Vanishing Girls (Detective Josie Quinn #1)(6)

His eyes flicked to his lap. “No, a searcher did. It was kind of embarrassing since our guys had already taken a pass in that area right after Coleman went missing. Anyway, this lady found it and called it in. Dusty and I took it into evidence.”

“Well, a few minutes before the crash I saw Dirk Spencer on the news talking about what a great girl Isabelle is and how everyone just wants her to come home.”

“You think this…” he motioned toward the crash, “has something to do with Isabelle Coleman’s disappearance?”

“You mean abduction.”

“You know what I mean.”

Josie told him about Dirk Spencer whispering the name Ramona before he lapsed into unconsciousness. Three horizontal lines appeared on Ray’s forehead. It was the same look he got when she asked him to pick up tampons at the store. Puzzled consternation. “So what?” he replied. “It’s probably his girlfriend.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess. So what’s the chief holding back on the Coleman case?”

He stared at her, one eyebrow lifting. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Josie’s head throbbed. “You think I won’t find out eventually?”

Exasperated, Ray said, “Why can’t you just follow the rules? Just one time? You’re asking me to put my own job in jeopardy, Jo.”

She couldn’t contain her incredulous “Puh.” She laughed. “Your job? You’re kidding me, right? You really think the chief would fire you for sharing information with someone in the department? I am your superior,” she reminded him.

It was a sore subject. He might have been promoted alongside her if the chief hadn’t kept finding empty whiskey bottles in the footwell of his patrol car. Turned out it wasn’t that easy to storm out of an ambulance. He stumbled and nearly fell to the asphalt outside. The last thing Josie heard was “Son of a bitch.”

Luke slid in beside her with a fresh ice pack, and this time she held it to her temple. Her headache was getting worse by the moment. She needed some ibuprofen. Her adrenaline was fading, leaving her entire body aching.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Just trying to find out what he knows about the Coleman case.”

He put a hand on her knee. “Josie,” he began, but he didn’t lecture her. She liked that about him.

“What’ve you got on this mess?” she asked.

Luke sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Squat, that’s what we’ve got. All we know is that they came from the interstate. But it’s like they were shooting at an invisible car. We know there was another vehicle involved because of all the rounds shot into the Escalade, but all we’ve got are spent bullets.”

“What kind?”

“Nine millimeter, 30.06 and some 7.62 by 39s,” Luke said.

Josie moved the ice pack to her left shoulder. “A handgun and a hunting rifle? Well, that narrows it down. Practically every male in the state has those. The 7.62s are a little less common around here.”

“AK-47s take 7.62 by 39 rounds. Lots of inner-city gangs use those.”

“So you think this was a gang thing?”

“Vehicle is registered to one Carlos Garza of Philadelphia—the driver. He’s a known member of The 23, a Latino gang out of Philadelphia.”

“That’s the number the other two had tattooed on the backs of their necks. Whatever this was may have started on the interstate, but Philadelphia is two hours away.”

“You know as well as I do the drug trade doesn’t respect borders,” Luke pointed out.

“So this could all be over drugs?”

“Sure looks that way.”

“Then what was Denton East High’s twelfth-grade history teacher doing in the passenger’s seat, and who’s Ramona?”

Luke shrugged. “Who knows? Hopefully Spencer will make it through and be able to tell us himself.”





Chapter Five





Josie hated not being on the job. She wanted to be out there working. If not on the Coleman case, then on the shooting. That made two extremely unusual crimes in Denton in the past week, and she didn’t get to be a part of solving either of them. She lingered around the Stop and Go for as long as she could but when Trinity Payne pulled up in her WYEP news van, Josie knew it was time to go.

At home, she locked the door, stripped off her torn clothes and headed straight for the bathroom. She turned the faucet on to fill the tub and inspected herself in the full-length mirror; her entire left side was starting to turn a nasty plum color. She was lucky to have narrowly escaped the Escalade, inches away from being the fourth fatality. Goosebumps prickled her skin. She wished Luke was there. For once, she wished he had the kind of job where he could just call off and spend the rest of the day with her, quieting her anxiety.

But she was alone for the rest of the day, and it was only noon. She sat on the edge of the tub and eased her lower left leg into it, hissing through gritted teeth as the open skin met the hot water like dipping it in hot lava. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was big. She cleaned it with anti-bacterial soap, patted it dry and, limping, she made her way into the bedroom and sprawled out on her bed. Tucking a pillow beneath her calf to elevate it, she found two ibuprofens in her nightstand and swallowed them dry.