With a chuckle, Dani stood, leaving her flip-flops behind and following her daughter inside. Josie sensed the tension in Gretchen’s body ratcheting up as she clicked to the next alert and knew her friend was feeling the same sense of dread.
At 7:18p.m. a man appeared on the sidewalk. He wore jeans, even in the heat of July, and a plain gray long-sleeved T-shirt. A ballcap was pulled low over his face. His hands were at his sides but one of them held a bouquet of camellias.
“Caucasian, average height,” Gretchen recited as she jotted down the descriptors on her notepad. “No visible tattoos.”
Glancing up and down the sidewalk, he dipped his chin to his chest and climbed the first set of steps.
“Come on,” Gretchen muttered. “Come up onto the porch. Show us your face.”
“You know he’s not going to make it that easy,” Josie said, and, sure enough, he didn’t even look at the porch, instead turning toward the alley and disappearing from frame.
She and Gretchen swore in unison.
He’d gone to the back door. Had he already been to the house? Did he know them? Or had he scouted it out beforehand? Or did he just see the camera and take a chance that there wouldn’t be one in the back? They’d have to get footage goingback a few weeks to see if he’d been caught on camera prior to this. Dani and Cassidy’s street was a fairly busy one but the canvasses hadn’t turned up anything.
“Keep going,” Josie said but Gretchen was already skipping to the next motion alert.
At 7:52p.m. the front door opened. The man exited first, one hand curled around Cassidy’s bicep as he dragged her along. He didn’t turn around. All they could see was the back of his neck. No hair stuck out from beneath his cap. Was he bald? Did he just have a very short haircut? Josie was so focused on finding any identifying features that it took her a moment to realize that in his free hand, he held a small handgun. It was pressed against the side of his thigh. From the street, it would be difficult to tell what he was holding.
Cassidy didn’t fight him, instead holding herself stiffly, as if the smallest movement might be painful. Dani emerged next, hesitating on the threshold. Once the door closed, the man froze on the top step, Cassidy still in his grip. Two seconds ticked by. Three, then four. Josie noticed the small movement of the man’s fingers tightening around Cassidy’s arm. The way she winced but tried to hide it. The man kept his chin down but turned his head slightly, still not giving enough of his profile for them to work with, and then slid the gun behind him, up to his lower back where Dani would be able to see it clearly. He gave it a small shake and Dani’s sharp intake of breath was loud enough to be picked up by the camera.
“Mom?” Cassidy said, a tremor in her voice that Josie felt right down to the bottom of her soul.
“I’m here.”
In slow, halting steps, Dani walked toward them. The man angled his body to allow her past. Dani descended a couple of steps before pausing. Surreptitiously, the man slid the gun under his T-shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“Let’s go,” he said curtly.
His voice was low and nondescript. Josie doubted they’d be able to identify him from those two words. Perhaps if they released the soundbite to the public, but it was a long shot.
As the man dragged Cassidy down the steps, she took a quick glance back at the camera, twisting her neck as far as it would go. If Josie’s heart hurt before, it was close to shattering now. A half-inch-long cut scored Cassidy’s cheek. Blood trickled down to her chin. The blood in the house belonged to her. Had she run? Tried to escape only to be tackled by the man leading her away? Accidentally hit her face on the corner of the table as she went down? They hadn’t found any balled-up, bloody towels or tissues but based on the splotches that ran down her neck and into the collar of her shirt, her clothes had soaked most of it up.
Was this going to be Turner’s last memory of his daughter? Cut and bleeding? Her eyes huge with terror, face ashen, lower lip trembling? She was begging silently. Begging for help that hadn’t come, not in that moment and not three days later.
Three days.
When hours could be the difference between life and death in these types of cases, three days was an eternity.
“Dammit,” Gretchen whispered.
Cassidy’s father was a law enforcement officer. A detective. Did she know he or one of his colleagues would be looking at this footage? Josie had her answer when the girl mouthed two words.
Dad, help.
EIGHTEEN
Josie felt strangely numb as she stood in front of Turner’s apartment door. After pulling several still photos from the footage Gretchen had found, they’d woken Chief Chitwood. Delivering bad news to him when he was already at the stationhouse and fully caffeinated wasn’t something either of them relished but waking him just past midnight with this news? It was like awakening Satan himself. Josie had offered to talk to Turner while Gretchen stayed behind to review more of the information on Dani’s phone and to hopefully begin downloading data from Cassidy’s phone.
Josie was here, about to flip Turner’s world upside down. The small apartment complex he lived in was equidistant from Dani’s place and the stationhouse. The buildings were well-maintained, four stories each, with limewashed brick exteriors that gave them a rustic feel. The main entrance to Turner’s building was on the street side of the complex. He lived on the third floor. Josie had taken the stairs to give herself more time to consider exactly what she was going to say to him.
Too soon, she arrived in a dimly lit hallway that smelled of must and stringent lemon floor cleaner. The interior of the building was dingier and more worn-looking than she wouldhave guessed from the outside. The beige tiles were scuffed and cracked in places. Between each door, the cream-colored walls bore dirt smudges, stains, and small nicks. Despite the number of apartments that lay ahead of her, the floor was eerily silent. Each one of her footsteps seemed overly loud. By the time she found herself standing outside of Turner’s unit, she was surprised no one had come out into the hall to see what all the noise was about.
Gripped in her hands was a slim can of the energy drink he was constantly guzzling down, condensation turning her hands clammy. There were feelings swirling around deep in her gut. They were still amorphous, not easily identified but their very presence, the hint of them, was enough to make her uncomfortable. As far as she was concerned, the only thing she and Turner had ever had in common was their job. She hadn’t even known he had a daughter until a few weeks ago but now they had that in common—teenage daughters. Like everything in her life since Wren arrived, all thoughts led back to her. Josie imagined opening her own door and getting the same news from one of her colleagues that she was about to give Turner.
Noah’s words floated back to her.No one tells you about the fear.
Would Turner take it as hard as Josie would? Maybe he was a horrible dad. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine it, especially since his wife—possibly his ex-wife—and daughter appeared to be living completely separate lives.
