by Lisa Regan
He stabbed the air with a finger. Josie couldn’t tell if it was directed at one of them or all of them. “You’re telling me,” he said, “that the best swimmer on the college team drowned yesterday?”
The detectives looked at one another. Then Gretchen, who had the most calming effect on Chitwood of all of them, said, “Yes, sir. It appears that way. What caused it, we’re not sure.”
Mettner said, “The press has already gotten wind of it. Amber was fielding calls all morning. She’s at lunch now, but she was pretty busy today. She gave them all the standard ‘our investigation is ongoing’ line for now.”
“I’ll make sure she keeps it that way. Quinn!” Chitwood barked. “You got anything?”
Josie told him about the brownie crumbs found in a baggie in Nysa’s discarded backpack, as well as Dr. Feist’s confirmation that Nysa had eaten said brownies before her death. Then Josie handed him a printout of the sticker.
Chitwood pushed his reading glasses higher onto his nose and stared at the picture. He said, “This is weird.” Then he sighed, handed it back to her and shifted his glasses lower so he could look over them. “So she took something, got high, went for a swim while she was intoxicated and drowned. It’s damn sad but not unique to young people. Open and shut.”
Josie said, “Sir, I’m not sure—”
“Let me guess,” he cut her off, leaning over and bracing his hands against her desk and staring closely at her face. “You think this is something more than some college kid doing an incredibly dumb thing and paying the ultimate price for it?”
Josie braced herself for one of his signature tirades. “Actually, a couple of things do seem off.”
“Meaning what?” Chitwood demanded.
“Meaning, sure, she ate the brownies and yeah, they were probably laced with something, but I don’t think she would voluntarily or knowingly take drugs.”
Picking up on her train of thought, Mettner said, “Everyone we spoke with said that Nysa Somers didn’t use drugs and rarely drank. If she was under the influence of something, I can see Detective Quinn’s point. It would be odd if Nysa had chosen to eat those brownies knowing they had something in them.”
“Also,” Josie said. “The ‘time to be a mermaid’ calendar notification makes no sense.”
“It does if she was high as a kite, Quinn,” barked the Chief. “You know people do crazy, nonsensical shit when they’re under the influence.”
“I just don’t think she ate those brownies knowing they had something in them.”
Chitwood made a noise of frustration. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe she was depressed and just didn’t care anymore? Maybe she was suicidal and didn’t care if the drugs killed her.”
Gretchen picked up a stack of pages on her desk and set them back down. “When I got here today, I drew up some warrants and served them on the campus health center in person and then her doctor’s office in her hometown in New Jersey, by email. Mett and I spent all morning looking through her medical records. There isn’t a single suggestion of her struggling with depression or anxiety.”
“Even extremely high-functioning people get depressed. They don’t always go to the doctor for it. You talk to her parents yet?”
“I’m going to their hotel now to speak with them,” Josie said. “But I have a feeling they’re going to say the same thing that everyone else who knew Nysa Somers said. She wasn’t depressed. She would never willingly or knowingly take drugs.”
Chitwood said, “Quinn, college kids do dumb shit all the time. Even the most promising ones. Sometimes things are just exactly what they appear to be.”
“What about the sticker?” Josie asked. “Whoever made those brownies and that sticker gave Nysa something that killed her. Or made her kill herself.”
Mettner said, “You think she got into the pool and drowned herself? Wouldn’t that be really hard to do?”
“Not if you’re under the influence of something really powerful,” Gretchen noted. “New drugs are coming onto the scene all the time. Maybe it wasn’t pot in the brownies. We could be looking at a variation or combination of drugs. I saw the video you guys got from the lobby. She didn’t appear intoxicated in the least and yet, Dr. Feist told Detective Quinn that she likely died soon after entering the pool area. How do you explain that?”
Mettner looked at Gretchen. “Maybe whatever substance she ate didn’t hit her until she was in the pool.”
“Then why would she get into the pool in regular clothes?” Josie asked.
Gretchen, eyes still on Mett, raised a brow. “We’re not talking about tranq darts here, Mett. Dr. Feist said she ate the brownies sometime after midnight, not right before she walked to the pool.”
“You don’t know that—” Mettner began.
Chitwood held up his hands and yelled, “That’s enough. All this speculation is a waste of time. We can say with ninety percent certainty that this girl had something in her system. We’ll wait for toxicology. It’s as simple as that. Quinn will go tell the parents today that their daughter ate brownies we believe had an illicit substance in them and then drowned. Once the toxicology comes in, Dr. Feist finishes her report. Case closed.”
“But the sticker,” Josie said. “Sir, what if more students get their hands on whatever was in those brownies?”
“You just said that the campus chief of police had no other drug-related incidents involving these stickers. We have no idea if anything was in the brownies. This is all speculation. Hell, it’s speculation that the sticker is an indicator of drugs. I’m not starting a public panic until we have more information.”
“But sir,” said Josie. “Don’t you have a contact in the DEA? You could get in touch and ask about the sticker.”
“Or we could wait until toxicology comes back,” Chitwood repeated. “Like I just told you.”
