“You don’t actually know anything,” Josie said. “Like facts, for example.”
Charles glared at her. His lip curled into a sneer. Before he could respond, Turner tapped the table, making Charles jump. “We’re going to need to search your phone and the GPS on your vehicle. We’d like to do a search of Maxine and Haven’s home, which is also in your name as well as your apartment. You can consent to those things and help us get them done or we can get a warrant. Your choice.”
“Warrant,” Charles said. “Get a warrant.”
TWELVE
Josie leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh. Turner’s old Impala left a lot to be desired, but its AC was running at full capacity. Letting him drive to Maxine’s former employer had been a struggle. She hated not being in control but not as much as she hated sweating profusely. At least for today. The drive from Denton PD headquarters to the medical office building where Maxine had worked was forty minutes long with the festival traffic, and Turner hadn’t said a word. No teasing. No goading. No inappropriate comments or annoying questions.
Last night, after finishing up with Charles Barnes, Josie had worked on warrants while Turner scrolled on his phone. When she called him out on it, he stood up and walked out of the room, never once looking up from his screen. This morning, she found him in the stationhouse break room. On his phone again. When she suggested they go have a talk with Maxine’s former employer, he’d grunted his agreement before mumbling, “But we’re taking my car.”
Every street they turned onto was backed up. Taillights for days. They slowly rolled down three residential lanes and a commercial area with a strip mall. Everywhere they looked, people were standing outside, watching the sky. It could onlymean one thing. The weather had been just right for the morning balloon launch. For the next few hours, hot air balloons would drift through the skies over Denton and land in yards and fields, roads and parking lots, and wait for their chase crews to find them.
The car lurched to a sudden stop and Turner muttered a bunch of curses under his breath along with something about rubberneckers.
Josie kept her face near the AC vent but turned her head slowly so she could watch him. After several minutes, he said, “Stop staring, Quinn. Nobody likes a creeper.”
She said nothing. Kept looking.
“What are you doing, Quinn?”
“Trying to decide.”
“Decide what?”
“If I want to know what crawled up your ass or not.”
“You don’t.” Turner’s voice was robotic.
Finally, the row of medical office buildings appeared. Turner made a left into the parking lot of the one where Maxine Barnes had worked. It was a four-story brick building with large, tinted windows that reflected the blue of the sky.
“I thought you said we were getting along,” Josie pointed out as he parked his car. It was something he’d said during the Polaroid Killer case.
“You said we weren’t.”
“But you want to.”
He turned the car off and met her eyes. They were devoid of all emotion. The real Turner, whoever the hell he was—a guy worthy of her sister’s respect or a total douchebag—was gone, tucked away in some mental hiding place.
“I don’t want to get along, Quinn.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the office of Dr. Royston Jones. The room wasn’t much bigger than a closet,affording space for only a desk and two guest chairs. Its only redeeming quality was the windows. They overlooked the bustling streets below and today, in the distance, a purple and white hot air balloon hung on the horizon. Turner spent the five minutes they waited for Dr. Jones staring at it. His fingers moved against his knee but more slowly than usual.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, officers,” Dr. Jones said as he ambled inside, squeezing past Turner’s chair to get around it and behind his desk. He lowered himself into his chair gingerly, gnarled hands clutching the armrests. He had to be pushing eighty. Wrinkles creased his face. The sunlight slanting into the room reflected off his shiny pate. A halo of coarse white hair surrounded it. He pushed a pair of glasses up his nose. “My office manager said you’re here about Maxine Barnes. I don’t know what you heard but Maxi’s termination is between me and her. Pennsylvania is a fire-at-will state, as I’m sure you know.”
Fire at will meant that an employer could terminate an employee at any time without giving a reason. They didn’t even need one. As long as there was no contract in place and no discriminatory intent behind the termination, they were within their legal rights to let an employee go whenever they pleased.
“We’re aware of the law,” Josie said. She’d always been a big fan of ripping off the Band-Aid, so she did just that. “Dr. Jones, I’m very sorry to tell you this but Maxine and her daughter were murdered early Sunday morning.”
“Oh God.” He bent forward and froze. A few seconds later, his face crumpled. One of his hands dug in the pocket of his white coat, coming up with a tissue which he lifted to his face with trembling fingers just as a tear slid down his cheek. “Oh God.”
When he regained some of his composure, Turner said, “Maxine’s husband told us that she quit a few months ago.”
Dr. Jones held up a hand as he took a few labored breaths. Josie hoped he wasn’t having a heart attack. “Oh my. Oh dear. That’s not what happened. I’m not sure if I should say.”
“We can get a warrant for Maxine’s employment records,” Josie said. “We will, in fact, and can have that to you later today, if that helps.”
“Yes, okay. Though, I suppose it doesn’t matter now that she’s gone.” Dr. Jones blotted another tear. “Maxi didn’t quit. That would have been so much simpler. Unfortunately, I had to let her go.”
