by Lisa Regan
Josie turned to go but stopped before she reached the hall that would lead her deeper into the building and closer to her doom. She thought of her grandmother, then Misty and baby Harris. A sick feeling invaded her stomach. “Lamay,” she said. “The victim. Was it a woman? Or a child?”
“No,” he said. “It was the owner of that body shop over on Sixth and Seller. Not too far from where Zeke was picked up the other night.”
The color drained from her face.
“You okay, Boss?” Lamay asked.
No. She was not okay. Words failed her. She steadied herself with a hand against the wall.
“Did you know him?” Lamay inquired.
Bile rose in the back of her throat. “Sort of.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Mayor Tara Charleston presided over the conference room table with a cold stare that made Josie’s skin crawl. The two had never gotten along, and Josie knew that Mayor Charleston was just waiting for any opportunity to remove her from her post as chief. Or “interim chief” as Tara liked to call her. Josie didn’t know what the hell was going on, but whatever it was, there was a good chance it could end her career.
“Chief Quinn,” she said when Josie walked through the door. “We were going to send someone to find you.”
“I bet you were,” Josie said.
Gretchen and Noah sat next to one another on one side of the table. Both looked haggard and distressed. Dark stubble covered Noah’s face. When he met Josie’s eyes, the look of pain and confusion was like a physical slap. She wished things hadn’t ended so awkwardly between them the night before. Gone was Gretchen’s easy smile. Every line etched into her face by her forty-four years was evident. Both of them looked as though they were being held against their will. Perhaps they were; she couldn’t imagine either one of them not trying to warn her. Unless Noah was really that hurt. Then she saw their phones sitting side by side near Tara’s right hand.
“What’s going on?” Josie asked, pulling herself up straight and tall.
“Boss,” Gretchen said.
“Detective,” Tara cautioned.
Naked anger flared on Gretchen’s face as she looked at Tara. Noah nudged her with an elbow, a silent request for her to keep her cool. She kept quiet but shook her head, a vein in her forehead throbbing. Josie couldn’t remember ever seeing her so angry.
“Sit,” Tara said.
Josie folded her arms across her chest. “I think I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.” Tara swiveled slightly in her chair and punched a button on a department laptop, bringing the screen to life. “During the night last night, at approximately three a.m., you, or a woman looking remarkably like you, drove your Escape—or a vehicle identical to yours with your same license plate number—to Ted’s Auto Body, where the owner, Ted Heinrich, was tied to a chair, beaten, and set on fire. He did not survive.”
Josie swallowed but said nothing.
Tara turned the laptop toward Josie so that she could see the screen. She pressed another button and a video began to play. At the top left-hand side of the media software, Josie could make out the words Rowland Industries. Ted Heinrich had obviously sprung for some high-definition video surveillance equipment. Top of the line. Her gaze returned to the bird’s-eye view of the front of his body shop. A concrete driveway with a giant grease stain led to two large garage doors, their windows painted white. To the right of the garage doors was a regular door with a sign above it: Office. Creeping into the corner of the frame, Josie could see part of Heinrich’s red 1965 GTO Mustang. The sight of it made her feel sick.
A few seconds later, an Escape pulled up and covered the grease stain completely. When Josie saw her own license plate staring back at her, she wished she had agreed to sit down. The brake lights died, and the driver’s-side door opened.
And then, Josie stepped out of the car wearing a yellow T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of white sneakers. They looked new. Josie felt three pairs of eyes drilling into her, but she maintained composure while her brain worked at warp speed to make sense of what she was seeing. For a split second, she actually questioned herself. Had she been drugged? Sleepwalking? Had she driven to Ted Heinrich’s business during the night and killed him? She’d certainly fantasized about it over the years. But no, she realized, remembering that her driver’s seat had been out of position when she got into her car that morning. This was something else.
On screen, the woman closed her door, took two steps away from the Escape, and looked around. Her eyes searched upward, panning until she found the camera. She looked into it, and Josie’s own face stared back at her. In the conference room, Josie counted off the seconds. One, two, three, four. Then the woman reached up and gathered her long, black hair into both hands as if she were pulling it into a ponytail, dragging it to the side so that all her hair rested over her left collarbone. Her head tilted to the left a bit, almost as if she were listening to something. But she wasn’t listening to anything. She was exposing her profile. The right side of her face was soft, smooth, and unblemished in the moonlight.
“Trinity,” Josie murmured.
Trinity went into the office door, and Tara reached over and fast-forwarded the video, stopping it when Trinity came back out, her clothes mussed and covered in something dark—oil or blood, or both, Josie guessed. This time, in her rush to get to the Escape, she didn’t bother looking at the camera. Within seconds, both Trinity and the Escape were gone. Tara closed the laptop.
Gretchen said, “The mayor ordered patrols to go to your house and collect you and your vehicle—for evidence processing—but you weren’t there.”
Noah had known where she was, but he hadn’t told. Because he was protecting her or because he knew that if the mayor found out she’d been sleeping at his house, he’d be in the hot seat as well?
“Chief Quinn,” Tara said, “the only reason you are not being booked into county jail right now is because Lieutenant Fraley tells us that that cannot possibly be you in that video. Primarily because, unlike the woman in this footage, you have a scar running down the right side of your face.”