Josie opened her mouth to respond but Chitwood held up a hand to stop her. “Quinn, I know you’ve got that feeling you get. I know your instincts rarely fail you, and I know that you want to run with this, but you can’t. There’s nothing to run with. I can’t expend this department’s time and resources on a case that’s going to turn out to be a tragic accident.”
Josie kept her tone calm and even. “Sir, just let me try to track down the person Nysa Somers was with the night before she died.”
He folded his arms across his chest again and stared at her. Josie knew she had him. This was a reasonable request. A loose end that should be tied up no matter what the outcome of the investigation. “Fine,” he said grudgingly.
“And follow up with Chief Hahlbeck about drug activity on campus. She didn’t see any instances of the sticker in any of her files, but she said she was going to keep looking and make some inquiries on campus.”
“Quinn—”
Gretchen stood up from her chair, drawing Chitwood’s attention. “It’s just a conversation, Chief. That’s all.”
He waved his finger at Gretchen, Josie, and Mettner. “Thin ice,” he said. “You three are on thin ice.”
Then he stalked off to his office, slamming the door behind him. After a moment of silence, Gretchen said, “He didn’t say no.”
Josie smiled.
Mettner said, “How are you going to find the person Nysa was with?”
Josie said, “I need you to get that warrant to see where her phone pinged the other night. That’s a place to start. Also, given the probable drug angle, I think we should talk with the guy who threw the party that Nysa and Christine were at Saturday night. Hudson said he didn’t know if there were drugs there or not.”
Mettner scrolled through his phone. “I interviewed that guy already yesterday. He’s on the swim team. He hadn’t seen the sticker and said he wasn’t aware of any drugs at the party.”
“Of course he said that,” Josie said. “See if you can track down some other people who were at the party.”
“You think she got the brownies there? Without her roommate even knowing?”
&n
bsp; “I have no idea, Mett. It’s another avenue, and we don’t have many right now. Someone should also go down to the East Bridge and show the photo of the sticker around there. See if anyone recognizes it.”
Beneath Denton’s East Bridge was where much of Denton’s drug activity was concentrated. “Will do,” Mettner said.
Josie said, “While you do that, I’ll go see her parents.”
Gretchen stood up. “I’ll go with you. Let’s grab some lunch first.”
Nineteen
I did it. It worked. I didn’t even have to be there. It was contactless death. I was still shocked by the reality of what I had pulled off, by the genius of it. Nysa Somers was dead. My euphoria was tempered by the realization that the aftermath was so much bigger than I anticipated. Not only did the press jump on the story, but the police did as well. There had been times in the past that the police had gotten involved, but in those cases, their role was perfunctory. They showed up, found nothing out of the ordinary, and closed the case. I had always covered my tracks well enough in the past to elude suspicion. This time, things felt different. The police were taking this way more seriously than I expected. I knew I should have felt frightened. Maybe I should have been more cautious, but the truth was that I felt exhilarated. Nothing had ever felt this good. I had always been invisible before. Only I knew the impact that I had made with each death. Now I was being seen. This was the best and biggest thing I’d ever done.
I wanted to do it again.
I could do it again. It would be so easy. But who was left? My list had grown shorter over time. My next victim couldn’t be just anyone. It had to be someone who would make just as big a splash as Nysa.
Otherwise, what was the point?
Twenty
Josie and Gretchen ate lunch at Sandman’s and discussed the case before stopping by the campus again to talk with Chief Hahlbeck. It was a short conversation, as Hahlbeck hadn’t found any instances or mentions of the sticker in any of the police files or during her inquiries on campus. Mettner called to say that no one from under the East Bridge had seen—or would admit to having seen—the sticker before. The local drug trade was a dead end.
Josie hung up with him, relayed the news to Gretchen, and then the two of them set off for the Somers’ hotel. The Marriott was out past the college campus, just on the outskirts of the city of Denton. It was one of the hotels that filled up completely every year at graduation time and was the hotel of choice for visiting parents. A small café opposite the lobby boasted comfortable seating, low lighting, and the nutty aroma of coffee. Gretchen and Josie found a table, and Gretchen called Mr. Somers, offering him and his family the option of meeting them in the café or having them come up to their room. Ten minutes later, a man and woman in their fifties and a teenage girl shuffled out of one of the elevators and toward the café. Josie recognized them from their photo in Nysa’s room and from the news story she had seen. Except now they no longer looked happy and vibrant. Nysa’s death had sucked their vitality away. They looked broken, like their skin was barely holding their bones together as they walked.
Nysa’s father slid into a seat across from Josie and Gretchen first. He was tall and stocky with a sizeable paunch, a combover, and calluses on his fingertips. A mechanic, Gretchen had told Josie on the way over to the Marriott. Nysa’s mother was a dental assistant. She was smaller and thinner than her husband with dark shoulder-length hair. Josie immediately saw the resemblance between her and Nysa. Sitting beside her husband, she patted a chair at the end of the table, indicating for her other daughter to sit. Where Nysa had been lithe and rangy, her sister was curvy, with wide hips and an ample bosom. Where Nysa’s hair had been straight, her sister’s was curly. After Gretchen made the introductions between Josie and the parents, Nysa’s sister extended a hand. “Naomi,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
Naomi held their gazes while her parents looked down at the table. There was a fierceness to her that Josie immediately respected, and yet, knowing the task that Naomi was already taking on—of carrying her family through this horrific loss—Josie felt sympathy for her as well.
