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His electronic devices hadn’t shown up in the geofence. There was no security footage of anyone except Trinity that morning. That didn’t mean he hadn’t gone there.

“Where were you between six and eight a.m. on Sunday morning?” Josie asked.

Louis laughed bitterly. “Oh, okay. You think because I got upset with her for two-timing me and shutting me out that I killed her. Is that it? Well, I didn’t.”

“Where were you between six and eight a.m. on Sunday morning?” Turner this time.

“I was home, sleeping it off,” Louis said.

“Is there anyone who can confirm that?”

“I live alone, but can’t you track everyone’s movements with their phones or something? I’ll tell you my number and you can see my phone was at my place all morning.”

Anyone with a working brain cell would know to leave their phone or other electronic devices behind if they were setting out to commit a premeditated crime. Still, Josie wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to review the contents of Louis Fisher’s phone.

“That’s not how it works, Mr. Fisher,” she said. “We’d need your phone. I can go out to the car and get a consent form, and you can give it to us now.”

“I can’t—I need my phone,” he said.

“It would only be for a day or two,” Turner informed him. “If you give us the passcode, it will go a lot faster.”

“But I⁠—”

“If you’re telling the truth,” Josie said, “then there shouldn’t be an issue. Every hour we waste jumping through hoops to get the contents of your phone is an hour we could spend looking for Sylvia’s killer. If you genuinely care about finding the person who murdered your soulmate, you’ll make our job easier and just hand it over.”

“Right,” Louis mumbled. “Sure. But listen, there are some pictures on there. I just want you to know it’s not what it looks like, okay?”

Turner held out his hand. “Yeah, we’ll be the judges of that. Let’s see it. Detective Quinn’s going to get that form we just talked about.”

Twenty-One

Tension drained from Josie’s shoulders the moment they walked through the doors of Komorrah’s Koffee. Just the scents of coffee, cinnamon, nutmeg and baked goods wafting through the air put her at ease. The café was on Denton’s Main Street, only two blocks from the stationhouse. Turner sauntered in behind her, Louis Fisher’s phone in hand. He continued to scroll as he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a wrinkled ten-dollar bill. Thrusting it at Josie, he said, “Get me a couple of muffins. Don’t care what kind. Gotta hit the head.”

Josie took it, watching as he wove through the empty tables in the dining area to the restrooms without once looking up from the phone. The place was deserted. They were open until ten p.m. and it was almost nine thirty, so Josie didn’t feel guilty about buying up the last three cheese danishes. While she waited for the barista to make her blonde latte, she wandered to the wall across from the counter where framed photos of Denton’s unique rock formations hung. They’d been taken by a local photographer whose work was regularly featured in National Geographic and TIME magazine.

She’d always loved the rock formations. Wren had been here once with her and she, too, had been fascinated by them. There was the Standing Man, which looked like a man in profile leaning against a rockface. The Stacks consisted of slabs of rock that had fallen on top of one another, resembling a stack of pancakes. Broken Heart looked like a heart except one of its lumps was missing. Turtle was aptly named since it looked like a giant turtle shell. The photos only distracted her for so long before her stomach started growling loudly. Turner hadn’t yet come out of the restroom and the espresso machine was still whirring.

Screw it.

Saliva gathered in her mouth as she slid one of the cheese Danishes from its paper bag and tore half of it off in one bite. It was stale but all her body registered was an instant hit of dopamine. She was starving and craving sugar like it was her job. The day had been impossibly long. The amount of information they’d uncovered related to the Last Kiss Killer and Sylvia West was overwhelming to process, and they hadn’t even scratched the surface yet.

She was halfway through the second pastry when Turner emerged from the bathroom, eyes still locked on Fisher’s phone. He plopped into a booth halfway between the restrooms and the counter. The barista called Josie’s name. She quickly swallowed the rest of her Danish and retrieved her latte before joining Turner.

Tossing the bag of muffins in front of him, she said, “Do you want to share your findings with the class?”

“Wait till you see this shit,” he said, but made no move to show her what was so fascinating. Instead, he kept scrolling while his free hand delved into the paper bag for a muffin. He didn’t bother peeling off the parchment, instead taking an enormous bite from the very top of it. Crumbs flew everywhere but he was oblivious.

“Turner,” Josie said.

With his next bite he definitely got a piece of parchment paper, but he was too focused on the contents of Fisher’s phone to notice.

“That’s a spot-on impression of Cookie Monster,” she noted. “Do you want your change?”

“Nah,” he said around a mouthful of muffin, more crumbs spilling out of his mouth and onto his tie. How he ever got someone to marry him was still a mystery to her. “Put it in your jar. I’m sure I’ll do something to piss you off soon.”

Josie couldn’t dispute that. She sipped her latte while he finished off the muffin.

“Start with the texts,” he told her, pushing the phone across the table.