Josie lifted her hair and turned her face so that Tara could get a good look at the mark her mother had left on her at the tender age of six.
“Well,” Tara said. “It seems you have a doppelganger.”
“There’s more,” Gretchen said. “Tell her.”
Tara looked reluctant but added, “We found what we believe is your old wedding ring at the scene, but Detective Palmer tells me that all of your jewelry was stolen from your home only a few days ago, so there is no way you could have left it at the scene.”
“This is obviously a setup,” Gretchen said.
Josie said, “You should talk to Trinity Payne, the reporter. She’s staying at the Eudora Hotel. Room 227.”
“Why would Trinity Payne kill a man and try to frame you for it?” Tara asked.
Why would Trinity kill a man at all? Josie wondered. What nagged at Josie even more was why Heinrich, and why now? What connection did Trinity have to the man?
The story.
Josie almost blurted the words out loud, stopping herself at the last minute. Trinity would do anything for a story, and she had wanted to do a story on Josie. But then Josie had blown her off repeatedly. Had she gone off on her own and started digging into Josie’s past? Even if she had, how had she turned up the connection to Heinrich? No one knew about him. Not even Ray had known. There were only four people who knew what nearly happened between him and Josie all those years ago—Heinrich, Josie, Needle, and Lila.
Fucking Lila.
“Trinity had to be under duress,” Gretchen said. “Whatever happened inside that body shop—Trinity’s hand was forced. She’s the face of a national network. Why would she do something like this if she wasn’t under duress?”
“She didn’t appear to be under duress,” Tara pointed out. “And she was alone. She drove up, went inside, spent almost an hour there, and came back out alone. How could she
be under duress when she went there willingly?”
Trinity would have gone willingly if it meant getting a story. Lila must have fed her something. But how? Had Trinity somehow tracked down Lila? No, the entire Denton PD hadn’t been able to track the woman down. Trinity had some of the best resources for finding both people and information, but surely she hadn’t been able to find Josie’s mother when the rest of them had been smacking into wall after wall.
Which meant that Lila had somehow contacted Trinity. Trinity would have agreed to meet Lila. She would have been interested in Lila’s take on Josie’s childhood. All the juicy secrets—the juiciest of all being what Heinrich had almost done to Josie at eleven years old. Lila would lie and spin it, of course. When she told Trinity the story, she would fail to mention that she had sold Josie for a paint job. No, she would make Josie out to be some tween seductress, and she would leave out the part where Needle showed up and stopped the whole thing. But if Trinity had gone to Heinrich’s for a story, why go in the middle of the night, and what had happened to result in his murder?
“Someone threatened her,” Gretchen said.
“So, you’re saying someone made her steal the chief’s car and drive to Heinrich’s to murder him. Then why would she make a point to show the camera that she doesn’t have the chief’s scar?” Tara argued.
“Because she knew the police would pull the video, and she wants us to know she’s being coerced,” Gretchen shot back.
Josie’s thoughts spun on. It was one thing for Lila to lure Trinity to Heinrich’s shop with the promise of a big story, but quite another for Trinity to kill him. Had she actually murdered the man? Josie tried to imagine Trinity killing him. It wasn’t hard. Josie had imagined killing the man for decades. She had also seen how ruthless Trinity could be, but did that cutthroat behavior in her work necessarily translate into being able to murder someone? Was Trinity capable of beating a man and setting him on fire while he was tied to a chair? Josie thought she knew the answer, but maybe she was wrong.
Tara shook her head. “We don’t even know for sure that’s Trinity. Makeup can cover up a scar.”
“It’s her,” Gretchen insisted.
“Maybe it is,” Tara said. “Or maybe it’s not. Chief Quinn, do you have an alibi for last night?”
“Of course I—” Josie broke off. She didn’t have an alibi. She had been at Noah’s alone, and he had been here at the station house. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t lie for her, not that she would ever expect him to do that.
Tara smiled coldly. “Well, the DNA will tell. Given the unique circumstances, I’ve spoken with one of my high-level contacts at the state police, and he has agreed to expedite testing. We should have it back within forty-eight hours. In the meantime, I’ve instructed your staff to carry on with their day-to-day operations. Lieutenant Fraley and Detective Palmer will spearhead the investigation. They’ll speak with Ms. Payne so that she can shed some light on this unfortunate situation.”
“You’ve instructed my staff?” Josie said.
“In light of the fact that you are now a suspect—”
“Person of interest,” Gretchen interjected, drawing a nasty glare from Tara, which she shot right back.
“Person of interest,” Tara echoed. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to continue on as chief. I’m therefore suspending you pending the outcome of this investigation. You are not to leave this town, do you understand?”
Josie heard her mother’s words once more. I’ll destroy everything you love.
She had underestimated her mother, read the situation all wrong. Josie loved nothing in the entire world more than her job. It had been quite a challenge when she took over as Chief, and she often found it stressful, but if she was forced to choose between being chief and no longer being a police officer, she would choose chief every time. Lila Jensen had truly gutted her—worse than the knife slice, worse even than being sold.