“We’re very sorry for your loss, Naomi,” said Josie. “Also, we spoke with several of Nysa’s teammates yesterday and many of them, including Hudson Tinning, send their condolences.”
Mrs. Somers nodded. “Hudson’s a good boy. We were just out to lunch with him and his mom, Mary, on Saturday. We had a lovely time. It was such a great weekend. I don’t understand how…” she drifted off, blinking back tears.
“Have you found anything out?” Naomi asked, getting right to the point. Josie’s appreciation of her expanded.
Gretchen said, “The autopsy showed that the cause of her death was drowning.”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Somers’ heads snapped upward, eyes searching. Mr. Somers said, “How is that possible? There is no way my daughter drowned. No way. What kind of incompetence is this? I want another autopsy.”
“Dad,” Naomi said, her tone quiet but commanding.
Josie said, “It’s your choice to have another autopsy performed, and we can certainly discuss the logistics of that.”
“But,” Naomi said.
Mrs. Somers slid a hand across the surface of the table toward her daughter, and Naomi took it without looking away from the two detectives.
“But our investigation is still very active, and there are some other things that you should know.”
A tear slid down Mrs. Somers’ face. She said, “Go on.” Then she closed her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Josie went over all they had learned, managing to keep her tone matter-of-fact, trying not to draw conclusions for them, merely presenting what they’d uncovered to that point and relaying their plans for the future of the investigation.
“May I see the sticker?” Naomi asked.
“Of course,” said Gretchen. On her phone, she pulled up the photo that Josie had taken and texted to all members of the team, and showed it to the family. Mrs. Somers opened her eyes and gazed at it. Her husband gave it a cursory glance before shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling.
Naomi said, “I’ve never seen that before. More importantly, you should know that Nysa would never take drugs. Yes, she might drink—”
Her father shot her a stunned look. Addressing him, she said, “Really, Dad. We’re in college, we’re not saints.” She turned her attention back to Josie and Gretchen. “But Nysa would never take drugs.”
“She had that friend in school who died from using cocaine once,” Mrs. Somers said. “What was her name?”
“Regina,” said Naomi. “Now listen. Whoever gave her those brownies or convinced her to eat them did not tell her what was in them. There is no other way that things could have gone down. I know my sister, and she—”
For the first time, emotion overtook her. Naomi shut down and her throat quivered as she fought to regain her composure. Mrs. Somers placed her free hand over both their hands and squeezed.
Josie said, “I believe you.”
Naomi nodded. Josie and Gretchen waited for her to get her emotions under control.
“You’ll find the person she was with? The person who made that awful sticker and gave her the brownies?”
“We’ll do everything we possibly can to find that person,” Gretchen assured her.
Naomi said, “There’s a law in Pennsylvania now. The death by distribution law. If a person gives another person drugs, and the person taking them dies, the person who provided them can face murder charges.”
Josie was aware of the law. It was primarily targeted at drug dealers, and she wasn’t sure that Nysa’s case would fall under it, but she wasn’t about to argue the point with a grieving family. Besides, that was the district attorney’s purview, not Josie’s. Her job was to do whatever she could to figure out exactly what happened to Nysa.
Gretchen said, “You’re right, Naomi. All the more reason to find the person who gave Nysa the brownies.”
“If you
don’t mind,” Josie said. “We just have a few questions. We know this is the worst possible time to be asking them, but it will really help our investigation.”
Mr. Somers let out a shuddering breath and put his large hands on the table. “Fine,” he said.
“Any time you want to stop, you say so,” Josie added.
Mrs. Somers nodded.
They went through the series of questions they’d posed to everyone who’d known Nysa. Had she been depressed or anxious? Stressed? No. Did she have a history of anxiety, depression, or suicidal ideations? No. Had she been dating anyone or seeing anyone casually that they knew of? No.
“One last thing,” Josie asked. “Did Nysa ever refer to herself as a mermaid? Or did any of you ever call her that?”
Mr. and Mrs. Somers shook their heads. Naomi said, “No. We called her our superstar.”
Mr. Somers’ shoulders began to quake. Abruptly, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Wordlessly, he headed for the elevators. “I’m sorry,” his wife whispered. “He’s just…”
Josie said, “You never have to apologize for your grief, Mrs. Somers, or your husband’s. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” she answered. Relinquishing Naomi’s hand, she heaved herself to her feet and went after her husband.
Naomi, Josie, and Gretchen watched her go. This was the worst part of the job, Josie thought.
“There is something you need to know that I didn’t want to say in front of them,” Naomi said.
Josie and Gretchen looked at her.
Naomi folded her hands on the table and shifted her weight in her chair. “Nysa was seeing someone. It started right at the beginning of the semester. It wasn’t serious. In fact, she instantly regretted it. That’s how I know about it. She called me crying the morning after the first time it… happened.”
“Happened?” Gretchen said. “Naomi, was your sister raped?”