Josie gestured to Dr. Feist’s open laptop. “Do you mind?”
She pushed it across the coffee table to Josie. Then she and Gretchen sat on either side of Josie on the couch, peering at the computer screen as Josie did an extensive background check on Amber Watts, finding nothing amiss and no red flags. “The ad,” Josie mumbled. “The Chief wanted me to see if the Mayor put the ad up for a press liaison several months ago. Amber says that was when she answered it.” Sure enough, Josie found the ad posted on several job search sites two months earlier.
Dr. Feist sighed. “Looks like your Amber/Mayor Charleston lead is a dead end.”
Gretchen said, “Let’s just focus on Vera for now. Hopefully we’ll find something that leads to her killer—and Beverly’s as well.”
Twenty-Nine
There was no opportunity to sneak off to the liquor store for the rest of the evening. Misty and Harris showed up before Gretchen and Dr. Feist left and shortly after that, Noah came home. Josie went through the motions, passing the rest of the night in a daze and giving an unconvincing, “I’m fine” every time Misty or Noah asked if she was all right. Sleep eluded her, especially given the pain in her leg, which ibuprofen did little to relieve. The moment the gray of morning began filtering through their bedroom windows, she got up, showered, and took Trout for a run. She stopped at the Spur Mobile store to get a new phone before picking up Gretchen in the parking lot of the stationhouse.
Warrants ready, they headed to the Patio Motel. It had been around as long as Josie could remember, a scar on the community. The city police made more drug and prostitution arrests there than anywhere else in the area. It was a sagging, two-story building with eight rooms on each floor. Most of the room numbers were now marked in Sharpie on the doors. Beat-up vehicles sat in the parking spaces just out front of the rooms. Josie knew from asking Noah the evening before that none of the vehicles found in the lot were registered to anyone named Alice. However Vera had gotten to Denton, she hadn’t driven a vehicle of her own.
Between the parking lot and the tiny motel office was an in-ground pool that had long been filled with garbage. At one point, someone had attempted to grow a small garden at one end of the pool, but now all that was left was a bright red tulip jutting out of soil littered with broken glass and fast food wrappers.
A sullen woman with black hair and narrowed eyes greeted them at the motel office. Even with a warrant, it took a great deal of negotiating for her to admit to them that a woman matching Vera Urban’s description had, in fact, checked in two days before. Vera hadn’t given the Patio staff any name, and the Patio staff hadn’t asked for it. That wasn’t how things worked at the Patio Motel. Its only appeal was its protection of the guests’ anonymity. Only after Josie and Gretchen outlined the penalties for not complying with a search warrant and assured the woman that Vera Urban was deceased did she agree to show them to her room. “Take her stuff,” she told them after unlocking room two. “I need this room if she ain’t coming back.”
Like all the rooms at the Patio, the one Vera Urban had occupied was small, dated, and stank of cigarettes, stale body odor, and spoiled food. A full-sized bed took up most of the room. Its ratty floral comforter was undisturbed. Across from it, a television sat on top of a small, nicked dresser. Near the window just inside the door was an orange armchair with stains on its cushions. The room looked unoccupied.
Josie stepped past the bed and into the bathroom, which was a glorified closet, the toilet and sink practically touching. No tub, only a shower with a rusted out drain and mildewed shower curtain. Still, there was no evidence that anyone was staying in the room. Gretchen was poking around beneath the bed when Josie emerged. “There’s nothing here,” Gretchen told her.
“There has to be something,” Josie insisted. “She had to bring at least a change of clothes.”
She walked back over to the chair and studied it. Pulling a pair of gloves from her jacket pocket, Josie snapped them on and lifted the seat cushion. “Here,” she said, lifting a small blue backpack into the air. Gretchen, too, snapped on gloves and they emptied the backpack onto the bed. There were some undergarments, two pairs of jeans, two shirts, a nightshirt featuring several cartoon cats that read “Cat Nap”, a hairbrush, several make-up items, and some toiletries. Josie lined up a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, deodorant, and some small bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
Gretchen said, “There’s no wallet or phone.”
“Right,” Josie agreed. “We know she had her phone with her yesterday, and if she had a wallet, that was probably with her too. It’s in the river now.”
“What’s that?” Gretchen said, pointing to a small, orange plastic bottle.
Josie turned it over, a small thrill of excitement running through her like an electric shock. “A prescription pill bottle,” she said. “For a woman named Alice Adams. Looks like it’s for lorazepam.”
“Ativan,” Gretchen said. “It’s an anti-anxiety drug. Does it list a pharmacy and doctor on the bottle?”
Josie took out her phone and snapped some photos of the label. Then she Googled the pharmacy. “It’s a locally-owned shop in Colbert.”
Gretchen said, “That’s about ninety minutes from here.”
“We’ll need warrants,” Josie said. “For the pharmacy records and then for whatever address we find for this Alice Adams. We’ll need to call the local PD there too and let them know what we’re doing.”
“Let’s go,” Gretchen said.
Thirty
At the stationhouse, Gretchen prepared the warrants while Josie called the Colbert PD to coordinate efforts. Within a half hour, Josie was informed that the address that Alice Adams had been residing at was a rental. The Colbert officer gave her the name and phone number of the landlord. He offered to pay the landlord a visit and explain what was going on to pave the way for Josie and Gretchen to execute their search warrant at Alice’s apartment later that day, if possible. “Now we just have to wait for a return call,” she told Gretchen.
Amber, who had been sitting several desks away the entire time, walked over. “I was hoping you could bring me up to speed on all the developments,” she said. “Seems like a lot has happened since yesterday. I know that ‘Alice’ was really Vera Urban and now she’s dead—the Chief told me that—but that’s all he would say. He wouldn’t give me any details. But I heard some of the patrol officers talking about a shoot-out. They said you and Gretchen were there. They said Vera Urban was shot. Can you tell me what happened? Did she have any information for you?”
Gretchen said, “No one else told you anything? The Chief? Lieutenant Fraley? Mett?”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk with anyone. Everyone’s so busy.”
Josie looked up and met her eyes. “How about the Mayor? Have you had a chance to talk with her?”
“No, I— Why would I need to talk with the Mayor?”
Josie went back to typing up a report on her computer. After several awkward moments, Amber plunged in again. “I just have a few questions.”