Chapter 57

FIFTY-SEVEN

The Hampton home looked almost exactly as it had when Josie and Turner arrived there the day that Cleo Tate was abducted except that this time, their remaining car was no longer in the driveway. Noah ran a search for the tag number and got it out to all their patrol units. They’d made two stops on their way, one at WYEP for a brief and fruitless conversation with Vicky Platt, who then tried to get information from them to run on their next newscast. The second stop was at Remy Tate’s house. That interview had proven only marginally more useful, though Josie was still trying to fit all the pieces together in her head as she and Noah got out of their SUV.

As they walked up the front steps, Noah said, “You sure about this?”

Josie’s pulse ticked upward. “As sure as I can be.”

He’d already tried to find whatever information he could about the Hamptons on the drive over. They’d lived in Philadelphia until four years ago when they moved to Denton. Sheila had lived in Denton previously, but Isaac’s prior addresses were all in Philadelphia, at least as far back as they were able to check. He seemed to magically come into existence twelve years ago. His vital information didn’t match up exactly with Simon Cook’s but it was close. Josie wondered if Simon Cook had stolen an identity all those years ago rather than simply changing his name. Jenna Hampton had turned eighteen a few months before her death. There was no way to prove that Isaac and Jenna were really Simon and Felicity Cook without an admission from Isaac or DNA testing. There was also not enough probable cause at this juncture to arrest Isaac Hampton even if they did locate him.

Although Isaac’s industrial engineer wife used glue in her prototypes and they’d found what they believed to be glue in the classic cars the killer drove from the crime scenes, it wasn’t enough of a connection. If they could get samples of the glue Sheila used and the state lab could match it up with the glue found in the vehicles, that would be a start but still not enough to arrest Isaac. Which was why they hadn’t brought the full force of the police department with them. All they could hope for now was to bring him into the stationhouse for a talk and hope any statement he gave was enough for them to investigate him further.

Josie rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she rang it a second time. Moments later, Sheila Hampton opened the door. Her eyes were bloodshot, face red and blotchy from crying. She barely looked at them before taking a step backward. The door began to close. “This isn’t a good time.”

“Please, Mrs. Hampton,” Noah said. “We wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t vitally important.”

“It’s about your husband,” Josie added.

Sheila hesitated. One of her hands was curled tightly around the edge of the door. “He’s not here, so maybe come back later.”

“Do you know where we can find him?” asked Noah.

She shook her head. Maybe it was grief over the loss of her daughter. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Josie knew better than anyone the way it could catch you off guard months or even years after the loss. Yet, she suspected something else was at play. There was a strange tension rolling off Sheila Hampton that put all of Josie’s senses on high alert.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Noah pressed.

“Um, earlier today. This morning, I guess. I don’t remember the exact time.”

“We’d like to ask you some questions,” Josie said. “While we’re here.”

Sheila’s grip on the door tightened until her knuckles blanched. Josie didn’t have to look at Noah to know he, too, noticed something was off. Years of working together and being married left them uniquely attuned to one another.

Was Isaac inside, hiding? If so, where was their other vehicle?

“Mrs. Hampton,” Noah said gently. “Is everything all right? Is there anything we can help you with?”

Shaking her head vigorously, she loosened her grip on the door and stepped back, as if to allow them entry. “No, no. Everything is fine. You can come in and see for yourself.”

Noah stepped over the threshold first. Behind him, Josie’s fingers twitched over the holster of her Glock.

The house had the same heavy air of tragedy inside it. Sorrow was a thick cloud enveloping them as they entered the living room. Nothing looked different. No signs of a struggle. There were no discernible threats and yet, Josie couldn’t ignore the low thrum of anxiety coursing through her body. Sheila panned their surroundings and then looked up at them as if to say, “See? Nothing amiss here.”

Noah said, “Is anyone here with you?”

