by Lisa Regan
Josie weaved through the streets of downtown Denton. Her city was roughly twenty-five square miles, many of those miles spanning the untamed mountains of central Pennsylvania, with their one-lane winding roads, dense woods, and rural residences spread out far and wide. The population was edging over thirty thousand, and it increased when the college was in session, providing plenty of conflict and crime to keep Josie’s team of fifty-five pretty busy. She arrived at the police station in only ten minutes, parked in the chief’s spot in the municipal parking lot, and went in the front door. Her desk sergeant nodded to her. “Is Lieutenant Fraley here?” she asked him.
He pointed to the ceiling. “Upstairs finishing the paperwork on the Todd case.”
“Great,” Josie said.
She took the steps two at a time and found Noah at his desk, staring at his computer screen, a gnawed pen hanging from his mouth and his thick brown hair in disarray. Without moving his head, his eyes tracked her. “I hate paperwork,” he mumbled, pulling the pen from his mouth. “Did I mention that?”
Josie perched on the edge of his desk. “You might have,” she said.
He tossed the pen onto his desk, used his mouse to close out the programs on his computer, and turned his attention to her. Brow furrowed, he said, “What’s going on?”
She held up her cell phone. “I got another one.”
He glanced at the phone, then stood up, nodding toward her office where they could speak in private. Noah closed the door behind him and already had his notepad out by the time Josie rounded her desk. She plopped into her chair, pulled up the ad on her phone, and read it aloud to him as his pen flew across the page and his face grew increasingly stern. She told him about the call from Roger and rattled off the phone number.
“I’ll flag this as prohibited and fax another warrant over to the craigslist offices,” Noah said.
Josie sighed. “And that will get us nowhere, just like the last three times.”
“But we need to build a case. When we find out who’s doing this, we need to have everything in order to be able to put them away.”
“We know who’s doing it. Lloyd Todd and his legion of assholes.”
“Fine, then we need to be prepared to put those assholes away.”
“Like we did when they slashed the tires of all the cars in the police lot? Or when they egged the downstairs windows? They’re angry because we arrested their boss and took away their drugs, and now they’re all unemployed and in withdrawal. They’re blowing off steam.”
“Directed specifically at you,” Noah pointed out.
“Because I’m the one who gets the job of going on TV every time something big or bad happens in this town.”
“Yeah,” Noah said, smiling. “I know that’s your favorite.”
She glared at him.
“You should hire a press liaison,” he suggested.
Josie rolled her eyes. “We can’t afford a press liaison. Just get today’s ad taken down, would you?”
“Fine, but I’m faxing over a warrant as well.”
“So you can get dummy email addresses and IP addresses that don’t help us find the person who’s doing this? Knowing the person posted the ads from an IP address somewhere in the city of Denton doesn’t exactly narrow it down. Who knew these idiots were so tech-savvy?”
“Last time we narrowed it down to the Starbucks near the college,” Noah pointed out.
“Yes,” Josie said. “Someone piggybacking on their wifi. We have no idea if that person was even in the store, or if they were in a car or across the street. There was no way to tell from the video footage inside the cafe whether it was one of the patrons. Everyone in that place is on a damn computer or a phone.”
“It’s still worth looking into,” Noah said. “We might catch a break. This is getting serious. I think these craigslist ads rise to a higher level than pranks, Boss.”
“Noah.”
He stared at her, and she knew what was coming. “Don’t even say it,” she said.
“Boss, let me put a detail on you. Just until we catch these punks.”
“I don’t need a detail,” Josie said. “Not for this. This is dumb high school shit.”
“You’ve got men calling you for sex.”
“Men who think I’m someone I’m not. Believe me, I’m not worried about the Rogers of the world. That guy couldn’t even handle a phone call with me. I doubt he’s going to try to track me down.”
“I’m not worried about Roger,” Noah said. His eyes bored into her. “I’m worried about the jerk placing the ads. Are you certain this is coming from Lloyd Todd’s camp?”
“Well, I’ve put a lot of people away as Chief of Police. It could be anyone, but it started after we arrested Todd, after I’d given at least three press conferences. If his lackeys are looking for someone to direct their rage toward, I would be that person. But listen, this is just a nuisance. It hasn’t risen to the level of putting a detail on me.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, but Josie stopped him with a raised palm. “I’m not ruling out the possibility of a detail—although I can certainly take care of myself—but not now, okay? Right now, I have to go back to the phone store and get my number changed. Again.”
He knew her well enough by now not to push her. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get to work on this. Text me with your new number.”
Chapter Three
The Spur Mobile store was completely empty, for which Josie sent up a prayer of thanks. Even more annoying than calls from unwitting men looking for sexual encounters was waiting in line to have her number changed. The disinterested kid behind the counter pulled a pair of headphones from his ears as she approached the counter. He didn’t ask many questions, even when he pulled up her account and saw how many times she’d changed numbers in the past month. A half hour later she was all set. Outside in her vehicle, she texted her most important contacts with the new number. Putting a call through to her grandmother, Lisette, she breathed a sigh of relief when it went straight to voicemail; she didn’t feel like explaining the craigslist situation, especially not to her grandmother.
