Chapter 58

FIFTY-EIGHT

The water hit Josie like a slap. It was shockingly warm. She sank fast, her heavy boots dragging her to the brackish depths. Something hard punched against her hip. There was pressure and then a push. Sheila using Josie’s body to kick away. The pond was pitch-black, the only murky light coming from over Josie’s head. Forcing air through her nose to discharge the sludge that had found its way into her nostrils when they fell in, she swam toward the glow. The muscles of her arms and legs screamed as she forced her body through the thick water, her feet like two cinderblocks.

Breaking the surface, she took a deep breath and then coughed out a slurry of oily brown-green liquid. The taste nearly made her gag. She used the heel of one hand to brush water and debris from her eyes while her legs worked to keep her afloat.

“Josie!” Noah was on the bank, tugging his own boots off. The dog walker was just behind him, taking even more video.

Turning away from Noah, Josie saw Sheila splashing jerkily toward the opposite bank. Josie went after her. Pain seared through her muscles as she swam. As she predicted, overexertion and exhaustion kicked in, impeding Sheila’s progress. A loud splash sounded behind them. Noah jumping in. As Josie’s fingers brushed some part of Sheila’s body beneath the water, the woman started to sob. Her writhing slowed, and she plunged under the surface. Josie dove after her, fighting against Sheila’s floundering limbs. Drowning people were never still or calm. Their bodies panicked, battling to stay alive, to find air. Sheila was no different. Josie took several punches and kicks to her arms, torso and face before she was able to feel her way around Sheila’s midsection. Hooking one arm under the woman’s armpit, Josie used the other to aid her in getting them back to the surface.

“Stop struggling,” Josie told her once their heads were above water. “I’m trying to keep you from dying.”

A long wail erupted from Sheila’s throat. She kept moving, warring with Josie, dragging them both down. Noah’s approach drew her attention. “Please,” Josie said. “Stop fighting. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Whether it was the fatigue or the realization that she might be able to escape from Josie but not from them both, Sheila went limp in Josie’s arms. Noah swam up and took her from Josie’s grip. Immediately, the strain on her body, from her lungs to her legs, eased. Noah pulled Sheila along and Josie followed. He hefted her onto the bank and then helped Josie before getting out himself.

Josie and Sheila lay side by side trying to catch their breath. Turning her head, Josie coughed up more water. Noah’s hand grazed her back. Through burning eyes, she finally looked at him. He leaned over her but kept his eyes on Sheila, although the woman made no more attempts to elude them. He wore nothing but his boxer briefs and socks. It had made it easier for him to navigate the water. Josie might have been annoyed that he’d taken the time to strip down before jumping in after her, but she knew firsthand how quickly he could remove his clothes when something was at stake. That something was usually much more appealing than a dirty pond. The dog walker rushed toward them, one arm full of Noah’s things.

Sheila lay flat on her back, tears running down the sides of her dirt-streaked face. “I didn’t know,” she cried. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” Josie asked.

Noah took his things from the dog walker and started getting dressed. “Did you call 911?”

The man nodded solemnly. It was clear he wanted to stay as close to the action as possible, but Noah smoothly and patiently got him to move along, tasking him with waiting down the road to direct emergency vehicles their way.

“I didn’t know who he really was,” Sheila said. “I never would have married him if I knew.”

Josie sat upright, trying to shake off the dizziness that still assailed her. “You adopted Felicity Cook.”

Sheila gave a jerky nod. “Yes. It was after the trial. I had her name changed. Took her to Philadelphia to live. Then I met Isaac. How could I have known?”

Josie’s mind whirred to life, momentarily clearing the fog caused by the intense strain on her body’s resources. A glimmer of doubt flickered deep in her brain. She worked to rearrange the facts as she knew them. “Your husband never told you his true identity?”

“No. Of course not.”

Noah dropped down beside Josie. She could see from his expression that he, too, was trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. If Isaac Hampton was Simon Cook—the older brother of Sheila’s adopted daughter, why wouldn’t he tell her? Why hide that fact?

“He was so good,” Sheila went on. “A good father. A good husband. Most of the time. He always had some anger issues. I called the police a few times but he never actually hurt us, so I never pressed charges. If I had known the truth, I would have taken Jenna and run.”

Felicity and Simon Cook had been separated after their family was slaughtered and put into foster care. Simon would have aged out soon after that. He, too, had changed his name. Likely to avoid Roger Bell. With him free, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t try to finish what he started.

Noah swiped a hand through his wet hair. “You didn’t recognize him? When you first met?”

Sheila sniffed. Her face crumpled as a fresh sob shook her frame. “No.”

