Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

Goosebumps rose along Josie’s arms as she stood in front of the corkboard in the Denton PD great room once again. Someone had added crime scene photos of Cleo Tate and Stella Townsend, pinning them over the makeshift map of Denton and next to the third polaroid, which still taunted them. The air conditioning labored to fight the cloying heat outside, but she hadn’t been able to shake the chill enveloping her since Kellan Neal said James “Frisk” Lampson’s name.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the rest of the team were still at their desks. Even Turner, who had come in for the afternoon and evening shift so that Josie and Noah could be there for Drake’s proposal to Trinity. They’d updated him but he hadn’t yet started the barrage of questions Josie had come to expect from him. The room was strangely silent, the only sounds Noah and Gretchen typing away at their keyboards.

Turner eyed Josie, expression inscrutable. “You’re saying this Lampson guy was dirty.”

“As dirty as they come,” Noah muttered without looking away from his monitor.

Josie had gone from trying to avoid Lampson in high school to having to work with him on the police force. He was every bit as lecherous and disgusting as the rumors around the city painted him. She and Lampson had gotten into many arguments, especially since Josie reported his misconduct and inappropriate behavior often and vociferously. But the deck was always stacked in his favor. The old boys’ club kept him insulated from disciplinary action. The DA at the time was Lampson’s biggest ally. In fact, when Chief Wayland Harris took over running the police department and started taking Josie’s reports seriously, Lampson suddenly got a swanky new position in the DA’s office as an investigator.

Harassing and groping teenage girls wasn’t even the worst of Lampson’s sins.

“Where is he now?” Turner asked.

“Prison,” said Josie. “He was part of the human trafficking ring we uncovered here.”

“The big one,” said Noah.

Turner squeezed his foam basketball in his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist. “The one with the serial killers? Yeah, I remember seeing the news coverage about that, and the Dateline , and the documentary.”

Josie grimaced. “There’s a documentary?”

None of the officers who had worked that case and lived to tell about it had been approached by a documentary filmmaker. Not that anyone would want to relive it.

“It’s mostly about the families whose loved ones were victims. You know, how their remains were found and returned. Closure and all that. It doesn’t even mention you guys, or most of the pieces of shit who were arrested for their participation—although I guess there were too many to cover. Lampson’s name never came up.”

Josie wasn’t surprised. His name had always been like a curse in the city of Denton. Lampson was one of the vilest human beings Josie had ever encountered. Who would want to give him airtime? Though she was surprised there had never been more than a couple of episodes of Dateline delving into the network of men who’d been involved in trafficking and who had protected Lampson for years.

“He shot Luke Creighton,” Josie added. “Almost killed him.”

Turner leaned forward in his chair, eyes wide with surprise. “Luke Creighton, our K-9 guy?”

“Yes,” Josie said. She didn’t offer any details of her prior relationship with Luke. Turner only knew that Luke meant something to her because she’d asked him to be respectful of Luke the first time they met. It was one of the few times Turner hadn’t been a complete asshole. In fact, he always treated Luke with respect.

“This guy sounds like a true-crime buff’s wet dream. What’s Kellan Neal’s problem? That all his convictions that involved Lampson’s work were tainted?”

Noah spun his chair around. “Not just Neal’s convictions. Any ADA whose cases relied on Lampson’s testimony. A lot of them were overturned. It was a shitshow.”

Turner tossed the ball toward the net. Missed. “I bet. But who cares if Neal’s son-in-law had something going with Lampson’s granddaughter?”

Gretchen’s chair squeaked. She took off her reading glasses and rubbed her eyes. “Neal probably doesn’t want his daughter’s name tarnished by the association with Lampson, even though it’s a weak connection.”

“But who cares about Lampson?” Turner said. “Remy Tate is the connection between our two victims.”

It was a good point. Who would want to kill Remy Tate’s wife and his mistress and why? Another mistress? There hadn’t been any evidence that Remy had been involved with anyone other than Stella, according to his phone records. Maybe there had been someone in his life before Stella? Before Cleo?

Where did the polaroids fit in?

Gretchen stood up, massaging her lower back, and joined Josie at the board. “No, I don’t think that’s the connection.”

“You just like to disagree with me for the sake of it, don’t you?” Turner stood up, fished a dollar out of his jacket pocket and leaned across the desks, dangling it over the jar next to Gretchen’s keyboard. “Parker.”

Gretchen scowled at him. “Keep it, jackass.”

With a smirk, Turner curled his fist around the bill and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Noah sighed loudly. “Focus, please. Both of you.”

“Gretchen might be right,” Josie said. “Maybe it’s not about Remy Tate but about Neal and Lampson.”

“We should at least consider it,” Noah agreed. “The killer targeted Neal’s daughter and Lampson’s granddaughter.”

Gretchen said, “Neal and Lampson both worked for the DA’s office, right?”

Josie nodded. “Yes, but Neal had retired before Lampson moved over there.”

“So we’re looking at someone who wants to get revenge on ADAs and their investigators?” Turner asked.

“Possibly,” said Noah.

“Maybe for a case gone wrong?” Gretchen said, almost to herself. “Except that they never worked together in the DA’s office.”

“But they did work together when Lampson was with the police department,” Noah said. “Lampson testified in plenty of Neal’s cases. Maybe these killings are revenge for a conviction Neal won but that got overturned once Lampson’s corruption was uncovered.”

“We’re talking about hundreds of cases,” Josie said. “Maybe even thousands.”

Gretchen walked back to her desk and plopped into her chair. “But we’re only talking about the ones where the convictions were overturned. I can get in touch with the DA’s office and see if they’ve got records.”

Josie turned her attention to the third polaroid. Either theory sounded reasonable—that the killings had something to do with Remy Tate or that they were connected to Neal and Lampson—but that still didn’t account for the photos. What point was this killer trying to make?

“Stabbings,” Josie said. “Cases that involved stabbings. He left the knives at both crime scenes.”

Gretchen nodded. “That should help narrow it down.”

“We should also check our own databases for cases that weren’t overturned,” Noah suggested. “Stabbings where Lampson was the lead detective and Neal prosecuted.”

“On it,” Gretchen said, sliding on her reading glasses and turning to her computer.

Turner stood and walked up beside Josie. One of his long fingers traced a circle around the aerial view of Peter Rowland’s property. “Is there any significance to the locations? Both had to do with previous cases, from what you guys have said.”

“Fairly recent cases, though,” Gretchen said, fingers flying over her keyboard. “Neal was long retired, and Lampson was in prison before either of those crossed our desks.”

Turner nudged Josie with his elbow. “That makes you the connection between Lampson and Neal. You worked with both of them.”

“So did I,” said Noah.

“Yeah, but Quinn figured out the locations in the photos. What’s that mean, LT? She’s smarter than you?”

Turner wasn’t looking at Noah, too fixated on the map, but Josie caught the grin on his face, meant for her. “Why do you think I married her?”

He was going to get very lucky later.

Not getting the response he’d hoped for—annoyance, irritation, and possibly a reprimand—Turner moved on. “Palmer can search up cases but that could take forever. We’re back to pictures. We gotta figure out where this guy wants us to go next.”