Her phone buzzed in her hand just as she was putting it back in her pocket—a return message from Trinity Payne. A new number again already? WTH is going on?
Trinity was the only reporter that Josie would consider a friend, and even that was a stretch. Trinity had shot to stardom in the national news market straight out of college, only to fall from grace after a source fed her a bad story. She had been doing penance reporting for her hometown television station two years ago when Josie cracked a big missing girls case that had made them both famous. Trinity had been an indispensable ally during the fallout from that case, and since then, an excellent source of information on just about everything under the sun. Josie kept in contact with her for that very reason.
None of your business, Josie texted back.
Did you think about what I said? My producers would love it if I did a story on you. Small-city chief cracks big cases. It would go national.
Trinity had been after a profile of Josie ever since she solved a string of murders that ran the length of the East Coast.
No way, Josie texted back.
It only took a moment for Trinity to answer.
Some other time, then. I’ll be in town in a couple of weeks for a retrospective piece on the missing girls case. We’ll do lunch. What about the Lloyd Todd arrest? That would make a great story for a national news magazine. How about an exclusive?
Josie shook her head, chuckling. Trinity was nothing if not persistent. Josie didn’t bother to respond. She was sure that Trinity would get what she wanted eventually. She decided to wait it out until she needed a favor from her, and then she’d use the Lloyd Todd story as leverage.
A loud growl emanated from Josie’s stomach as she got back into her car. She should have taken Misty up on her offer of lunch—so much for a relaxing day off! In her mind, she catalogued what waited in her fridge at home, and hea
ded off in the direction of the nearest drive-thru.
She had just polished off a burger when her phone rang. A glance at the screen showed it was Noah calling. Pulling over, she abandoned the bag of fries on the passenger seat and swiped a greasy finger over the answer icon. “What’ve you got?” she said.
“It’s not about the ads—or Todd’s crew.”
She could tell by the slight strain in his voice that whatever he was calling about was serious. “What is it?”
“Some kids found human remains behind the Moss Gardens Trailer Park. You know it?”
She knew it all right. “Yes,” she said, surprised by the steadiness of her voice. A stillness overtook her. Movement felt impossible. “What kind of human remains?”
“Skeletal. Old. Gretchen’s over there now. Dr. Feist is on her way.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Josie said. Forcing her limbs out of their momentary paralysis, she put her vehicle in drive, the smell of the French fries suddenly nauseating. Pulling back into traffic, Josie headed toward the trailer park she hadn’t visited since she was fourteen years old, the trailer park she used to call home.
Chapter Four
JOSIE – SIX YEARS OLD
“Hey, JoJo, want to play a game?”
Josie heard her mother’s words drifting down the dark hallway of the trailer, slithering under the door to her bedroom. The red crayon she clutched in her right hand froze, hovering over the coloring book her mother had given her earlier that day. She hardly ever gave Josie presents, so Josie had taken it and run off to her bedroom, closing the door and spreading out on the floor with all of her crayons before her mother could think about taking it back. She had already colored four full pages.
“JoJo,” came the voice again. “Mommy wants to play a game.”
Josie stared at the half-colored flower beneath her hand. Her mother rarely wanted to play games. “Coming,” she called back.
She stuffed her crayons back into their box, closed her coloring book, and snatched up her small stuffed dog, Wolfie. Racing into the living room, she found her mother sprawled across the lumpy brown couch. Across from her, the television played a newscast on mute. Dust motes floated in the late-afternoon sun that streamed through the windows. “JoJo,” her mother said in a sing-song voice. “Come closer.”
Josie took a step forward. “What kind of game are we going to play, Mommy?”
Soft laughter carried through the air. “The kind where we see how fast you can get me a beer from the fridge.”
“Oh.” Josie knew from experience it was only seven steps from where she stood to the fridge. Her mother always put her beer cans on the bottom shelf so Josie could reach them easily. Sometimes her mother counted off the seconds as Josie raced back and forth to the fridge, but not today. As she handed her mother a beer, she saw the belt loose around her upper arm, and on the couch beside her, a blackened spoon, a lighter, and a needle. Josie never asked what these things were for, but they made her feel funny inside. She was staring at the small dark scab in the crook of her mother’s elbow when the trailer door burst open behind her.
Wolfie fell from her grasp as she turned to see a man standing in the doorway.
Chapter Five
Moss Gardens sat on top of a hill behind the city park, a collection of about two dozen trailer homes spread far enough apart that if you screamed, your neighbors might not hear you. Josie knew this to be true.
