by Lisa Regan
“She told you that all she cared about then and all she cares about now is protecting her child,” Noah reminded her.
Then.
She sprang up, nearly elbowing Noah in the face as she did.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I know where Ethan Robinson is,” Josie said.
She jumped out of bed and went to her dresser, pulling out clean clothes. “Get dressed,” she told him.
“Are you serious?”
“Do you really need to ask that question?”
Chapter Sixty-Three
The stationhouse was relatively quiet as they entered through the lobby with coffees from Komorrah’s in hand and made their way up to their desks.
“I need those phone records again,” she said.
“Gretchen’s or Omar’s?” Noah asked, setting his coffee down on his desk and starting to thumb through the piles on his desk.
“Omar’s,” Josie said, searching her own desk for a copy.
“Got it,” Noah said. He plucked the packet from his desk and brought it around to where Josie stood.
She flipped through until she found the call. It was the last call, made from Omar’s phone to Ethan’s phone in that undefined length of time between Gretchen leaving the station to meet Omar at her home and the first patrol car arriving at her home to find Omar dead in the driveway. “This was Gretchen,” she told Noah, pointing to the call. “Not O’Hara. Somehow, she was able to get alone or at least out of earshot of O’Hara, gain access to Omar’s phone, and call Ethan. Look, the call is four minutes long.”
“How long does it take to disable the MDT?” Noah asked.
“I don’t know, but if O’Hara was the one who did it, it would have taken at least that long.”
“So Gretchen’s alone in the car with the phones while O’Hara’s prying the external antenna off and tossing the whole thing into the river,” Noah said.
“Right,” Josie agreed.
“What does she tell Ethan?” he asked. “She’s got four minutes. What does she say?”
“She tells him to do what she did when she was his age. When she was young and stupid and needed protection from this guy. She tells him to go to Devil’s Blade.”
Noah stared at her for a long moment. When he didn’t say anything, Josie said, “Think about it. It’s the most failproof plan she could possibly come up with. She knows Devil’s Blade will hide him. That’s why she needs more time. O’Hara is so arrogant, he thinks he’s getting over on her. He’s probably out there looking for Ethan right now so he can kill him. As soon as she knows Ethan is safe, she’ll come clean.”
She watched her words sink in. His brow furrowed. “What do we do?” he asked. “We just call up the Seattle chapter of the Devil’s Blade and say, ‘Hey, we’re looking for this kid’?”
Josie laughed. “No. I have a better idea. Ethan’s way in with Devil’s Blade must surely be through the man and woman who gave Gretchen the jacket. I’ve got to call Steve Boyd with Philly Homicide and see if he knows their names, or if he doesn’t, see if he can get them. Linc’s people were at the trial every day, he said. Then we find them.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Boyd didn’t know the man or the woman’s name. He promised to do everything he could to find them out and get back to her as soon as possible. In the meantime, Josie went back to philly.com to read the articles about the murders and the trial that she had seen before, searching for any mention of Linc Shore’s wife or girlfriend or any other Devil’s Blade member. There was nothing. She called Jack Starkey to see if he or any of his ATF contacts knew Linc’s old lady or anyone else particularly close to Linc. As it turned out, Linc had had several old ladies and several close associates in the gang. Josie suggested narrowing the list down to anyone who would have had a significant enough presence in Linc’s life to travel to Philadelphia for his killer’s trial. Starkey said he’d get to work and get back to her.
The morning had slipped past while she and Noah made phone calls and tried to follow the Devil’s Blade lead to locate Ethan Robinson. It was close to noon when Chitwood appeared beside her desk. “Quinn,” he said. “We’re doing this press conference.”
“Chief,” she said, “please. Another day or two. I think we can locate Ethan Robinson. He’ll be able to positively ID O’Hara as the Strangler. He’s got the DNA evidence. We can issue a warrant.”
“I can’t give you any more time, Quinn,” Chitwood told her, his voice shockingly gentle. “We need to go after this guy. He killed three people in this city in the span of a few days. The longer he’s out there, the greater the odds he’ll kill again. We need his face on every television and website in this country. Someone will recognize him. By that time, we’ll have found the Robinson kid. We can’t wait on this.”
Across the desks, Noah gave her a nod. She would have liked to have Ethan Robinson in her custody before setting the media loose on Ed O’Hara, but she certainly felt better knowing they had viable leads for finding him. It was only a matter of time. The sad truth was that Ethan was probably safer under the protection of the outlaw motorcycle gang than police departments who might not have the resources to protect him long-term—or on his own.
“Okay,” Josie said.
Chitwood patted her shoulder. “We’ll pregame in an hour. Press will be here in two.”
Josie hadn’t been in front of cameras for months, and she didn’t miss it one bit. In the twenty-four hours since Chitwood had decided to call the press conference in the first place, he had managed to alert nearly the entire world that the double murder committed in central Pennsylvania a week earlier was connected to a cold serial case. By the time the press conference rolled around two hours later, they had to move it to the municipal parking lot to make room for all the reporters. Cameras and lights pointed at Josie as she stood behind a podium with the Denton PD crest on it. She’d tried to cover the cut on her face with makeup, but she knew it would still stand out.