When they spoke with Vicky Platt earlier, she maintained that Stella Townsend had never disclosed what she was looking for in the sealed court records. Josie had been certain she knew exactly what Townsend was searching for, and Remy Tate had confirmed it when they paid him a visit only an hour ago. He hadn’t been aware of Stella’s ulterior motives. She’d never asked him to search sealed records, but she had visited him at his office a few times after Dallas wrapped his story, ostensibly to clarify some of the things Remy had said during his interview. During one of those visits, Remy had left her alone in his office. By his account, once he returned, Stella had come on to him, hinting that she was interested in him sexually. He’d gotten distracted. After she left, he’d noticed that he’d left the records database open on his computer. Among the searches he’d done that day were two names he didn’t recognize. Simon Cook and Roger Bell.

He hadn’t confronted Stella because, well, he was more interested in trying to coax her into an affair. Josie and Noah had asked him to access those files, but he reminded them that they needed a warrant.

Noah kept going as sirens wailed in the distance. “Did you watch any of the trial coverage?”

The warrant was still tricky without proof that Simon Cook was involved in the murders of Cleo Tate, Stella Townsend, and Everly Rowe. If any of the DNA samples came back as a match then they’d have no problem getting a judge to sign off on it. But right now, all they had were loose bits of information that refused to coalesce into a complete picture.

“Of course I watched the trial coverage,” Sheila said, finally pushing herself into a sitting position. “Everyone in the city watched it! But it was years later, and he looked completely different. Isaac didn’t have a tattoo! I didn’t even realize back then you could get them removed. It never even crossed my mind. Why would it?”

Tattoo? Josie met Noah’s eyes and saw her own confusion mirrored there.

“He told me today,” Sheila said, lower lip trembling. “He hasn’t been himself. Like I said, I was sure he was having an affair. We had a fight. I don’t even know—I can’t even—I’m not sure how it came up but he told me. He said now that Jenna was dead, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. As if he could just gloss over his betrayal using her death. Screw him. I threw him out and started packing.”

Josie thought back to the discrepancy in age between Simon Cook and Isaac Hampton, trying to remember precisely how many years separated them.

Sheila’s fingers twisted in her lap. Her voice was quiet when she next spoke. “Um, before he left, he told me something.”

Josie wondered if Isaac had confessed to the murders. Was that why Sheila had run? Had she really not known? Not had any involvement? Not even suspected?

“What did he tell you?” Noah asked, glancing over Sheila’s head as an ambulance and two police cruisers pulled up nearby.

She looked at Josie. “He said you would come.”

“The police?” Josie asked.

“No. You. Detective Quinn.”

Noah’s brow knit with concern. “Did he say why Detective Quinn would show up?”

“No, and I didn’t ask. I was already—already in such shock. I couldn’t process anything more.”

In spite of the heat still smothering them, Josie felt a chill along the nape of her neck. “What else did he say?”

“It makes no sense but here it is: he said to tell you, ‘Don’t overlook it.’”

Josie exchanged another look with Noah. Don’t overlook what?

Sheila lurched toward Josie and dug her fingers into Josie’s forearm. “Now that I told you everything, you can let me go, right? I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I ran, but when he told me that you were going to come to the house, I got scared. I thought I knew him, but I didn’t know him at all. How would he know you were going to come looking for him? Unless he’s gotten caught up in something bad? I just lost my daughter and now my husband. My entire life has been a lie. When you came to the house and then you wanted to question me even though he wasn’t there, I just…I panicked. Whatever he’s done, I wasn’t a part of it. You have to believe me. I told you everything. I just want to go back to New York.”

Noah sighed. “I’m afraid you’ll still have to come down to the station to give a statement.”

Don’t overlook it . Josie’s mind spun the loose bits round and round, hoping if it whirled them just so, she’d see what she was missing. Townsend’s illegal records searches. Sheila’s assertions that she never would have married Isaac if she knew his true identity. The gap in age between Simon Cook and his new identity, Isaac Hampton. It was five years, she remembered now. Five years. Then there was the tattoo.

That was it. The tattoo. Josie’s heart did a double tap. Nausea churned in her stomach. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. At the same time, given the little they did know, especially now with Sheila’s confessions, it was the only thing that made sense.

Josie swallowed, tasting the scummy pondwater again. “Mrs. Hampton, what did your husband say his real name was?”

She knew the answer—as insane as it seemed—but she needed to hear Sheila say it out loud.

From behind them, the heavy feet of emergency responders sounded. Noah held up a hand to signal for them to pause. “Mrs. Hampton,” he said. “Your husband’s real name.”

She released Josie’s arm and wiped away another tear. “I—I thought you knew. Roger Bell. My husband’s original name, before he changed it, was Roger Bell.”