Save Her Soul (Detective Josie Quinn #9)(47)

Josie said, “How about your other employees? Do you have any current employees who worked here when Vera was here?”

“I do have two girls—women—I could ask them. Or you could. They’re not on till later this evening. I’m not sure either of them would remember more than I do.”

“If you could ask them about Vera’s clients, that would be very helpful,” Josie said.

Sara clapped her hands together. “You know what I do have! Photo albums! Before cell phone cameras and social media, we used to take photos of our clients and keep them in albums for new clients to peruse. I could have the other two girls go through some of our old photo albums together and come up with a list of Vera’s clients. It won’t be a complete list, but it would be something.”

Josie smiled. “I would be very grateful if you could do that. Perhaps you could even pull some of the pictures as well?”

“Certainly,” Sara answered. “I’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”

Josie fished in her pocket for a business card as her cell phone rang. She took it out and swiped answer without looking at the number. “Quinn.”

There was a breath and then, “Detective? It’s Alice.”

Josie’s fingers brushed over a business card in her jacket pocket. She handed it to Sara and pointed to her cell number. “Call me at this number,” she said. “I’ll let myself out.” Striding out to the parking lot with the phone pressed to her ear, she said, “Alice? You there?”

“I’m here.”

“What happened today? We went to the place you suggested. You weren’t there.”

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t get there. It wasn’t safe.”

“Wasn’t safe?” Josie said, ducking into her car to get out of the rain. “Alice, are you in danger? Is someone trying to hurt you? If that’s the case, I can meet you somewhere right now, take you into protective custody until we get things ironed out.”

They didn’t actually have any facilities designated for protective custody at Denton PD, but if Josie could get this woman to come in, she’d work something out with the Chief and her team to make sure that Alice was out of harm’s way.

“I can’t. I really can’t. It’s… delicate. I can explain but it has to be in person.”

Josie said, “Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you right now. No one has to know. No one will see us.”

“No,” Alice said. “If we do this, it has to be on my terms. Early tomorrow. In the morning. Seven a.m. You know that road that runs parallel to the interstate? There’s a few buildings there. A motel, a warehouse, an abandoned bowling alley?”

“Lockwood,” Josie said. “Lockwood Road. Alice, that’s partially flooded. That area of the interstate beside it flooded earlier today. We watched from the Stop-N-Go. It’s not safe.”

“It’s not all flooded,” Alice insisted. “Behind the abandoned bowling alley. We’ll meet there. No one will look for me there.”

No one would look for anyone there, Josie thought. That whole strip was like a graveyard. “Alice, it’s too dangerous to be that close to one of the flood zones. I think we should pick another place.”

Alice made a noise of frustration. “Seven a.m. behind the abandoned bowling alley on Lockwood. This is the last time I’m putting myself out there. You come or you don’t, but tomorrow at seven-fifteen, I’m gone, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

The next thing Josie heard was dead air.





Twenty-Three





It was nearing dinnertime when Josie got back to the stationhouse. The first thing she did was call the police department in the Georgia district where Floyd Urban lived. She explained that they had a murder and a missing woman on their hands and that in 1987 that missing woman, Vera Urban, claimed to have stayed with her brother while on bedrest. She asked them if they could interview Floyd as well as members of his family, and possibly neighbors as it looked as though he’d lived in the same house for over thirty years, to see if anyone remembered seeing Vera there. Next, she emailed them Vera’s old driver’s license photo. Josie had a feeling it was a dead end and that Vera had simply lied about going to be with her brother while on bedrest, but it would be irresponsible not to have a closer look at Floyd Urban.

Once that was finished, Josie met with Gretchen and Noah. Mettner was still out on emergency flood calls. Amber sat at one of the empty desks, typing away at her tiny laptop. She didn’t acknowledge them, but Josie was sure she was listening to everything they said. Noah waved a document in the air. “I found your construction worker. The one who worked for George Newton’s basement waterproofing company?”

He handed the pages to Josie. As she skimmed them, Gretchen wheeled her chair over so she could see as well. There was an obituary and a death certificate. Noah said, “His name was Ambrose McNeil. As you can see there, he had a history of arrests for drug possession and intent to sell. He was convicted of possession of heroin—four grams—and spent two years in prison before coming to work for Newton.”

Josie pointed to a line on the death certificate. “He died of a heroin overdose.”

Gretchen said, “And he was only twenty-seven.”