Still, she did as Chitwood suggested. After she went over the Wilkins murder and the evidence that connected their case to the cold Seattle Soul Mate Strangler case, and identified Ed O’Hara as their person of interest, she pulled herself up straight and tall, looked directly into the sea of cameras as if she was looking into the killer’s face, and delivered a message meant for him. “Your time is up. This is the end of the road. We know your name. We know where you live. Your reign of terror is over. Make this easy on yourself and your victims: turn yourself in. Make no mistake, I will not stop until I’ve caught you and put the cuffs on your wrists.”
She didn’t take questions. As she walked back into the building, the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to her. By the time she got to her desk, she felt like she could put her head down and go right to sleep there for six hours. Lucky for her, Noah had a mug of coffee waiting. He set it down before her and she thanked him.
“You did great out there,” he said. “We’ll wait until the press clears out, and then we can grab a bite to eat and get out of here.”
“Sounds perfect,” Josie said, smiling.
“My place tonight?”
She realized he hadn’t gone home to change the entire day. “Absolutely.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
They called it a day early, went to Noah’s house, and collapsed into his bed. Too exhausted to fool around, they both fell deeply asleep. When she woke, it was dark outside, and a glance at the clock showed they’d been sleeping for four hours. Beside her, Noah lay flat on his back, snoring lightly. She leaned over and traced the line of his jaw, then ran her fingers through his thick brown hair. It was something she wanted to do often, but of course, never could because they were work colleagues. Now, everything had changed.
Smiling, she woke him with a kiss.
An hour later they were showered and dressed in sweats, sitting at Noah’s kitchen table together, a smorgasbord of Chinese takeout spread before them.
“This,�
�� Noah said, stabbing a piece of sweet-and-sour chicken with his fork. “This is nice.”
“The food?” Josie teased.
“No,” he replied, waving his fork around. “This. Us. Together with no interruptions. Finally.”
He was right, of course, but Josie knew it was only a temporary reprieve. At any moment one or both of their phones would ring—hopefully with a lead or good news about Ethan Robinson. Gretchen’s whispered words about needing more time still pricked at the back of her mind. It was like gravel in her shoe. Every time she thought she got it out, she’d start walking again, only to be stabbed in the sole of her foot once more.
“I know that look,” Noah said.
She blinked and focused on his face, on the sexy stubble that had grown in that day. “What look is that?”
“You’re thinking about work.” He took a bite of rice. He wasn’t angry or even annoyed, and she loved him for that.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He smiled. “Don’t be. I know you can’t help it. So, tell me, what’s on your mind?”
She sighed and selected an egg roll, picking at its flaky skin. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Still?”
“Shouldn’t Ethan be with the Devil’s Blade by now?” she asked. “It’s been a week.”
“Hard to say,” Noah said. “We’re assuming he had to go to the Seattle chapter. We don’t know how much instruction Gretchen was able to give him. Maybe it was just a name. He had to get to Seattle and locate some man or some woman and then convince them not to let Devil’s Blade kill him. Gretchen asked for more time. She must be expecting some sort of notification either from this kid or from Devil’s Blade.”
“I still think there’s something, something important, that we haven’t figured out yet.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything we need to figure out. We know who killed Omar. We know why Gretchen lied. We know who killed the Wilkins couple. We know the identity of the Soul Mate Strangler, and we even have a damn good idea where to find Ethan Robinson.”
Josie put her egg roll back down. He was right, of course, but she was still bothered. Noah put his fork on the table, stood, and walked over to her, extending a hand. “Come on,” he said. “Let me help clear your head.”
Josie laughed. She took his hand and let him lead her upstairs.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Josie woke to the sound of her cell phone beeping. She reached across Noah’s sleeping form to snag it from his bedside table. The screen cast a blue glow across the entire room. The time read midnight. It was Trinity.
I think we should do the twin study with Larson. It might give us access to whatever programs and techniques these kids used to track down a serial killer. Btw, good job on solving the case.
Josie sighed. She typed back,
It’s late. I’m not doing the twin study. And thanks.
A minute later, a reply came back.
I’ve never known you to sleep.
Josie glanced at Noah.
I’m going to start trying.
Think about the twin study. Larson says it’s extremely hard to find twins separated at birth. We can really help and all it requires is doing some interviews.
Josie tapped back:
You’re just looking for a story on using DNA to find killers.
Trinity: I’m always looking for a story. Followed with a smiley face emoji with its tongue sticking out. Let’s just do the study.
* * *
Josie typed: NO!!!
* * *
Trinity: Ok, we’ll talk later.
“Oh for God’s sake,” Josie muttered.
She read back over the exchange, smiling in spite of herself, and the piece of the puzzle lodged in the back of her mind loosened and fell into place. Epigenetics. The twin study. Twins separated at birth. “Holy shit,” she said aloud. How had she missed it? It had been there the entire time, right in front of her face.
