by Lisa Regan
Gerry wheeled his chair over to the other table and clicked away on one of the other laptops, bringing up four views of the exterior of the natatorium all crowded together on one screen. All four sides of the building were accounted for. In the front where emergency vehicles sat, Josie saw Sawyer Hayes removing equipment, including a stretcher, from the back of the ambulance. Beyond that was a parking lot with room for several rows of cars stretching out of view of the camera. In the back of the natatorium was a narrower lot with only a few spaces reserved for security and other campus workers as well as a dumpster. Beyond that was woods. Josie knew they extended down a small hill toward one of the city’s main roads into campus. On either side of the natatorium were tree-lined courtyards with benches and tables for students to linger in nice weather. Josie also knew that, beyond those courtyards, on one side of the natatorium was the Health and Human Sciences center and on the other was one of the many buildings that housed athletics, but the camera views only showed the courtyards.
They watched as Gerry brought up footage beginning at five that morning. At 5:44, a small jeep pulled up out back. Gerry emerged a minute later and used his key card to enter. The courtyards and the front of the building were empty. At six, they watched Nysa emerge from the far end of the front parking lot, walking steadily toward the natatorium. She was alone, just as Gerry had said. They viewed the rest of the footage up until various emergency vehicles arrived. No one went in or out of the building besides those already accounted for. Josie felt a kernel of discomfort in the pit of her stomach.
“We’ll need copies of all the footage you’ve got,” she told Gerry. “If you could also give us anything you’ve got going back a full twenty-four hours, we’d appreciate that. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Nysa’s roommate again.”
Eight
The killing didn’t start with me. It was true that part of me always enjoyed watching people suffer. Some people. People who deserved it—like the ones who called me names, outshined me at school, or received praise or rewards for something I had worked just as hard to get. I had found other ways to make them pay for what they did to me without anyone realizing I was behind it. Few things are more satisfying than watching someone who thinks they are better than you shit themselves from the laxatives you put into their lunch, or someone who criticizes the way you look make a sour face at the piss you mixed in with their smoothie. But I’m not sure the killing would have occurred to me. I’m not sure I would have even realized I could get away with it if I hadn’t seen her do it first.
We both knew the kind of person he was—I just never expected her to do anything about it. Then one morning, I heard her call 911, speaking in a muffled tone. Maybe she was trying not to wake me. While she waited at the front door, I went into the bedroom and saw him. He had clearly been dead for a long time. I’d never seen a person so still before. Wherever his skin touched the bed or pillow, it had turned a purple so deep, it was almost black. I only saw edges of it at first, but when the paramedics arrived and moved him, I saw much more. They didn’t bother with CPR. Two of them stood in the bedroom with her, asking countless questions. I don’t think they noticed me there in the corner of the room, taking it all in. My attention was torn between him—finally gone forever—and the conversation between her and the paramedics. One of them asked about medications.
“A couple of different kinds,” I heard her say. “For his heart and high blood pressure. Some for pain. He had a knee injury a while back. But he doesn’t always take his pills correctly. Sometimes he gets them mixed up. Once he took six pills from the same bottle—all Vicodin. I had to take him to the ER to get his stomach pumped. Plus, he drinks. I’ve asked him so many times not to drink with these medications. He doesn’t listen to me. Here, you can look at the bottles.”
She motioned toward the nightstand where several orange prescription bottles sat, all arrayed for inspection. A paramedic went over and picked them up one by one, studying them.
She looked at me then. I knew damn well he didn’t get his pills mixed up. She was the one who dispensed them. I said nothing.
The paramedic shook one bottle, but there was no telltale rattle of pills inside. “Digoxin,” he said. “A high dose of this can kill you. The bottle is empty.”
I waited for someone to figure out what she had done, but no one ever did.
