by Lisa Regan
Josie rubbed at the knots in the back of her neck, trying to loosen the tension that had built while Noah spoke with the couple. She had a lot riding on their answer. “Dear lord, I hope it doesn’t take them that long.”
Noah studied her. “You should go home, get some sleep,” he said. “You look exhausted.”
“I am, but if you think I’ll be able to sleep while we’re waiting to hear back about that photo or from Loughlin about getting a meeting with Gretchen, you’re out of your mind.”
Standing, Noah grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s walk down to Komorrah’s then and get some coffee.”
The last rays of sunlight warmed the autumn air as they walked the two blocks to a nearby coffee shop. Stepping through the doors, Josie couldn’t help but think of the last time she’d been there with Gretchen. They’d eaten pastries and discussed their abusive mothers, and Josie had felt comfort in the fact that Gretchen understood, on some level, what she was going through.
“I’m going to need a Danish,” Josie said as they stepped up to the counter.
Noah smiled and started to order, but his cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and glanced at it. “It’s about the photo,” he said.
Josie waved him off and finished ordering, keeping one eye on Noah as he spoke softly into his phone on the other side of the shop. She paid, waited for their order, and found a table in the back of the dining area where it was quiet and they were unlikely to be bothered. Seconds later, Noah joined her, his face pale.
“I was right,” she said.
He picked up his coffee but didn’t drink. “Yeah,” he said. “You were right. That photo—it’s of their son. The mother gave it to Amy Neal after the adoption was final. She wanted Amy to know that he was happy.”
“So the Seattle Soul Mate Strangler did take something from the Neal scene, and he’s held on to it all this time.”
“How else would it have ended up here in Pennsylvania?” Noah asked. “And in the driveway of his only surviving victim? He must have brought it with him to Gretchen’s house, killed Omar, and left it there,” Noah said.
“Then he kidnapped Gretchen, but he had to take something from the scene, because that’s a compulsion for him, so he took her mug, which he then left at the Wilkins scene,” Josie filled in. “And we never would have known had it not been for his connection to Gretchen.”
“We never would have known had it not been for you pushing to unravel Gretchen’s past,” Noah said. “You were right about all of it. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Josie.”
“You mean you’re sorry you doubted Gretchen.”
“Yes, but I’m also sorry I doubted you.”
Josie smiled at him. “It’s okay. I’ll let it slide this time. You’ve always had my back in the past. Of course, I just thought that was because you were secretly in love with me.”
It was meant as a joke, but the seriousness in his face stopped her cold, a cheese Danish lingering halfway from the table to her mouth.
“It wasn’t a secret,” Noah said. “I was in love with you. I still am.”
She gulped air. The Danish fell back onto the tray. “Noah.”
“It’s okay. I’m not asking you to say it back or anything like that. I know you need to move at your own pace. That’s not even my point. I’m just saying I was wrong. I get what you were trying to say about us sticking together. I underestimated your relationship with Gretchen. When you care about someone, you have their back. I know that you and Gretchen have an understanding—something aside from what you and I have. I should have respected that.”
Josie reached across and touched his hand. “Thank you.”
The moment passed. Noah cleared his throat and said, “So what’s next? Should we call Seattle PD?”
“We need a DNA match first,” Josie said. “I don’t want to go full throttle on this until we know for sure.”
“What about Gretchen? Why didn’t she just tell us it was him? Why did she confess to a crime she didn’t commit?” Noah asked. “What is she afraid of?”
“That’s where I’m stuck,” Josie admitted. “I don’t get it. I don’t understand why she’s protecting him.”
“Maybe it’s like a domestic violence kind of thing,” Noah offered.
“Meaning what?”
“He terrorized her, right?”
Josie nodded.
“Broke into her home, killed her husband, raped her, and then he taunted her until she was kidnapped. Hell, maybe she ran off with Linc Shore to get away from this freak. Starkey said he kept finding her, right? He didn’t find her while she was with Shore. But she’s obviously still afraid of him. People don’t put spikes on their windows unless they are terrified of something.”
“And they don’t keep only plastic dishes in their house twenty-five years after the crime if they’re not still afraid,” Josie mumbled.
“What’s that?”
Josie told him about Gretchen’s plastic dishes.
“Oh Jesus,” he replied.
“Yeah, there’s a lot of trauma there,” Josie said.
“So maybe it’s the trauma that’s keeping her from turning him in. She’s so afraid of him, and in her mind, he’s so powerful—more powerful than any police department, especially if he’s been able to track her down time and again even under police protection—that she feels safer not reporting him.”
“That’s what you meant by a domestic violence situation,” Josie said. “A lot of times, women know the system fails them, and they think the only way to stay alive is to lie and not press charges.”
Noah sipped his coffee. “We’ve seen what happens when things go wrong. A woman is brave enough to tell what’s happening to her. She presses charges. Gets a restraining order.”
“And then the guy violates it and kills her while she’s waiting for him to go to trial,” Josie filled in. “To other people she seems so irrational, but the threat is very real.”