“Noah,” she said, shaking his shoulder.
He moaned in his sleep.
“Noah, I figured it out. I know what Gretchen was hiding.”
He mumbled a few sleepy words and turned over onto his stomach. She thought about waking him so she could tell him, so they could discuss it, but decided against it. As shocking as the revelation was, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it until the morning anyway. But now her adrenaline coursed through her veins, setting her whole body on fire. She tried to go back to sleep, listening to Noah’s even breaths, feeling the warmth of his body radiate toward her. After twenty minutes, she gave up and padded downstairs. She’d stayed at his house during the Belinda Rose case enough times that she didn’t need to flip on the lights. The overhead light outside on the front stoop illuminated the foyer just enough, and the clock on the cable box in the living room gave off enough glow for her to make her way through the rooms and into the kitchen.
She had just stepped into the doorway of Noah’s kitchen, her fingers on the light switch, when alarm bells sounded in her head. In her mind, she traced her steps back past the living room, then the foyer. The foyer. In the dull lamplight from outside, she had seen the table where they normally deposited their keys. Tonight, they had been so exhausted they’d discarded their holsters with their service weapons there as well. Noah had also left his phone. But when she had passed by it in the dark, the only thing that lay there was an old leather jacket.
Her breath froze in her body. Her throat constricted. Her fingertips trembled against the light switch.
A leather jacket. Gretchen’s jacket.
Which meant that Ed O’Hara, the Seattle Soul Mate Strangler, was inside Noah’s house.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Her mind worked frantically, going over all the things she had learned from the forum and from Jack Starkey. Even the Wilkins scene. The flashlight. He would have a flashlight. Disorienting his victims in the dark using the beam was part of his MO.
Josie flipped on the kitchen light. She wasn’t going to let him have the element of surprise. In her chest, her heart raced so fast it set her entire body to vibrate. Slowly, she walked across the room and opened a cabinet, taking out a glass, still trying to act natural while she figured out what the hell to do. She could leave. She could climb out a kitchen window, run out the back door. But she couldn’t leave Noah inside the house. She couldn’t leave him behind. Noah’s phone was gone, as were their guns. Her phone was upstairs in the bedroom. She thought about the unit that Chitwood had promised. Were they still out there? Had the killer hurt them, or had he snuck in through the back of the house without them noticing? She had to assume that O’Hara had done something to them and that they would not be able to come to the rescue. Squeezing the glass in her hand, she thought about how she would do it—if she wanted to render two police officers powerless without actually discharging a weapon. There were plenty of ways to do it if someone was ruthless enough or manipulative enough—and Josie knew that O’Hara was both of those things.
Loosening her grip on the glass, she dropped it on the tile. It shattered, the sound like a gunshot in the small room. She felt a piece of glass lodge in her calf. Reaching into the cabinet, she took out two more glasses and dropped those as well. Shards of glass flew everywhere, more lodging in the skin of her feet and legs. When she had shattered every drinking glass, she went for the plates.
“Josie?” It was Noah’s voice.
With bloody bare feet, she edged around the corner of the room to avoid the glass as much as she could. At the doorway she could see that he had turned on the hall light that illuminated the upstairs hall, the steps, and a portion of the downstairs.
Barefoot and bare-chested in boxer shorts, he trudged down the steps, eyes bleary with sleep. He stopped three steps from the bottom. “What’s going on?”
Josie smiled. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was trying to get something from the back of the cabinet, and there was an avalanche of dishes.”
H
e scratched his head, still looking at her in the low light.
Silently, hoping his lip-reading was as good as always, she mouthed: He’s here. He took our guns. My phone is upstairs.
She saw his shoulders tense, watched the fatigue in his face recede and every line of his posture sharpen with the realization. “Oh,” he said. “Well, let me help you clean it up.”
He mouthed: Where?
“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’ve got this. You go back to bed.”
I don’t know, she responded silently. Wherever he was—the foyer, the living room, or perhaps even the dining room that Noah never used—he was listening to their entire exchange, this she knew. Would he wait until he had them both together to strike? Were they putting themselves at risk even standing here this long, talking?
“Are you sure?” he asked.
You go, Noah mouthed.
He wanted her to leave. To go out the back door, a kitchen window. To get out.
I’m not leaving you, she responded.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
My phone is upstairs, she urged him.
She couldn’t leave him behind. She’d never walked away from a fight in her life. She wasn’t about to run from this one and leave the man she loved behind to face a monster who killed as easily as he breathed.
“Okay,” he told her. “I’ll see you up there.”
He made the shape of a gun with his right hand, the barrel pointed toward the ceiling. There was another gun upstairs. He just had to get to it.
Go, she mouthed seconds before she felt the cold hard barrel of a gun pressed against the base of her neck and a meaty hand clamp down on her shoulder. Noah’s face registered shock and a fleeting panic before hardening into anger.