Charles’s lips flapped before he finally pushed out a stammered “Yeah.”
Turner kept going. “You’re telling me that you held her tiny body in your hands after Maxine gave birth to her? That you changed so many shitty diapers you can still smell them sometimes? That you stayed up nights pacing the house with her in your arms when she was teething? That you spent hours potty-training her when she was a toddler? That you read herfavorite books at bedtime so many times that to this day, you could recite them without even looking at the page? That you spent all of Christmas Day putting together her new toys and playing with some weird-ass dolls or letting her put fake makeup on you? That you put together the bike you got her for her birthday because you promised you’d do it even though you just had your wisdom teeth removed, and you were high as hell? That you checked under her bed for monsters until she was almost thirteen? You did that shit? Dad shit?”
Josie’s heartbeat picked up. She should have been watching Charles’s face for a reaction but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Turner. A smug, contemptuous smirk tugged at his lips but something vulnerable shimmered under the surface of his professional mask. Did he even realize how much he’d just revealed?
She waited for Charles to ask him who he was really talking about but instead he hung his head and mumbled, “Maxine did that stuff.”
Turner leaned toward him. “Your wife did all the dad shit. Okay. What’d you do?”
“I provided,” Charles said fiercely even as he dug his knuckles into his eyes. “I worked. All the time. Nights, weekends. Overtime. I worked so my little girl could have whatever she needed. So they could have the lifestyle they wanted.”
“What kind of lifestyle did your daughter want?” Josie asked.
“The kind her mother told her to want.”
“Right,” Josie said. “When is the last time you saw Haven?”
“Two weeks ago. I stopped by the house to get some tools. I asked her about school. She told me to stop acting like I cared. She was rude, like her mother. I left. Next thing I know, Maxine is calling me telling me they’re going to this festival and they’re going to stay at some campsite for a whole week.”
“Where were you on Saturday night?” asked Josie.
“At home. In my apartment.” He shot Josie a glare. “Alone. No women.”
“Were you alone the whole night?” Josie asked.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t go anywhere?” Turner said.
“No.”
“You ever get your wife flowers?” asked Turner.
The sudden change in questioning rendered Charles speechless. For a long moment, he simply stared at them.
“Mr. Barnes,” Josie said. “Did you buy Maxine flowers often?”
“Um, no, not really. Our wedding anniversary, but that’s about it.”
“Did your wife have a favorite flower?”
“Hell if I know. Why does this matter?”
“How about your daughter?” Josie asked. “Did you get her flowers? Did she have a favorite flower?”
“No.” Charles shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you recall Haven ever receiving flowers?” Josie said.
“Only if she had a date to her homecoming dance or prom. That’s it.”
“Going back to Maxine.” Josie changed the subject. “Was there anyone she was having trouble with that you’re aware of? Friend, coworker, neighbor? Anyone threatening her? Stalking her?”
“I don’t know,” Charles said. “Her drug dealer, I guess.”
“Oh yeah? What’s his name?” Turner’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Charles sighed, missing Turner’s tone. “I told you, I don’t know anything about any of that. I’m just letting you know that I think she was on drugs for the past few months. If she was, then maybe she was having problems with a dealer or something.”