When she had lived there, the entrance was marked by a large boulder by the side of the road with the words Moss Gardens emblazoned on it in black calligraphy. Today, the boulder was overshadowed by a wrought-iron archway that announced the name of the park in large, ornate letters. Beyond it, Josie saw that the drab brown trailers of her youth had all either been replaced or refurbished. The park held none of the dreariness she remembered. Almost all the trailers were brightly painted and well kept; some even had potted plants outside. She knew it was meant to feel welcoming, but knowing what she did about the place made the vibrant colors and homey touches seem garish and unnerving.
She passed the lot where her childhood home had once been. The trailer she’d lived in with her parents had long since been removed—or torn down—and now the nearest resident was using the space for extra parking. A few pipes that poked from the yellowed grass were the only sign that anyone had once resided there.
Toward the back of the park was a wooded valley that lay between the trailer park and one of Denton’s working-class neighborhoods. There was no marked path, but Josie remembered a shoulder-width break in the brush where the local kids trampled the tall weeds to cut through. At the very back of the park, beyond the last row of trailers, was a paved one-lane road that ran alongside the edge of the woodland. Josie spotted Noah’s department-issue SUV parked in one of the driveways. Two patrol cars sat in the middle of the road, their front ends facing the old path like arrows. As she pulled past, Josie saw the metal gate with a No Entry sign across the opening. She remembered the day the gate and sign were installed. It was shortly after her father had walked down that very path and put a bullet in his head.
Unfortunately for the landowner, a No Entry sign in Denton was generally considered to be an invitation to explore, and Josie and her late husband, Ray, had spent the majority of their childhood in those very woods. They should have felt afraid in the dark, dangerous woodland, but compared to their respective homes, the forest had offered a sacred and much needed respite. It wasn’t cold, but Josie felt a chill envelop her as she parked behind the medical examiner’s small white pickup truck and got out of her vehicle.
Josie was relieved to see that news of the discovery hadn’t spread, and no nosy neighbors lolled about the perimeter of the scene, craning their necks for something to gossip about. Only Noah and some of Josie’s other officers stood along the road—Hiller next to his patrol car, Wright guarding the gate. They nodded to her as she approached Noah, who leant up against the other patrol car, his notepad and pen in hand.
“What’ve you got?” Josie asked.
Noah pointed to the backseat of the cruiser. “Couple of kids playing in the woods found some bones.”
Josie peered through the window into the backseat of the cruiser, where the faces of two young boys stared back at her. They couldn’t be older than ten or eleven, twelve at the most. They both had dark eyes and brown hair—one short and spiked, the other nearly covering his eyes. Both were covered in mud.
“Gretchen went to get their mom,” Noah said. “Apparently their dad is no longer in the picture.”
“They’re brothers?”
Noah nodded.
“Who called it in?”
“One of the neighbors. Barbara Rhodes. She watches the boys while their mom works at the Denton Diner. She let them play in the woods. When she called them in for dinner, one of them was carrying what we think is a jawbone. She called 911.”
Josie looked back at the boys. The long-haired boy stared back at her, chin jutted forward in defiance. His eyes, wide with fear, told another story. Beside him, his brother chewed on his fingernails. “Where’s the jawbone now?” she asked.
“Gretchen took it into evidence,” he replied. “The evidence response team is down there now with Dr. Feist processing the scene.”
“The neighbor?”
He gestured toward the last row of trailers. “Third one from the left, number twenty-seven. The white one. I took her statement and sent her back home. The fewer people out here, the better.”
Josie nodded, glad they didn’t have to contend with a crowd of onlookers—at least not yet. The sound of a car drew their attention. Gretchen’s Chevy Cruze turned a corner and pulled up behind Josie’s vehicle. Before the car even came to a stop, a woman dressed in black jeans and a polo shirt with a matching black apron leapt out of the passenger’s side and ran toward Josie and Noah. The long-haired boy pressed a hand against the window of the cruiser, and Josie reached back and opened the door. The boys tumbled out in a pile of gangl
y limbs and raced toward their mother. She swept them up in a tight hug, kissing both their heads and then studying their faces one by one. The younger, short-haired boy looked relieved. His brother did not. Josie, Noah, and Gretchen met the three of them in the middle of the road.
Gretchen introduced the woman. “This is Maureen Price, the boys’ mother. I explained to her that we can’t talk to her boys without her permission.”
Maureen squeezed the long-haired boy’s shoulder. “This is Kyle, my oldest. He’s twelve, and this is Troy. He’s eleven.” She smiled tightly. “Irish twins,” she explained.
Up close, Josie could see Maureen was quite young, probably not even thirty-five. There was something familiar about her round face and clear blue eyes. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled back into a tight bun. Josie wondered if she’d gone to Denton East High School. She would have been a few years ahead of Josie and Ray.
“Chief Quinn,” Josie said, extending a hand. “This is Lieutenant Fraley. Why don’t you boys tell us what happened?”
Maureen looked down at their two heads, their thin bodies wedged against hers. “I thought I told you two to stay out of those woods.”
“Aww Mom,” Troy said. “It’s boring at Mrs. Rhodes’s house.”