Her Mother’s Grave_Absolutely gripping crime fiction with unputdownable mystery and suspense

by Lisa Regan

  “It’s a free email address anyone can open with a dummy name. It’s registered in your name, obviously. I drew up a warrant—for the email provider and craigslist—but I doubt we’ll turn up much. Whoever is doing this is tech-savvy enough to remain anonymous. I mean, maybe if we were a bigger department or the FBI, but we don’t have a lot of resources for this kind of thing. I can pass this along to the state police or ask someone at the college to consult, if you want.”

  Josie shook her head. She had someone else in mind. “I’ll handle it. Just get me what you can, okay?”

  “You know someone?”

  “I know someone who knows people,” she answered. She took out her phone and fired off a text to Trinity Payne.

  Hey, are you still coming to town? Still interested in that Lloyd Todd story? I’ll give you an exclusive, but I need your help with something. ASAP.

  To Noah, she said, “I want to talk to Lloyd Todd.”

  “Boss.”

  “I don’t care what you have to do, get me a meeting with him. I’ll drive over to the county jail and talk to him. He can have seven lawyers if he wants. This ends now.”

  Her cell phone rang. It was Trinity. “I’m coming into town this evening,” she said when Josie answered. “I’ll be staying at the Eudora, and yes, I’m still interested in the Lloyd Todd story. I’m more interested in doing a story on you.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” Josie said.

  Trinity laughed. “Never say never, my dear. I know you well enough by now to know that you don’t call me unless you need something. What am I trading for the Todd story?”

  “I need your help with some… computer crimes. You have connections, right?”

  “Oh, honey, I know some of the best hackers you’ll never meet. But I’m not sure the Todd story is big enough to warrant me calling in those favors.”

  Josie groaned. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You’ve been involved in some of the most intriguing cases in the entire country just in the last two years. The network thinks a story on you would bring in huge ratings.”

  “I really don’t have time for this, Trinity. Not to mention that I have absolutely zero interest in having my face splashed all over the national news again.”

  “I knew you would say that. Just hear me out. We’ll talk about it in person. Alone. No producers, no cameramen. Just me. Just come over tomorrow, okay? I’ll help you with your computer crimes case.”

  Josie felt Noah’s eyes on her. She really didn’t have the time or inclination to hear Trinity out about this particular matter. She hated doing press, and the last thing she needed was to be under a microscope on national television. But she knew that Trinity’s contacts would locate whoever was placing the craigslist ads in a matter of hours, where it could take weeks through official channels. After the last few days, she was desperate for this assault on her life to stop, even if that meant humoring Trinity’s pitch for a few hours.

  With a heavy sigh, Josie said, “Fine. Text me your room number when you get here.”

  The squeal of delight Trinity gave could be heard all the way across the room where Noah stood. It startled him.

  She knew it was futile, but Josie pushed the phone closer to her mouth to remind Trinity, “I didn’t say I’d do it. I only said I would hear you out.” But Josie could picture Trinity’s predatory grin. She always got what she wanted.

  “Whatever,” she told Josie, hanging up just as Gretchen came in with a sheaf of papers in her hand. Josie took the pages from her but didn’t read them.

  Gretchen said, “Your would-be rapist, Keith Gibbs, has no known association with Lloyd Todd. He was just a twisted guy answering an ad.”

  “I figured that,” Josie said. “We’ll find out who’s behind the ads and go after them.”

  Gretchen looked at the CCTV screen, where Gibbs had finally taken a seat, then back to Josie. “Boss,” she said, “we can’t hold him.”

  Josie stepped toward Gretchen. “What?”

  “You know this,” Noah said. “He thought he was answering an ad for a consensual sexual encounter. Technically, he did nothing wrong. At least, that’s what his attorney will argue.”

  “I don’t give a shit about his attorney,” Josie snapped. “He assaulted me. He stuck his grimy hands on me. He did not take no for an answer.”

  “Because he thought that was the arrangement,” Gretchen said. “Look, I agree, the guy’s a shithead, and he assaulted you, yes, but he thought this was an arrangement the two of you had agreed on. He had no reason to believe that you were not the person behind the ad or emails. He’s got no priors. Not even traffic tickets. Clean as a whistle.”

  “I want to press charges,” Josie said.

  “The DA will toss them out,” Noah told her. “I know you know this, Boss.”

  Anger flared in Josie’s chest, burning up her skin. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll talk to the DA myself if I have to. He is not leaving here tonight. Charge him.”

  Gretchen and Noah looked at one another and seemed to come to some kind of agreement. “Okay,” Gretchen said. “I’ll do the paperwork.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The glowing numbers on Noah’s cable box showed it was nearly one a.m. Curled beneath a blanket on his couch, Josie shook herself awake long enough to register the old 1990s sitcom playing on the television. She tried to focus on it, but every cell in her body felt heavy with longing to go back to sleep. Her ears tuned to the sounds coming from the kitchen—dishes clinking, the microwave whirring, and another sound that Josie couldn’t identify. A warm sense of calm pulled her back toward sleep again. She was safe here. She could relax—just for a little while. She picked up the remote and turned the volume up a little, filling the room with canned laughter and letting her eyelids flutter closed once more. She was almost there, almost all the way under, when she felt Keith Gibbs’s hands press down on her, smelled his moist breath. Her insides curdled, and she thrashed against him.