“No one’s here. It’s just me.” She turned her back and walked toward the kitchen. They passed through a short hallway. On one side was a door—a closet or possibly the door to the garage— and on the other, stairs to the second floor. A rolling suitcase sat at the bottom of the steps.

The kitchen was small but brighter than the living room. The cabinets were all white, the countertops speckled gray. A large window overlooked the backyard. Hemmed in by a white vinyl privacy fence, it was empty except for a barbecue grill. The grass was cut short and the garden beds running along the base of the fence were filled with the yellow, wilted leaves of long-dead tulips. A light brown hazmat suit—similar to the Tyvek suits they wore at crime scenes—hung from a clothesline.

Forcing her gaze from the hazmat suit, Josie noticed the kitchen table was covered with Sheila’s work materials. Goggles, earplugs, headphones—some intact and others broken apart into smaller pieces. Tubes of glue littered the table. An open duffel bag was in the center of it all. Brown and white fabric, the texture of the hazmat suit out back, poked from its opening.

It was all the equipment one might need to stab a woman to death without getting soaked in her blood. All available right here at home. How much did Sheila know about her husband’s activities? Was she involved at all?

This had become more than a fact-finding visit. Sheila Hampton needed to come to the stationhouse with them for an interview.

Noticing Josie’s interest in the materials on the table, she quickly began throwing the rest of the items into the duffel bag. “I was packing to go back to New York. I’ve got a rideshare coming to take me to the rental car company in South Denton.”

Noah positioned himself near the hall, keeping an eye on the front entrance and the stairs.

Josie said, “You and Isaac haven’t patched things up?”

Stuffing the last of the goggles into the bag, she struggled to zip it closed. “No. It’s not going to work out. Besides, I think he’s been seeing someone else.”

“What makes you say that?” Noah asked.

The last few inches of the zipper failed to close. Abandoning it, Sheila smiled weakly. “Just, um, a wife’s intuition. He gets a text, which he’s secretive about, and then he has to leave abruptly. When he returns, he’s…more relaxed than when he left.”

Josie wondered if he was more relaxed because he’d just slaughtered someone, but then who was he communicating with in secret? The grandmother figure who helped him gain access to vehicles without GPS?

“Any idea who he’s been seeing?” Josie asked.

A tear slid down her cheek. “Does it matter? I just—I need to get back to New York. My rideshare will be here really soon, so if you don’t mind…”

Noah motioned toward the window, where the hazmat suit was visible, swinging gently in the breeze. “Does your husband ever use any of your equipment?”

Sheila’s head swiveled toward the window. “Oh, right. I need to take that one down—um, take it back with me.”

Quickly, she bustled past Josie. Her shaking hands made it difficult to get the back door open.

“Mrs. Hampton,” Josie said. “I think you should cancel the rideshare. You’re going to need to come to the police station with us to answer some questions.”

“Just, um, just a minute. I’ll just take this down. I mean, it might rain.”

Though the humidity seemed at an all-time high and thick clouds filled the summer sky, rain wasn’t in the day’s forecast. Sheila slipped out the back door. Josie followed. Noah stood in the doorway, body turned so he could also monitor the inside of the house. As Sheila pinched the clothespins, releasing the suit from the line, Josie said, “Mrs. Hampton, if you know where your husband is, now is the time to tell us.”

Sheila paused, fisting the brown material. She was wearing a tank top again and the muscles of her shoulders tensed. A palpable wave of trepidation rolled off her, reminding Josie of prey when cornered. Josie’s fingers grazed the snap of her holster even though her logical mind couldn’t pinpoint a threat. Then Sheila lunged forward and threw the hazmat suit over Josie’s head. Everything happened in a matter of heartbeats. The fabric scratched Josie’s cheek as she fought to toss it aside. Footsteps drummed a staccato beat away from her—soft at first and then louder. Sheila’s sandals slapping the concrete. Noah shouted something. She heard what she thought was the back door banging open. There was a tug around her head and the suit dropped. “She went down the alley,” Noah said, taking off after Sheila.

