Sirens sounded outside. Marisol collapsed onto the bed, weeping. Noah brushed past Connie and out of the room to meet the cavalry outside. Josie felt for Kurt Dutton’s pulse again, but it was gone.
Forty-Seven
One Week Later
Josie sat at her desk at the Denton PD stationhouse, flipping through pages of records recovered from Vera’s apartment. She felt a presence behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Chief Chitwood lingering. “You still on that Urban thing, Quinn?”
“We never found evidence that Kurt Dutton was supporting Vera Urban financially. I asked Marisol’s attorney if we could have the Duttons’ financial records, and he said he’d look into it, which means I’m never going to see a single record.”
Chitwood pulled over an empty chair from Gretchen’s desk. He sat in it and leaned toward Josie. “Quinn,” he said. “The case is closed. We have the wife’s statement. The ballistics on Kurt Dutton’s gun match up to the bullet found in Beverly’s skull and to the shell casings found in the old bowling alley. It fits. Hummel couldn’t pull any prints from the casings but the ballistics match and that’s good enough for me.”
“Chief, some things don’t fit. Mostly Vera.”
“You think someone else killed Vera?”
With a sigh, Josie leaned back in her chair. “No. I think he did kill her.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Josie picked up a stack of pages on her desk and let them fall loosely back to the surface. “Vera was a loose end. He had no trouble killing her when she returned to town after being in hiding for sixteen years. Why didn’t he just kill her right away? Why spend all that money supporting her? Money I can’t account for, by the way.”
“Quinn,” Chitwood said. “Has it occurred to you that maybe he was having an affair with Vera?”
“No,” Josie said. “Marisol said he liked younger women. Connie Prather confirmed that.”
“Have you corroborated that? Talked to any young women Dutton had affairs with?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Quinn,” Chitwood said. “Let it go.”
“I think Marisol knew something,” Josie blurted.
“Like what? You think she knew her husband knocked up a minor sixteen years ago, killed her, buried her, and paid her mother off for almost twenty years to keep quiet about it, and she just chose last week to confront him?”
“No,” Josie said. “Not exactly. I don’t know. I just think she knew something. I’m not sure if she knew something in a concrete way or if she knew it in the sense that something was always off, but she chose to ignore it and not ask questions because she liked her comfortable life and there was nothing particularly glaring in front of her face. Either way, she knows a lot more than she’s told us.”
Chitwood appraised her. He folded his hands over his stomach.
“Quinn, I’ve been at this a long time—”
“I know, I know. Since I was in diapers,” Josie said with a groan. Immediately, she regretted it. She waited for Chitwood to leap out of his chair, point a crooked finger at her and berate her. But none of that happened. Instead, he laughed. Josie was so stunned she momentarily wondered if she had hallucinated. She looked around the room, devastated to find that none of her colleagues were there to witness it. They’d never believe her. Chitwood said, “Since the time you were in diapers, Quinn, I’ve had more cases than I can count that left me feeling uncomfortable after they wrapped up, like I had missed something even after I had my guy. Sometimes, that’s just the way it is. Sometimes, Quinn, you have to live with the discomfort.”
With that, he stood and walked away. Josie watched him go back to his office and close his door, wondering if that last item was about the Urban case or about her. When she tore her gaze away from his door, Gretchen was coming out of the stairwell with two coffees in hand, both from Komorrah’s. In most areas of the city, the flooding had finally receded, and local businesses and residents were getting their lives back to normal. There were still problem areas which Emergency Services were monitoring and flood zones that were being patrolled regularly, but for the most part, pre-flood life had resumed. Misty had taken Harris and Pepper and gone home, leaving Josie and Noah strangely lonely and very hungry. Gretchen put one paper cup in front of Josie and went around to her own desk.
Josie peeled back the tab of the lid and let the smell of her favorite Komorrah’s brew waft up to her nose. To Gretchen, she said, “You might be my soul mate.”
Gretchen laughed. “Fraley will be sorry to hear that.”
Mettner walked in, waving a sheaf of papers. “Boss,” he said. “I just ran into Hummel. He gave me these DNA results from the Urban case. Apparently, Mayor Charleston pulled some strings to get them expedited. Another nail in Dutton’s literal coffin just days before the primary. Guess we’re stuck with her for another two years.”
He handed her the reports. She flipped the pages. “Marisol was right. Kurt Dutton was the father of Beverly’s baby, and Silas was Beverly’s father. Vera was right when she told him he was the father.”
“Think we should tell him?” Mettner asked.
Josie set the pages on her desk and sighed. “Do you think he’ll reimburse the city for Beverly’s funeral expenses?”
Gretchen gave a dry laugh.
Before anyone could say more, Amber came in through the stairwell. Her alabaster skin was flushed and she walked fast, almost as though someone was chasing her. “Detective Quinn,” she said. “I have something for you.”
She pulled a chair from one of the other desks and wheeled it over, plopping down next to Josie. From her pocket, she pulled a small flash drive and handed it to Josie.
“What is this?” Josie asked.
“Look at it,” Amber said. Her breath came quickly, her chest heaving. “Please.”
Josie plugged it into her computer and waited for the PC to recognize it.
Mettner came around to stand behind them. “Amber, what’s going on?”
Amber looked at each of them and then said, “I was at the Mayor’s office.” She put up a hand. “I know, I know. You all think I’m some kind of plant. I’m really not. I just have to liaise with her office. That means communicating with her about things that might go out in the press. So I was over there waiting outside of her office and Connie Prather was waiting to see her.”
“At City Hall?” Gretchen asked.
Amber nodded. “Connie went in before me. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but then I heard them shouting at each other and I moved my chair closer. I heard them talking about what to do with the files now that Kurt was dead. Mayor Charleston said it was none of her business and she couldn’t get involved, but Connie said it was her business because she was the Mayor. I couldn’t hear what they were saying next—something about Marisol. Tara asked Connie why she didn’t just take the files to the police, and Connie said she didn’t want the police to find out, she just wanted Tara to handle it. Then someone else came into the waiting room, and I lost the rest of the conversation, but Connie Prather came storming out of there in tears. She had this flash drive clutched in her hand. Anyway, I followed her to the bathroom. She was in one of the stalls. She came out and put her bag down next to the sink. She was crying and so when she saw me, she went back into the stall to compose herself. She left her bag right on the countertop. I reached right in and found the flash drive. She didn’t see me.”