Josie said, “Don’t disappear again.”
Over his shoulder, he said, “I won’t. We’ve got dinner with Misty and Harris tonight. I want to hear how the first day of Pre-K went.”
“I’ll see you there,” she said.
He turned briefly and waved his phone in the air. “Text me the picture of that sticker so I can show it around Hollister.”
She took out her phone and fired off the text to him. Then she watched him until he disappeared around the front of the building, headed toward one of the walking paths that led to lower campus. The moment of peace she’d felt while close to him leeched away, replaced by a deep ache thinking about how Nysa Somers’ family would never get to hear how any of her days had gone ever again.
Thirteen
Back inside the campus police headquarters, students had begun to arrive, most of them dressed in sweatshirts and shorts, some even in pajamas. All of them looked stricken and vaguely confused. Hahlbeck had corralled them into the reception area, which only had two guest chairs, both taken. The rest of the students leaned against the walls or sat on the tile floor. A low murmur found its way around the room. Josie heard the words “Nysa” and “dead” several times. A woman who appeared older than most of the students circulated around the room, giving out hugs and reassurances. One of the coaches, Josie thought.
“Boss.” Her attention was pulled away from the tableau by Mettner. Josie looked over her shoulder and saw him standing in the hallway. He waved her back.
“You want to interview each witness together, or you take one and I take one in separate rooms?” he asked once they were out of earshot of everyone else.
“Let’s do separate interviews,” Josie answered. “We’ll get through them faster.”
Hahlbeck offered them each a room. The one Mettner went into was clearly an interview room, with only a table and some chairs inside it. Josie was stationed across the hall in a room with two desks, positioned opposite one another, each bracketed by a filing cabinet and a guest chair. She guessed this was where the officers did their paperwork. She chose the desk closest to the door and sat down. Hahlbeck had provided a pen and legal pad. As a campus police officer ushered in the first student, Josie patted the guest chair. “Sit,” she said. “I just have a few questions.”
Most of the interviews didn’t take very long. Primarily because no one had anything to offer. No one had seen or heard from Nysa the night before—unless one of them was lying, but Josie didn’t get that impression from any of them. The whole exercise felt more like giving a half dozen death notifications than anything else. Nearly all the students took news of Nysa’s death extremely hard. She was well liked and known for her kindness and sense of humor. Listening to the other students talk so highly of her only made Josie’s heart ache even more. All of them said the same things that Christine Trostle had said: Nysa didn’t use drugs and rarely drank alcohol; they didn’t recognize the sticker; Nysa hadn’t seemed depressed; and none of them were aware of her having any history of anxiety or depression. None of them knew—or would admit to knowing—whether or not Nysa had been seeing anyone.
At some point, Josie and Mettner conferred in the hallway to compare notes. The results of his interviews were the same. They were getting nowhere. The only news had come from Gretchen, who had let Mettner know that Nysa’s parents had made a positive ID and that they had returned to their hotel. “They’re going to stay in town until her body is released,” Mettner said. “Gretchen says she didn’t ask them much. They were too distraught.”
“I’m sure,” Josie said. “We can talk with them later. Have you talked to any student named Hudson?”
Mettner scrolled down the list of students he’d made on his phone. “No.”
“How many are left?”
Mettner walked to the end of the hall, peeked into the reception area, and returned. “Five,” he said.
It was after lunch, and Josie was exhausted and starving. “See if we can get a pizza or something,” she told him. “We still have a long day ahead of us.”
He nodded and walked back to the reception area. “I’m sending the next person back to you.”
Josie pegged her next candidate for the coach immediately because he looked older than everyone else. He was tall and solid, with large features, and dark hair trimmed close to his head. He wore a pair of khaki pants and a Denton U windbreaker. A lanyard hung around his neck. On closer inspection, Josie saw that it had a photo of him over the name Brett Pace, Head Coach. She recognized him then from the WYEP news story. WYEP had only given him a short sound bite, a few seconds, wherein he had praised Nysa Somers.
“Mr. Pace,” she said, gesturing to the guest chair. “Please have a seat.”
The chair creaked as he lowered himself into it. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his large palms together. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I guess it’s true then. About Nysa? She’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” Josie said. “I’m very sorry.”
“What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Josie said. “Tell me, how long have you been coaching?”
He smiled at her as if they were old friends, and she realized that he was used to getting his way using his looks and any charm he might possess. “Officer,” he said.
“Detective.”
“Detective, listen. I know you can’t tell these kids anything, but I’m the head coach. I worked directly with Nysa almost every day. I promise you nothing that you tell me will leave this room.”
Josie raised a brow at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pace.”
“Coach,” he said.
Josie smiled. “Coach, I’m not at liberty to give out any details of an ongoing investigation.”
“So this is an investigation? Nysa wasn’t… murdered, was she?” His brow furrowed.
Josie leaned in toward him. “Do you have reason to believe she was murdered, Coach Pace?”
He leaned away from her. “No. I don’t. Unless it was some random attack. But she was found in the pool, wasn’t she?”
Ignoring his question, Josie said, “How long have you been coaching here?”
“About six years.” He scooted forward in his seat, flashing her a dazzling grin that quickly morphed into an earnest look of concern. He lowered his voice until it was almost a whisper. “Detective, we’re two reasonable adults, aren’t we? I’m telling you, I can keep a secret. I just can’t believe that Nysa was found dead in the pool. She’s the strongest swimmer on the team. Something had to have happened to her. Was she… beaten? Did someone…” He didn’t finish, and Josie saw what she thought was the first flicker of true emotion flash in his eyes. “Did someone hurt her?”
“We won’t know anything until after the autopsy,” she told him. “I know this is very distressing and very shocking, but you have to let the process play out, and that means waiting on the autopsy and the results of our investigation. It would really help if you answered some of my questions. I understand that you’re the head coach?”