Josie’s heart revved in her chest as she got her bearings. Then she raced back through the house and burst out of the front door. Noah was headed east in pursuit of Sheila Hampton as she sprinted along the sidewalk past her neighbors’ houses. A few of them were on their porches and shouted to one another as the foot chase continued. Josie grimaced as Sheila narrowly avoided a splash pool in one driveway with two toddlers in it.

Taking the steps two at a time, Josie rushed to the sidewalk and crossed the street. Ahead, Sheila took a hard left, bolting into the path of a minivan. The van lurched to a stop, the driver leaning on the horn. Sheila didn’t slow down. She was now directly in Josie’s path but before Josie could reach her, she disappeared between two houses.

Sweat poured from Josie’s scalp, burning her eyes. Mentally, she called up a map of the development. Then she cut through the nearest alleyway, moving parallel to Sheila. Many of the backyards on this side of the street were sectioned off by bushes or chain-link fences no more than four feet high. Josie hopped one of them, landing in the adjacent yard, and spied Sheila four houses to her right just as she disappeared again, threading her way between another two houses. Seconds later, Noah followed, shouting after her to stop running.

Josie stayed on her own path. The next street curved into a crescent shape, circling back to where the Hamptons lived. Opposite the last row of houses was a playground and pond and, more importantly, a much taller fence meant to discourage anyone from plunging into the ravine on the other side of it.

Sheila Hampton would be cornered.

Josie was in good shape but running full speed in this oppressive heat set her lungs on fire. Fighting a wave of dizziness, she emerged from the final row of houses to see Sheila running in her direction to avoid Noah. Her arms and legs flailed—the uncoordinated run of a desperate person whose limbic system had chosen flight over fight. Even if Josie wasn’t closing in, Sheila would have exhausted herself within minutes. As it was, her face was flushed a deep red. Her mouth hung open and her chest heaved, trying to draw in the thick air.

Noah shouted after her, ordering her to stop, but she kept moving, zigzagging between a swing set and a jungle gym. Luckily, it was too hot for children to use the playground, so they were alone except for a gentleman walking his dog. Startled by the commotion, he took out his cell phone and held it up. Recording them, most likely.

He was going to get a show.

“Stop!” Josie hollered as she stepped out from behind a slide and into Sheila’s path. With a yelp, Sheila swerved, kicking up mulch. One of Josie’s hands clutched her bare shoulder, but her skin was so slick from perspiration that she slipped away. Josie spun to pursue her, but she was already several steps ahead. A surge of hope flooded Josie’s system as she watched Sheila fall to her knees. Josie gained a few feet. Sheila staggered back up. Vomit poured from her mouth, but she kept going, Josie at her heels.

“Stop!” Josie demanded again. This time her fingers seized on the back of Sheila’s tank top only to have it slide out of her grasp, too. The pond was only feet away now. It was maybe forty feet in diameter, but Josie had no idea how deep it went. She really didn’t want to find out.

“Mrs. Hampton! Stop running!”

Finally, Josie caught hold of the waistband of her shorts. Yanking Sheila back, Josie reached around to capture one of her wrists, but the woman started lashing out blindly, hitting and kicking at anything she could make contact with. Josie grunted as a heel slammed into her shin, sending a streak of pain up her leg. She narrowly avoided a backhand fist to the face. Sheila was like a wild animal, snarling and raging against Josie’s attempts to subdue her. Vomit and sweat stained her clothes, the pungent odors combining to make Josie’s eyes water. The struggle felt like it lasted an eternity when in reality only seconds had passed. Over Sheila’s shrieks and the blood rushing in her own head, Josie was vaguely aware of Noah’s boots pounding behind them. She did her best to keep Sheila in her clutches, but the ground gave way beneath their feet, the soft lip of grass that surrounded the pond disintegrating under the weight of their thrashing bodies.