  “Boss!” Noah’s voice startled her awake. He stood over her looking worried, two large coffee mugs in his hands.

  Josie shifted to sit up and wiped sweat from her brow. “Sorry,” she said. “I-I, uh, fell asleep.”

  “You were dreaming,” Noah said.

  Not dreaming, she thought. Remembering. Her mind was trying to process those terrifying, chaotic moments now that it wasn’t focused on work.

  “You okay, Boss?” Noah asked.

  Ignoring his question, she said, “You know, you can call me Josie—I mean, at least when we’re here together.”

  She patted the space next to her, and Noah sat down, handing her a cup. White foam with what looked like ground cinnamon steamed from inside. It smelled sweet and spicy, with a faint scent of whiskey. “What is this?”

  Noah smiled and lifted his cup. “A dirty chai latte—coffee, spices, and single malt. I thought you might like it. I can make you something to eat too, if you want.”

  Josie smiled and sipped the drink, slowly savoring it. “Not necessary,” she said. “This is perfect, thank you.”

  They drank in silence, lost in the images playing on television for several moments. Then Noah said, “Are we going to talk about tonight?”

  “No,” Josie replied.

  “Bos—Josie, you know you can talk to me.”

  “And you know that I’m not a talker.”

  He laughed. “True. All right, how about that detail we talked about? One unit on you all the time until we get this sorted out?”

  She was grateful to him for not pushing. The only way she had survived what she had was by blocking out the terrible things that had happened and all the dark feelings that went with them. The only option she had ever had was to keep moving forward. She knew this wasn’t healthy—a therapist she’d been forced to see in college had told her that one day it would all catch up with her, but so far she had been able to stay just ahead of her demons. She planned on keeping it that way.

  The latte
made her feel warm and drowsy. She put her coffee mug onto the table and stood, offering him a small smile. “Can we not talk about that right now? I think the best thing for me right now is just to go to bed.”

  Looking surprised, Noah set his own cup on the table. “Oh, sure, okay. I mean, unless you want to hang out. We don’t have to talk about work.”

  “Thank you, but I really just need some sleep.”

  She felt his eyes on her back as she left the room. Upstairs, she collapsed into his bed and straight into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  A few hours later, she woke; her back and neck felt stiff from the assault, but the memory of Keith Gibbs attacking her was a little duller in her mind than it was before. Soon the memory would be small enough to lock away in her mental vault with all the other horrors she’d endured.

  Heading downstairs, Josie tiptoed past Noah, who lay sprawled on the couch snoring, and found her phone charging in the kitchen. It was almost the time she would normally get ready for work. There was a text message from Gretchen from twenty minutes earlier.

  Todd has agreed to meet with you. Ten a.m. county prison.

  There was also a text from Trinity.

  Room 227. I’ll see you later today, right?

  Josie didn’t answer it.

  She went back into the living room and gently shook Noah awake. “Fraley,” she said. “Wake up. You’re my detail today.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The Alcott County Jail was located in Bellewood and managed by the sheriff’s office. The jail acted as a hub for all the police departments in the county, processing their prisoners and holding them over for trial. Although Denton police had a holding area in their station house, it was mostly for drunk college students and other people guilty of minor offenses. Once it came time for someone to be arraigned and booked, the sheriff transported them from Denton and processed them through the county facility.

  Because Lloyd Todd’s lawyer insisted on being present for their meeting, the deputies had placed them in a private meeting room. Lloyd sat hunched over the table, his hands cuffed and threaded through an iron loop fixed to the tabletop. The orange jumpsuit he wore stretched tight across his broad shoulders. Dark eyes glared from beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows, and gray threaded through his short, spiked brown hair and the patchy beard that stubbled his cheeks. He looked much older than his brother, although Josie knew they were only two years apart. Noah waited outside.

  “This is highly irregular,” Lloyd’s attorney said from where he stood behind his client, looking sharp and imposing with his slicked-back black hair and a charcoal suit that probably cost more than Josie’s car.

  “Your client agreed to it,” she said.

  The attorney bristled. “I advised him against it.”

  No one was more surprised than Josie that Lloyd had agreed to meet with her, but as Trinity Payne often said: People always want something, you just have to figure out what it is. It wasn’t normally Josie’s style to bargain with people, but she had two major issues she needed to address with Todd, and whenever possible, she preferred to go directly to the source.

  Lloyd, however, gave nothing away.

  Josie started close to home. “I met with your brother the other day.”

  Nothing.

  “Your boys are doing well there.”

  A flicker in his eyes, barely perceptible. He folded his hands together, chains clinking. Josie forged ahead. “I was there to talk to him about Belinda Rose. Do you remember her?”

  “We went to high school together,” Lloyd said.

  “That’s right,” Josie said. She recapped everything Damon had told them, and Lloyd agreed that all of it was accurate.

  “You wouldn’t be coming around asking about her unless something bad happened to her,” Lloyd said.

