The Bones She Buried: A completely gripping, heart-stopping crime thriller(44)

“Right. I don’t think so either. Maybe you’re right, she dumped Sam and he killed himself, and she felt guilty about it. Or she knew who killed Sam, and she was trying to come clean to Drew, although why would she just tell him everything after all those years? It makes no sense,” Josie said.

“Not necessarily,” Mettner said. “Maybe she couldn’t live with the guilt of having driven Sam to suicide any longer and needed to make amends with his family. Or let’s say she had another lover who got jealous and killed Sam. Maybe Colette either knew or at least suspected that her jealous lover was behind his death. Maybe she couldn’t live with the guilt any longer, and she decided to approach Drew. He was a prosecutor. Maybe she thought he could help her—although it doesn’t account for what she was doing with his flash drive.”

“True. Maybe that’s why Drew Pratt was distraught in the weeks leading to his death—not because of anything to do with the Kickbacks scandal, but because he had finally found out what happened to his brother,” Josie theorized. “Then she ended up luring Drew to his death, just like Sam; perhaps not intentionally, but it happened just the same. And yet like you said, why did she have Drew Pratt’s flash drive? Why did she have personal effects from each of them? Why keep them? And who does the belt buckle belong to?”

Josie could see Mettner’s frown, even in profile. “It is disturbing, isn’t it? I mean usually only serial killers keep trophies, right?”

“Right. I can’t see Colette as some kind of killer, but anything is possible, I guess.” She sighed. “Noah’s not going to like this line of questioning one bit.”

“We’re going to have to have a more in-depth conversation with Noah’s dad,” Mettner said.

“Noah’s not going to like that either.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Mettner said. “But there’s a killer on the loose, and he’s escalating.”

Josie swore she could still smell the smoke in her hair from the fire at Beth Pratt’s house the night before, even though she had washed it twice. She said, “I know.”





Thirty-One





Back at the station house, they updated Chief Chitwood and Gretchen, and then ordered takeout. Josie checked her cell phone, but there were no messages from Noah. She tried calling him but got no answer. She sent him a text threatening half-jokingly that she was going to send a unit to his house to check on him if he didn’t let her know he was alive. It took ten minutes, but finally, he texted back, I’m alive. Packing Mom’s house today. Josie felt part relief and part anxiety. She was happy he was responding, of course, but she missed the genial and even flirty nature of their usual exchanges. He used to end nearly every text to her with a series of smiley faces or a ‘love you’. Inwardly, she chastised herself. Noah had just lost his mother in a horrifically violent way. The least of his concerns was making Josie feel reassured. She felt selfish for even thinking about it. She turned her mind to another worry—would Noah be safe alone at his mother’s house? They still didn’t know what the killer was after, and in only a matter of days Beth Pratt had been murdered, her house burned to the ground, and Mason Pratt had been attacked in his sleep.

She picked up the phone and dialed dispatch to see if Officer Hummel was still on shift then called his cell phone and asked him to run checks on Colette’s house.

Without looking up from her computer screen, Gretchen said, “Good call.”

When Mettner appeared next to her desk, it was a welcome relief. He handed Josie a list of what looked like antique dealers and pawn shops. “I had Hummel work on this today. He got nowhere with your belt buckle.”

With a heavy sigh, Josie studied the list. “We’re going about this the wrong way.”

Gretchen looked up from her computer. “What do you mean?”

“The year has to have some significance. It was forty-five years ago.” She looked at Mettner. “Have someone go over to Rockview.”

“The nursing home?” Mettner asked.

“Yes,” Josie said. “Get someone to talk to the residents. Show them the photos of the belt buckle. Many of them would have been young to middle-aged in 1973. Someone might have an idea as to its significance or where it came from.”

“You got it,” Mettner said, walking off.

Gretchen stood, stretched her arms over head, and called after him. “Don’t go too far. I got you two a meeting with Lance Fraley.”

Chitwood appeared in his open doorway. “Palmer can go,” he said.

Mettner, who was almost at the steps, froze and looked back at the Chief.

Gretchen’s face filled with hope. “I’m off the desk?”

Chitwood raised a brow. “No, not entirely. But we’ve got two murders—and I consider Beth Pratt’s to be pretty damn high-profile—and now an arson and another Pratt in danger. So Palmer can help very quietly with some of the leg work. Quinn, you’ll take Palmer to see Lance Fraley. Mettner, you track down that belt buckle yourself. I’ve already got the ERT working overtime to process the evidence from the Pratt murder scene, and now the Pratt arson scene plus Mason Pratt’s house. I have more crimes than I have people. But Palmer, I swear to God, if you step out of line even one time, even just a little bit, your ass is on the desk until you retire.”