Nine
Hillary handed Josie a stack of pages containing the logs she had promised and then led her and Mettner back to the pool area. Again, the heat and humidity hit Josie like a wall. Her clothing was almost dry, for which she was grateful. Hillary said, “I’m going back to headquarters to make some phone calls, see if I can’t get a list of swim team members for your department to interview.”
“Thank you,” said Josie.
Mettner pocketed his phone and took the stack of pages from Josie, tucking them under one arm. “The library was the last place we know for sure that Nysa went last night, so I’m going over there to see if I can get footage of her arriving and leaving. Try to nail down a timeline and see if she spoke to anyone or left with anyone.”
“Perfect,” Josie said. “I’m going to check out Nysa’s apartment.”
She watched as Mettner strode off. Then her gaze flicked toward Sawyer and Owen, who had secured Nysa’s body in a body bag and lifted it onto the stretcher for transport. Josie felt sadness tug at her heart. Dr. Feist was gone, likely headed back to the morgue ahead of the body so that she could talk to Nysa’s parents and ask that one of them give a positive ID. The thought that a family was about to be shattered cut deep, as it always did in her line of work. She pushed her own feelings down. Her job was to find answers for that family. She could never bring them peace, but she could discover what had happened to their daughter. It was a paltry offering in the face of their loss, but Josie would do her best.
As Josie’s gaze lifted from the body bag, she met Sawyer’s eyes. His thin mouth was set, and his blue eyes flashed—some combination of grief and anger. Like Josie, he had experienced loss in his personal life. Sometimes the job got to you, especially when the dead were young.
Noah stepped directly in her path, blocking her view of Sawyer. “That guy is everywhere,” he groused.
She hadn’t even seen Noah come in. “Hey,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“At the station, why?”
“I called you. You didn’t answer. Mett said you weren’t at the station.”
He looked over his shoulder, where Sawyer stood staring while Owen finished securing the body bag. “I was—I had—the Chief gave me something to do. Why is that guy staring at you?”
Josie said, “What?”
Noah turned back to her and lowered his voice although Sawyer and Owen had already started for the doors. “Sawyer. Everywhere we go, he’s there. I know he left Dalrymple Township to come work for Denton, but still. Doesn’t the city have other EMTs?”
Josie put a hand on her hip. “What are you even talking about right now?”
Sawyer and Owen disappeared into the lobby. The doors swung shut, leaving Josie and Noah alone. “He comes to our house for dinner. We see him at Rockview when we go visit your grandmother. Now we’re at work, and here he is.”
Josie said, “He’s family now, Noah.”
“Is he? He’s not related to you, only to your grandmother.”
Lisette Matson had raised Josie as her granddaughter for decades before the two found out they weren’t blood-related. Josie had grown up believing that Lisette’s son, Eli Matson, was her father. Eli had died when Josie was only six, leaving Josie in an abusive household with a woman she believed to be her mother. Lisette had made it her life’s work to get Josie out of there and raise her. For years, Josie and Lisette had only had each other. Then a few months ago, Sawyer had shown up on the scene, claiming to be Lisette’s grandson from a relationship that Eli had had with a woman he’d been seeing before Josie came along. DNA proved this to be true. Lisette was over the
moon to have another grandchild. It had been a little more difficult for Josie, worrying that things between her and Lisette might change. She was doing her best to accept the new dynamic, though and welcome Sawyer into their lives. Anything less than that would break Lisette’s heart, and Josie was not about to do that.
She said, “You were the one who encouraged me to get to know him.”
“I think you know him well enough now.”
“What’s going on with you?”
Noah huffed. “Nothing. I’m just annoyed.”
She regarded him with a raised brow. “Annoyed? Well, stow it. Right now, we have a case to focus on, Fraley.”
Josie detected a slight flush in his cheeks. He waved his notebook in the air. “I am focused. I talked to Mett on the phone and also to Gretchen. What are you thinking? Accident?”
“I don’t know, but this doesn’t feel right.”
Noah said, “You think this is a homicide?”