Josie had sacrificed everything to become a police officer, rising through the ranks of the Denton Police Department rapidly, becoming the first female lieutenant, then the first female detective, and finally the first female chief of police in Denton history. She had fought and forfeited to bring justice, peace, and protection to the citizens she served. This was her life’s work, and while she’d slept, her mother—using Trinity Payne—had taken it away from her.
“I’ll need your credentials and your gun,” Tara said. “And we’ll need you to turn over your car so that it can be processed for evidence.”
God only knew what Lila had told Trinity, but Josie was sure that Trinity would never throw away her own career to kill a pedophile. Exposing her unblemished face to the camera was a clear message to Josie. The question was: What message was Trinity trying to send?
“And you’re not to set foot in this building again until I authorize it,” Tara went on.
In the last two years, Trinity had tried many times to get Josie to confess the origin of her scar. She had never remarked on the resemblance between them, but if Josie noticed it every time they were together, she was certain Trinity had as well. Trinity knew that she would be mistaken for Josie. Was Trinity in league with Lila, or was she Lila’s unwilling pawn? Did Lila have something on her? Was Trinity just twisting the knife in Josie’s back, or was she trying to tell Josie that she hadn’t gone there willingly?
“Ms. Quinn, do you understand me?”
Tara’s words seemed to come from far away, and the room had gone out of focus. Josie blinked, and Tara’s piercing, gleeful stare sharpened again. Josie took her badge and police ID from her pocket and tossed it onto the table. The Glock slid out of her holster. She ejected the magazine and handed it to Gretchen together with the pistol. Then she took her car key from her keychain and handed that over as well.
“I’ll get this back to you,” Gretchen said, ignoring the scathing look Tara sent her way.
Josie nodded. She looked at Noah, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. That hurt almost as much as giving up her gun and badge. There was nothing left for her to do but leave, so she thrust her chin forward and gave Tara one last challenging look before turning and walking out of the room, and her station house.
Chapter Sixty-Three
With no car and no job, Josie sat on a bench across the street from the station house, staring at what just hours ago had been her domain. Her mind raced as her body went numb. Heinrich was dead. Her childhood bogeyman was gone. Finally. How many times had she wished for him to be punished for what he’d intended to do to her? Even though Needle had saved her from going into that bedroom, she still had nightmares about what might have been. She had to admit to feeling a small sense of peace now that this monster had been vanquished. But mostly she felt empty. Heinrich’s death changed nothing. Her soul remained scarred. He wasn’t, after all, the one who had made the deal. Lila had.
She tried to shift her focus away from the conflicting feelings raging inside. Lila was still out there, working to destroy Josie’s life; and then there was Trinity. There were at least a half-dozen things she needed to do immediately, but she had no transportation. It would take a couple of days for her vehicle to be returned to her, and she had a feeling that Tara would do all she could to stretch that timeframe even longer. She didn’t even have a way to get home, or to Noah’s to pick up the things she had left there. Her texts to Trinity went unanswered, and when she called Trinity’s cell phone, it went straight to voicemail. Josie didn’t leave a message.
“Boss?”
She looked up to see Sergeant Lamay standing beside the bench. She hadn’t even noticed him leaving the station house or crossing the street.
“I’m not your boss anymore, Lamay,” she said.
“Would you say we’re friends then?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go—” She stopped, blinking to bring him into focus, concentrating on his eyes, which glinted with mischief. “I mean, of course we’re friends, Dan.”
He held out a set of keys to her. “
Then the mayor wouldn’t have an issue with me lending my friend my car. Right, Josie?”
Josie couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. As her hands closed around the keys, tears of gratitude stung the backs of her eyes. Her arm froze in midair, keys jangling. “Wait,” she said. “I can’t borrow your car. You need it. Your wife has chemo—”
“My daughter is away at college,” Lamay interrupted. “She left her car at our house. We’ll just use that until you get yours back. My wife and I pay the insurance on it anyway.”
Before she could think about it, she leapt to her feet and squeezed Lamay in a quick hug. “Thank you, Dan,” she said. “I won’t forget this.”
She drove to the Eudora, sneaking past a long line of people waiting to check in at the front desk, and made her way up to Room 227. She banged on the door several times, but there was no answer, and Josie could hear no movement behind the door. Back in the lobby, Josie waited behind the last guest in line. Once the concierge had checked the man in, Josie stepped up. The young blond man with the permanent toothy smile recognized her at once, the genial look in his eyes instantly replaced with contempt. She had stood in this very spot six months ago while working a case involving a casino mogul who had rented out the hotel’s penthouse.
“Chief Quinn,” the man sneered, his painted-on customer service smile still in place. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Her suspension hadn’t been made public, and the concierge hadn’t asked for her credentials. “I’m here for a welfare check on one of your guests—Trinity Payne in Room 227. I tried knocking on her door. There’s no answer. No one has heard from her in twenty-four hours, and we have reason to believe she might be in trouble.”
He eyed her skeptically. “Well, if you’ve knocked on her door, and she didn’t answer, there’s not much more I can do to help you, I’m afraid.”
“You can have someone on your staff check the room,” Josie said.