible. Gretchen read his Miranda rights, stopping midway through when he scoffed at her. Josie felt a little burst of appreciation for her colleague when Neal visibly reacted to the intimidating look Gretchen directed at him. Swallowing hard, he told her to continue.

Once that task was out of the way, he sat up straighter and smoothed his hands over his slacks. “The Chief would not tell me what was going on but you know who I am. You know what I’ve lost. I don’t appreciate being put into an interrogation room like a criminal.”

“We know about Stella Townsend,” Josie said. “I don’t appreciate you withholding information from us. The Chief is talking with the DA now to see if an obstruction charge can be brought against you.”

Kellan smiled. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I was a prosecutor longer than you’ve been alive. I found out information about my son-in-law that was not relevant to Cleo’s abduction or murder. I didn’t want his…indiscretion to distract from finding Cleo, at least not in those critical first forty-eight hours. As a professional courtesy, I expected your department to trust my judgment on this.”

“That’s not how this works,” said Josie. “You know that.”

“Isn’t it?” Kellan shot back. “I remember you, you know. We worked together all the time on cases. You were still in uniform. Of all people, you should be able to vouch for my integrity.”

It was true that Kellan Neal’s professional conduct while his and Josie’s careers overlapped was unimpeachable. “I could vouch for the man I worked with back then. Not the man who walked into this building and tried to interfere in the investigation of his own daughter’s abduction and murder. The man who expected a favor .” She put extra emphasis on the word favor. Kellan Neal had always considered it a dirty word in their professions. The law was the law. Procedures were to be followed. Every box had to be checked. No shortcuts. No fudging details. Aboveboard was his watchword.

Josie watched as her jab landed.

The crepey skin around Kellan’s eyes tightened. “It wasn’t interference. You wanted Remy’s alibi so you could eliminate him as a suspect and move on. I gave that to you. My aim was to streamline the process for you so that you could put all your resources into finding my daughter.”

Gretchen said, “You want to tell us what’s really going on here, Mr. Neal?”

Ignoring her, he kept his focus on Josie. “Whether you consider what I did interference or aid, it really doesn’t matter now, does it? You know about Stella. You have Remy’s alibi. All I would ask is that you keep this out of the press.”

“That’s not going to be possible.” Gretchen rested her elbows on the table, leaning toward him.

“It is,” Kellan insisted, still locked in on Josie. “There is no reason to put her name out there.”

Josie narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn’t worried about his son-in-law’s reputation. He was worried about Stella’s name being attached to his family. Why?

Flatly, Gretchen said, “Stella Townsend is dead.”

Kellan did a good job of not reacting. Again, not surprising considering how many years he’d spent as a trial lawyer. But Josie could see his pulse fluttering wildly at the base of his throat.

When he didn’t say anything, Gretchen added, “Murdered. Just like Cleo.”

“Your son-in-law, by the way, does not have an alibi for Stella’s murder,” said Josie.

Among the team, they’d been trying to figure out what Remy might have done with Gracie while he stalked and killed Stella, assuming he was the one who had killed her. Josie didn’t think it was outside the realm of possibility that he could have simply left her at home in her crib. She was too tiny to try to climb out of it or to hurt herself in any way, as long as he knew enough not to leave any blankets or other suffocation risks with her. He could have had a video monitor and taken it with him. Or he had help, which was the predominant theory. Even if it wasn’t Remy, this killer had help. Josie wasn’t sure any of them were entirely sold on Remy as the murderer. He just didn’t seem smart enough. The man they were looking for was operating at a level of sophistication that required more forethought than Remy Tate seemed capable of. Plus, Josie was positive that the same man had killed both Cleo and Stella, and Remy had an alibi for Cleo’s slaying.

Still, Josie wanted to rattle Kellan Neal. He was hiding something.

“I remember you, too,” Josie told him. “You were a huge pain in the ass but you were never a liar. Why don’t you want Stella’s name attached to your daughter’s case? Is it because she was so much younger than your son-in-law? Is it because he was carrying on with a much younger woman while Cleo was home with their new baby? Is it to protect Gracie from reading all these sordid details in the press when she’s older?”

“You know damn well I’ve never cared about things like that. People do stupid things, incomprehensible, morally repugnant things. You think I don’t know what kind of man my son-in-law is? I never approved of their marriage. It was never going to last anyway. If it wasn’t Stella Townsend, it would have been some other woman stupid enough to fall for his pathetic martyr routine.”

“But it was Stella,” Gretchen said. “And here we sit. Every minute that ticks by is a minute we could be looking for your daughter’s killer. Stop insulting our intelligence and tell us the truth.”

Kellan’s flinty gaze shifted to Josie. “You don’t know yet, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Stella Townsend was James Lampson’s granddaughter.”