“No. I don’t see how it could be. There was no one else here.”
“Wasn’t there a security guard?”
“He was at the desk the entire time Nysa was in the pool area.”
“Could someone have slipped in through the back?”
“I don’t think so,” Josie said. “According to the logs Hillary gave us, no one but the guard used their key card to access the rear doors either last night or this morning.”
“Is it possible someone could have come in here yesterday and spent the entire night?”
“I don’t see how they would get out after the fact without setting off an alarm or being seen on camera.”
“True,” Noah agreed. “If no one killed her, then what? She accidentally drowned?”
“Unlikely. She’s the university’s star swimmer.”
“She was intoxicated?”
“Given her behavior on the video we saw, she didn’t appear inebriated,” Josie said. “Certainly not enough to accidentally drown. If she was that messed up, I would have expected her to be stumbling or at least slurring her words. That leaves us with a sudden medical event. Although that doesn’t explain why she came to the pool hours before her normal swim time without a bathing suit. We need more information. Once Dr. Feist does the autopsy and we talk to people who knew her and who were in contact with her in the last day or so, it might be easier to conclude whether this was some kind of accident or suicide.”
“Suicide,” Noah echoed. “We haven’t touched on that yet.”
“Her roommate doesn’t believe she would commit suicide. Gretchen’s on her way to the hotel to get the parents. They might be able to shed some light on Nysa’s state of mind.”
Noah sighed. “This is terrible. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Josie said.
It was her stock answer whether she was fine or not. Finding Nysa in the pool, not being able to revive her, had shaken Josie. But death and tragedy were the daily bread of her job. She was a professional, an expert at setting aside her own sadness so that she could do her work. Later, she’d have to meet with Nysa’s parents herself. She wanted to be able to answer at least some of their questions.
Noah didn’t press the issue. Instead, he said, “Where do you want me?”
Josie said, “Campus police headquarters. Work with Chief Hahlbeck to get as many swim team members and swim coaching staff as you can possibly get in there today for questioning.”
“You got it.”
Ten
Outside the natatorium, Noah turned right and headed to upper campus where the police headquarters were located. Josie followed Christine Trostle through the parking lot, which had begun to fill up. In fact, the campus was far busier now than when Josie arrived. Some students stopped and gawked at the couple of police vehicles remaining out front of the natatorium but others went on their way, chatting to one another or on their phones, oblivious to the tragedy that had just occurred.
They came to the front of the Ervene Gulley Arts & Humanities building on the other side of the parking lot, the one that was just out of view of the pool building cameras. Josie said, “Christine, where are the commons?”
She stopped walking and pointed to her left where twin paths led downward to lower campus. “Over that way.” She turned in the opposite direction and pointed to the tallest building on campus, which Josie knew was the library. “It’s not that far a walk from the commons to the library. I’ll show you the shortcut from here to our student housing complex.”
They circled around the Ervene Gulley Arts & Humanities building. In the rear was a small parking lot, and on the other side of that, a wooded area with a cut-through in the brush. The path was one person wide and had obviously been made by hundreds of students trekking through it. Josie followed behind Christine, estimating the distance between the edge of campus and the small, unused street they came out on to be about thirty yards. When they stepped onto the asphalt, Josie saw the back of a row of several small houses. Each one had a postage stamp-sized backyard. Most were filled with grills, sports equipment, coolers, and trash bins. Josie knew from dealing with the university over the years that this area was called Hollister Way. It was a collection of six rows of tiny houses joined together and usually rented to sophomores who wanted a little more elbow room and privacy than dorms provided. Spots in Hollister Way were competitive because of its proximity to campus. Josie followed Christine as she walked around to the front of the closest row of houses. Each house was allotted two parking spots and nearly all of them were filled. Christine turned right down the third row of housing and Josie followed to a door marked with the number 14. As Christine worked the lock, she pointed to a light blue Honda Civic in front of the house.