“Hey, remember last year on the West Coast that young teenage girl was abducted from her home?”
“Yeah, and everyone thought her dad killed her?”
“That’s the one,” Noah said. “He took her to another state, but when they got there, he didn’t even bother trying to hide her. He started passing her off as his daughter, and she went along with it.”
“Because she was completely terrorized.”
He nodded. “Two people saw her and recognized her, but when they asked her if she was the missing girl, she said no, because she was absolutely terrified of him.”
“I thought someone saw her walking down the street with the guy, and that’s how she was found,” Josie said.
“Because that person didn’t ask her directly, and certainly not while he was standing right there—they got her away from him first, and after a lot of questioning, she finally admitted who she was.”
“It was okay if someone else figured it out,” Josie said. “As long as she wasn’t the one to turn him in.”
“Right.”
Josie didn’t have any trouble believing that the Soul Mate Strangler had twisted Gretchen’s psyche into something unrecognizable, or that he had a strange hold over her even all this time later. Some traumas left much deeper wounds than others. But she wasn’t entirely convinced that Noah’s psychological reasoning was enough to account for Gretchen letting a serial killer go free.
“She said she was responsible for Omar’s death,” Josie said. “Maybe she’s punishing herself.”
“Maybe we’ll get to ask her,” Noah said as his phone chirped.
Josie’s buzzed at the same time. It was a text from Loughlin to both of them.
Got you a sit-down with Gretchen. Bellewood County Jail. Tomorrow, 9 a.m. Be warned. Bowen is pissed. He advised against it. She wants to talk anyway.
Relief coursed through Josie. She typed back,
Thanks. See you then.
Josie and Noah finished their coffees. She was wondering if he w
ould ask to come home with her or for her to come home with him. As exhausted as she was, she wouldn’t turn him down. Although they still had a few hours of work and lots of paperwork to do. “Better get me a coffee to go,” she told Noah as she went to use the restroom.
The owners of Komorrah’s kept a community corkboard in the small hallway leading to the restrooms. People advertised things like music lessons, dog walking services, and other random information. There were also flyers for community gatherings, and colorful pages advertising events that Komorrah’s was hosting—sometimes bands, sometimes artists, and other times, authors held signings. It was the last one that caught Josie’s eye—a flyer for an author event coming next month. The book was about the missing girls case that Josie herself had solved.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered.
She hadn’t been interviewed by the author for the book. As far as she knew, no one with direct knowledge of the case had been. Yet, here was someone with a book out about the case. She pushed her frustration back down to the dark place all her feelings about that case lived, and went to the bathroom. On the way out, she stopped again, considering whether or not to tear the flyer down and throw it away. Then her phone rang. It was Misty Derossi.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Misty said when Josie answered. “I know you guys have a lot going on right now with these murders. I wouldn’t ask unless—”
“It’s fine,” Josie said. “What’s up?”
“It’s work. They need someone to fill in overnight on the domestic violence hotline. I really want to do it. I had all those hours of training, and I hardly get to use them. But I need a sitter for Harris. Just overnight. He’s really good now—”
Again, Josie cut her off. “Bring him over on your way in.”
“Really?” Excitement filled Misty’s voice.
“Of course. I’ll be home. I just have to be out of the house by eight tomorrow.”
“I can pick him up at seven thirty. Thank you so much.”
Josie hung up and walked out to the counter where Noah stood, smiling, a cup of to-go coffee in his hand. So much for going home together.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Little Harris Quinn was a year old, and now that he was mobile, Josie couldn’t take her eyes off him for a second. His little toddler walk was still unsteady. He used her furniture to pull himself to standing and then walk from one end of the living room to the other. He’d been there for an hour, and every toy that Misty had brought with him, together with every toy that Josie kept for when he came over, was littered around the floor.
“You’re just a little baby tornado,” she told him as she scooped him up and squeezed him.
He squealed with delight, clapping his chubby little hands together. “Jo!” he cried.
Every time he said it, her heart skipped a beat. His father, her late husband, Ray, had been the only person allowed to call her Jo. Harris had only started doing it a few weeks earlier, and Josie knew it was because he couldn’t get her entire name out. He called Ray’s mother “Gam” instead of grandma, and Misty “Ma,” which had been his first word. Josie couldn’t believe how quickly he was growing. He seemed to reach a new milestone every day, and every time he said a new word, there was a flurry of phone calls among the three of them, marveling over him.
Josie settled into her rocking chair with him in her lap. She handed him his sippy cup and found one of the board books he liked to read whenever he came over. As they rocked, she read it to him. He nestled closer to her, his blond hair tickling her chin. When she finished, he held up a finger and said, “More?” That was his signal for one more, meaning to read it again. She kissed his head and turned to the front of the book to start over. Her mouth read the words with all the appropriate inflection, on auto-pilot, as she had done hundreds of times before, but her mind was on Gretchen.