  “She’s dead,” Josie told him. “Someone caved her head in thirty-three years ago and buried her in the woods in Denton.”

  Lloyd’s expression didn’t change, but he offered, “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Mr. Todd,” Josie said, “do you remember anyone that Belinda hung out with? Any of her friends? Perhaps from the courthouse?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Damon said you and Belinda spent a lot of time together,” Josie said.

  “Damon also told you she was seeing our father, so you know that me spending time with her—it was all fake.”

  Josie raised a brow. “But you did spend time with her. Surely the two of you talked now and then.”

  Lloyd chuckled. “Belinda talked a lot, Chief. I don’t remember everything she said.”

  “I’m not asking you to remember everything she said,” Josie told him. “I’m asking one question. Surely you remember Belinda talking about her friends.”

  Lloyd sighed. “She was friends with a chick named Angie from the foster home,” he said.

  “Anyone else?” Josie prodded.

  “That’s more than one question.”

  “It’s the same question. I want to know who Belinda’s friends were.”

  “There were a couple of girls from the courthouse.”

  “Names?” Josie asked.

  “Come on, Chief—” he began.

  “You remembered the name of her friend from the care home; what were the names of her friends from the courthouse?”

  He sighed, shaking his head as though what she was asking was ridiculous, but seemed to give it some thought. Lines creased his forehead until, finally, he said, “Sophia. Sophia and Lila. That was the other one, Lila.”

  Josie hoped her excitement didn’t show on her face. Her spine straightened, and she leaned forward slightly. She hadn’t expected him to remember. Not Linda or Lilly or Laura.

  Lila.

  It was like unlocking a secret code. She felt slightly breathless. “Do you remember Lila’s last name?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, sorry. I never met her or the other one. Just heard Belinda talk about them all the time. She talked a lot, and like Damon told you, I let her follow me around at school sometimes so no one would get the wrong idea about her and my dad.”

  Josie was sure that Noah was already on his phone, asking Gretchen to get into the county foster-care records, but she glanced meaningfully at the camera over the door anyway. “There’s one more thing,” she told him.

  “I think that’s quite enough,” the attorney interjected. “My client has been more than helpful on this matter. He didn’t have to meet with you today.”

  Lloyd glanced over his shoulder and silenced the man with a look. He turned back to Josie and opened his palms, inviting her to go on.

  “I want you to get word to your people to stop harassing me. You crossed a line last night.”

  “Chief Quinn,” the attorney said, approaching the table.

  Once again, Lloyd silenced him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “Okay, fair enough,” Josie said. “Maybe your minions don’t keep you abreast of all their activities in here, but since your arrest, the department’s vehicles have been vandalized, the station house has been egged, someone put shit under the handles of my car doors, robbed my house and destroyed my personal property, and worst of all, someone placed sick personal ads on craigslist under my name. Last night, a man tried to assault me in the parking lot of a pharmacy because he was responding to an ad someone placed in my name for a rape fantasy.”

  The attorney said, “These are very serious allegations.”

  Josie kept her eyes fixed on Lloyd, whose expression had not changed. “I’m not accusing him of anything,” she said. “I’m accusing people he associates with. I believe if he had a conversation with these people and encouraged them to stop these behaviors, it would greatly help his situation.”

  The attorney opened his mouth to speak, but Lloyd said, “My situation?”

  Josie leaned forward again, both elbows on the table. “I’m not stupid, Mr. Todd. I know you
didn’t have to meet with me. You didn’t have to talk to me about Belinda Rose. You did something for me. Now, what can I do for you? What can I do for you that might make you more amenable to talking to these associates?”

  “I don’t have associates,” he responded. “But if I did, they wouldn’t be doing shit like robbing your house or putting ads online.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, anyone I associated with might pull off some harmless pranks.”

  “Slashed tires and shattered windshields of the department’s entire fleet is hardly minor,” Josie pointed out.

  Lloyd shrugged. “I told you, I don’t have associates. I’m speaking hypothetically.”

  Josie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay, hypothetically, what are you telling me?”

  “That the other stuff you’re talking about—robbery and personal ads—my hypothetical associates had nothing to do with that.”

  “The man who robbed my house is in his fifties or sixties, thin, with gray hair, always wears a green jacket, can be found under the bridge, and goes by Zeke. Hypothetically, he wouldn’t be someone you associate with?”

  Lloyd laughed, his shoulders shaking. “You’re talking about Larry Ezekiel Fox. He’s an old burnout. No one associates with him. He’s a pirate with absolutely no loyalty. He’s been using since you and I were in diapers. Used to go by Larry. Started using his middle name a few years back. Now everyone calls him Zeke.”

  “So, hypothetically, he wouldn’t have robbed my house in retribution for my department arresting you?”

  The attorney’s face flamed red. “Really, Chief, this is highly irregular. I must—”

  This time Josie put a hand up to silence him.

  Lloyd answered, “Hypothetically, no. If Zeke wanted to rob your house, he had his own reasons.”

  “Where can I find him?” Josie asked.

  “Can’t help you there.”

  “But you can help me with my hypothetical problem with the vandalism and ‘minor’ property damage?”