“That’s Nysa’s.”
Inside, the house was nothing more than a living/dining area, a tiny kitchen, and a set of steps, at the top of which was a bathroom sandwiched between two bedrooms so small, they looked like glorified walk-in closets. Christine showed her Nysa’s room. An unmade twin bed with a laptop sitting at the foot of it took up most of the space. There was a tall dresser and a desk jammed beside one another along one wall. A stack of textbooks sat on top of the desk. On top of the dresser were two framed photographs. One was of a small white dog, and the other appeared to be Nysa Somers with her family at a swimming event. She wore a one-piece red bathing suit with a swim cap. A medal hung around her neck. Flowers were tucked in the crook of her arm. An older man and woman stood on either side of her, smiling widely. Beside the man was a grinning teenage girl with a more reserved smile who closely resembled Nysa. Parents and sister, Josie thought, before she had to look away. Her heart broke thinking of the news they were about to receive and how it was going to permanently destroy the happiness they’d known before this horrible day.
Christine stood in the doorway weeping quietly while Josie had a look around. There was nothing of interest other than the fact that three bathing suits were folded neatly in the top drawer of the dresser, and a small mesh bag with what looked like swimming supplies was tucked beneath the desk. Josie snapped on a pair of gloves and took a quick look through the bag. Inside were goggles, a swim cap, nose clips, a water bottle, protein bar, and a towel. She did not see a backpack anywhere or a cell phone.
Her phone rang and she took it out of her pocket to see Mettner’s face flash across the screen. “Mett?” she said after swiping answer.
“I’ve got the library footage,” he said. “Nysa left at closing time—alone. She had a backpack.”
“Okay,” Josie sighed. “Have you tried following her path using the other campus cameras?”
“Yeah. I’m with Hahlbeck and Fraley at the campus police building now. You’ll want to see this.”
Eleven
Josie walked back through Hollister Way until she found the cut-through. She stood at the mouth of the path for a long moment, taking in the surroundings again. A few students trickled out of it, backpacks on, eyes on their phones, each one startled to find her standing at the end of
the path from campus back to Hollister. One student came from behind Josie and took the path to campus. It was quiet and no one lingered. No residents poked their heads out of the backs of the houses facing the cut-through. People came and went without anyone noticing. A car pulled up along the wooded side of the small road. A male student stepped out, slung a bag over his shoulder, locked his vehicle and jogged past Josie up to campus. Along the side of the road, Josie noted a muddy divot where the asphalt ended and the forest began. Various tire tracks had imprinted in the mud. This was an area where students parked frequently to use the cut-through, which meant that someone could have been parked there the night before when Nysa emerged.
She had emerged, hadn’t she? Josie wondered. She hadn’t spent the entire night in the woods, had she? There were roughly eight hours unaccounted for in the last night of Nysa Somers’ life. Josie wasn’t sure why, but she felt those hours were vitally important to figuring out why Nysa was dead. Stepping onto the path, Josie walked slowly, panning from side to side to see if there were any breaks in the branches or brush alongside the path. She identified a couple of sycamore trees, two birch trees, and a maple tree. Most of the ground was thick with waist-high ragweed, crape myrtle, goldenrod and bull thistle.
Josie got almost to the campus side, which was on a slight incline, and turned to look back, surveying all she could see from the higher angle. There were no breaks in the brush on either side of the path, no places where it looked like someone had trampled down the plant life to get into the woods. However, from where she stood, there looked to be a break in a large thatch of bull thistle plants to her right, about thirty feet from the path. Most of the plants stood tall, their tips thorny green bulbs with purple or pink flowers thrusting out the top, like several hairs standing on end. Any casual observer would think the first thing that Josie did—an animal, likely a deer, had come through and trampled part of the thistle. But as Josie started back down the path toward Hollister Way, craning her neck to get a better view, she saw a flash of something dark. Not dirt. Fabric.