Strangely, after seeing the flyer for the true crime book about the missing girls case, something had started chafing at the corners of her mind. Something important about Gretchen and the Soul Mate Strangler case. She couldn’t pry it out of her subconscious; not yet, anyway. She rocked Harris until he snored softly against her, then carried him upstairs to her room, where she had set up a co-sleeper crib next to her bed. He didn’t wake when she laid him down.
Downstairs, she sat in the living room and listened to him breathing through the handheld monitor. If Ray could see her now. He would never believe it, but he would be happy. Not for the first time, Josie wished he could see his beautiful son. But if Ray was still alive, Josie would never have gotten to know Harris. Misty, Ray, and baby Harris would be one happy little family unit, and Josie would never have been involved in his life. She would never know what it felt like to love another soul so much that you would kill or die for him without any thought of self-preservation.
“Oh my God.” She spoke the words aloud, jumping up and running over to her laptop in the kitchen. Her fingers worked so quickly, she got the password wrong three times. Muttering expletives under her breath, she finally got in, pulling up her internet browser and logging back on to the forum. It only took her a few minutes to find the thread she was looking for. She needed her phone. Back to the living room.
“Where the hell is it?”
Her hands scrabbled across the couch cushions, searching for her phone. Harris loved phones and always wanted to play with hers. She finally found it on the floor amid a set of soft blocks strewn about, covered in his sticky finger marks with only a five percent charge left.
She ran into the kitchen where she kept one of her chargers and plugged it in. Then she dialed Dr. Perry Larson. He answered right away.
“Detective?” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Larson,” Josie said. “I know it’s kind of late, but this is important. I need you to do something for me, and also, I have a few questions.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Gretchen looked as though she had lost weight in just the few days she’d been in custody. Her skin was sallow, and large bags hung beneath her eyes. Josie wondered if she was being targeted by other prisoners because she was a police officer. Loughlin had asked that she be kept in solitary confinement for her own safety, but Josie knew that sometimes their requests weren’t honored. She sat at a table in an interview room at the county jail, looking defeated. Her teeth scraped across her bottom lip.
Neither the district attorney nor Andrew Bowen would agree to let Josie interview her without Detective Heather Loughlin present, which Josie knew was going to happen. At least she knew that Loughlin was a good and fair detective who would be able to follow Josie’s lead or take over the questioning depending on how things went. Bowen insisted on being present, and as they filed into the room, he sat beside Gretchen.
While Josie and Loughlin sat across from Gretchen, Bowen said, “I strongly recommended against this interview, but my client has insisted on it.”
“We’re not here to trick or intimidate her,” Loughlin told him. “We’re trying to solve a crime. Detective Quinn believes she can help your client.”
Bowen shot Josie a nasty glare. “Oh yes, she’s good at helping people, isn’t she?”
“I want to talk to Josie in private, please,” Gretchen said without looking up from the table.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Bowen said.
“Andrew, please,” Gretchen said.
“Gretchen—”
She looked over at him. “I’m the client. Please. Wait outside, would you?”
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stood and stalked out of the room.
When the door closed behind him, Gretchen said, “Just Josie, please.”
Josie said, “Gretchen, you know how this works. Heather has to be here. It’s to protect you as much as it’s to protect the Denton PD. This is the best I could do.”
With a sigh, Gretchen sat back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling and blowing a breath out of her mouth. After a moment, she lowere
d her gaze to meet Josie’s eyes. “Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong,” she said.
Josie took a folded sheaf of papers from her inside jacket pocket, smoothed them out on the table, and pushed them across to Gretchen.
“I don’t have my reading glasses,” Gretchen said.
Loughlin took a pair from the top of her head and handed them to Gretchen. “I’m in the over-forty club too,” she joked lamely.
“Thank you,” Gretchen mumbled.
She put them on, adjusted them on the bridge of her nose, and started reading. After a few moments, she looked up at Josie. “What is this?”
“An autopsy report,” Josie answered.
“I don’t understand.”
Josie pointed to it. “That’s the autopsy report of the last serial killer who thought he could murder people in my town.”
“Well, Jesus,” Gretchen said with a small shudder.
“I know the Seattle Soul Mate Strangler is in Denton, Gretchen.”
What little color was left in her skin drained from her face. “No,” she croaked.
“I know he was there the day Omar was shot in your driveway,” Josie continued.
“No.”
“I’m going after him.”
“Oh God, no.”
“I can do it on my own, or you can help me.”
Something in Gretchen’s face closed off. Her eyes left Josie’s face, instead gazing at the wall behind Josie’s head. A vacant look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Gretchen, I know about Ethan. I know he’s your son.”
Her mouth twisted as she tried unsuccessfully to suppress her gasp. Still, she didn’t speak.
Josie said, “Tell me about Billy.”
A long moment passed in silence. Gretchen’s fingers folded and unfolded a corner of one of the pages in front of her. “Billy was my husband. We were very deeply in love, and then he died.”
“The Soul Mate Strangler killed him.”
Gretchen said nothing.