Chapter 56

FIFTY-SIX

Eight hours later, freshly showered and caffeinated, Josie shouldered her way into Hummel’s inner sanctum with Noah in tow. The ERT worked out of the police impound lot. It was tucked away on a winding mountain road in North Denton, far from any significant residential developments. The lot itself was surrounded by chain-link fence and guarded by an officer in a small booth. The only building was the one they now stood inside, a flat, nondescript cinderblock structure with two garage bays on one side and two small rooms on the other: an office and the evidence processing room.

Hummel sat at the stainless-steel table in the center of the room, a laptop open in front of him. Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes. Even with his small staff working around the clock, Josie was certain he’d gotten less sleep than anyone in the last week. Offering them a subdued smile, he said, “Welcome to hell. Have a seat.”

Noah laughed and pulled out a chair for Josie before settling in next to her. “I hope you’ve got something for us because there weren’t any miracles while we slept.”

Josie didn’t know what she’d expected but the news they’d received upon waking was downright demoralizing. Even with Juliet Bowen’s face plastered all over the news and social media, together with the still photos they’d gathered of the killer from previous scenes, there were no viable leads. Andrew and Evelyn Bowen had given a press conference, begging for any information that would lead to the return of their daughter. In an unusual show of solidarity, Kellan Neal had joined them. Now the press knew that there was a serial killer loose in Denton. They still hadn’t gotten wind of the polaroids. Without some sort of distinct element to exploit, they hadn’t been able to come up with a clever name for him, which was just fine by Josie.

There had been questions about whether the killer was targeting the children of attorneys or whether there was some connection to law enforcement generally. No one had dug up Stella’s connection to Frisk Lampson or Everly Rowe’s connection to Hugh Weaver, but Josie knew it was only a matter of hours before that happened. Her money was on Dallas Jones to break those stories and then start digging for more connections. In the meantime, Turner had spent some time trying to track down any living relatives of the Cook children, but the ones he’d located didn’t live in Denton and were too distant to know anything that could help.

Hummel’s long sigh drew her out of her thoughts. “If you’re looking for miracles, a police impound lot is generally not the best place to start. I couldn’t get prints from any of the keys you gave me. I got a couple of low-quality partials, but they didn’t match up to anything in AFIS. I don’t know what the hell this guy is doing, but I printed every vehicle you brought me, and no single set of unknown prints turns up across the board. I also didn’t find any prints that match grandmotherly types in AFIS. Are you sure it’s just one guy?”

“We’re not sure of anything,” Josie admitted. “Still trying to piece everything together. Is there anything you can tell us? Even if it doesn’t seem helpful?”

Hummel laughed and stood up. “Oh, I’ve got tons of unhelpful things I can tell you. But only one that’s new. Come on.”

He led them out to the garage. Each bay held one of the classic cars they’d impounded from the back lot of Schock’s Auto Repair. A blue 1990 Ford Taurus and a 1997 Chevrolet Corvette that needed a new paint job. White and gray patches dotted its faded yellow finish. “I already processed these,” Hummel said, edging around to the driver’s side of the Taurus. “So you can get right in, touch them, whatever.”

He opened the door and gestured for one of them to get inside. Josie was closest so she climbed in. Cracks spider-legged across the dash. The singed black circle of a cigarette burn scarred the passenger’s seat. There was a hole where the radio had been, two frayed wires now dangling limply from its mouth. A crusty gray ring lined the bottom of the center console cupholder.

“First of all,” Hummel said, resting an arm atop the open door. “No visible blood. I did pull some latent bloodstains from all the cars we impounded. On the driver’s side of the vehicle.”

“How much?” Noah asked.

“You can look at the photos. It wasn’t much. More in the Corvette than the other two cars but it wasn’t a crazy amount. He clearly tried to clean it up.”

If the latent blood was found on the driver’s side, that meant the killer had driven the vehicles. Or at least, he’d driven them away from the murders. The grandmother type was looking more and more like a set-up person.

“I swabbed for DNA. Got some short dark hairs. Everything’s out to the lab. Oh, and this was the only weird thing. I found it in these two vehicles, not the ’92 Ford Sierra.” Leaning into the car, he pointed to the lever to the right of the steering wheel responsible for shifting gears. “I took samples but you can see some still clinging there. Clear little flakes of something. I don’t know what it’s from but since it was in these two cars and around the shifters, I figure maybe the killer left it behind.”

Hummel backed out so Noah could poke his head inside. Josie leaned to the right to give him room and get a better look at the flecks that adhered to the lever. Something in the back of her mind stirred. Memories of the past week swirled around. The way her heart rate ticked up told her that this was important, that some part of her knew why, she just had to get there.

Noah extricated himself while Josie reached out and touched one of the tiny flakes with her finger. It came off the lever and attached to her skin.

“No idea what it is?” Noah asked Hummel.

“I don’t know. Some kind of glue maybe? The lab will analyze it.”

She gets this shit everywhere. Everywhere.

Josie’s heart did a double-tap. The killer had been right under their nose from day one. He’d offered himself up as their very first lead.

“Noah,” she said. “I know where we can find Simon Cook.”