First Girl Gone(87)

He closed his eyes, pleased. Though not pleased enough to stop eating, which Charlie was fine with.

She pictured Frank again, laid out in the hospital bed, body almost motionless. His eyes swiveled again beneath his eyelids, that protruding lens wandering, searching for something, pointing everywhere and nowhere.

And she couldn’t help but wonder if Marlowe would be hers before long. Made her responsibility. A cat, a living being, inherited like a prized pocket watch being handed down to the next of kin.

Wasn’t that the most likely outcome here? And how long would it be?

She teared up a little at the thought.

Soon. Too soon.





Chapter Seventy-One





While Marlowe continued mowing down his turkey and giblets, Charlie slid her phone from her pocket and turned it on. There were fourteen missed calls and five messages waiting for her.

She stared at the screen, and part of her wanted to turn the phone back off immediately. It had been refreshing to detach from everything for a while. To not be bothered with the concerns of other people’s lives.

She waited, thinking this would be a perfect moment for Allie to interject with some snarky comment about Charlie’s antisocial tendencies, but the only things she heard were the tiny wet noises of the cat eating.

Charlie wondered how long Allie would stay away. On the heels of that thought, a second question, worse than the first: what if she never came back?

Heaving a sigh, Charlie listened to her voicemail. All of the calls were from last night, and most of them were Zoe, trying to get in touch to notify her about Frank. But there was also one message from Will.

“Charlie, it’s Will. Zoe called and told me what happened… about your uncle. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I… I’m sorry. About everything. Please call me.”

Charlie held the phone in her hand for several seconds, debating whether or not she should call him. She dialed Zoe instead.

“I’m so glad you called,” Zoe said after three rings. “I’ve been worrying about you all morning. How’s Frank?”

“Not great. I haven’t even been able to see him yet, except for through a pane of glass.”

Zoe groaned.

“Are you still at the hospital?”

“No. I came to feed his cat, but I’m heading back to the hospital later.” Charlie peeked over the counter to watch Marlowe lick the last morsels of food from the bowl.

“I’m gonna try to make it out there myself after work.”

“I know that would mean a lot to him,” Charlie said. “So what’s going on with the case? Did they search the barn?”

“They did.”

“And they found the… well… the feet?”

“Right where you said they’d be.”

“And?”

There was a pause and then a rustling sound as Zoe sighed into the receiver.

“And they arrested Gibbs.”

Charlie fell quiet for a few seconds. Her pulse throbbed in her ears.

“I see.”

“The DA charged him with murder. They’re searching the whole property right now, tearing it up, looking for any sign of Kara Dawkins, dead or alive.”

“Zoe, I told you someone planted that evidence,” Charlie said, then suddenly wondered if she had indeed mentioned that part. She didn’t remember much of the phone call after Zoe had broken the news about Frank. But no, she was certain she’d emphasized that point.

“I know that, but look… it was already complicated enough, explaining that I got an anonymous tip on my personal cell phone. And I think you’re forgetting, I’m a lowly street cop, not a detective. No one here cares what I think. Sheriff Brown is up for re-election this year. He wants an open and shut case. The last thing he wants is this dangling over his head while he’s campaigning.”

“It’s not right,” Charlie said. She wanted to say more, but the words wouldn’t come. The pulsing in her ears seemed to grow louder.

“Charlie, this isn’t—”

Charlie cut her off.

“Zoe, did you see the house?”

“No, I wasn’t assigned to the search.”

Charlie took a deep breath. The calmer she sounded, the more Zoe would have to take her seriously.

“It was a mess. Cluttered with all sorts of junk. I don’t think Gibbs owns a vacuum or a broom or has ever heard of housework. But everything about the feet was neat. The way they were wrapped. Someone had wiped up the dust in the area, for crying out loud. The scene was staged.”

“I hear you, but—” Zoe said, but Charlie interrupted. She wasn’t going to accept any “buts” right now.

“What about the fact that the killer has been sending me emails since the beginning of all of this? There wasn’t a computer in Gibbs’ house. He still has VHS tapes, Zoe. Tapes. Leroy Gibbs has probably never sent an email in his life. There’s no way he knows how to spoof an email address.”

“I was there when they formally arrested him. Helped catalogue his personal belongings. He doesn’t own a cell phone. Can you imagine? How is that even possible?”

Charlie gripped the phone tighter in her fist, praying that Zoe was on the path of listening to reason.

“It can’t be him. None of it fits. Gibbs is not the guy.”