Page 50

Twenty-Eight

Josie pulled out of the municipal parking lot, steering one-handed so she could sip from her paper Komorrah’s cup, savoring her first blonde latte of the day. It was early. Too early. She had been up with Trinity nearly half the night discussing Sylvia West, though discussing wasn’t entirely accurate. Josie had spent hours extracting every last bit of information Trinity had ever learned about the woman and the circumstances of the Last Kiss Killer’s first attempt on her life. Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned anything new or anything that was going to help her solve the case.

All she had now was a theory and a whole lot of questions.

In the passenger’s seat, Gretchen pressed her phone to her ear. “He’s not answering. This is the fourth time I’ve tried.”

“Call Erin West,” Josie suggested.

A few moments later, Gretchen ended her call with Carter’s wife. “He’s at the firehouse.”

Josie made a left at the next intersection, changing direction. She drained the rest of her latte and put the empty cup into the center console.

“Sylvia’s sons didn’t even know she was seeing Fisher,” Gretchen said. “What makes you think they’ll remember a married man from thirteen years ago?”

“They might not remember a specific man in that context,” said Josie. “But Fisher said that when she was a doula, the fathers of some of the babies she cared for hit on her. He specifically said that some of them could be very persistent.”

He’d also said the experiences had eroded her faith in marriage, which was another reason that Josie couldn’t see Sylvia having an affair with a married man. It seemed far more likely she was rejecting advances.

“Carter and Dean might remember some of the families she worked for,” Gretchen said. “Which could lead us to someone who might have made advances and not given up easily.”

“Right.”

“She wouldn’t have told the police about him because it could have blown up her livelihood.”

“And her reputation,” said Josie. “Which was important to her no matter what line of work she was in.”

Josie pulled into the parking lot alongside the firehouse, a few spots away from Carter West’s truck. Denton’s city fire company was housed in a sprawling, one-story brick building where East Denton met Central Denton. It took up half a city block. Two of the four bright red bay doors were open. A truck was visible in one and an ambulance in the other. A firefighter in navy blue slacks and a matching T-shirt with the department logo on his left sleeve stood beside the truck, just behind the driver’s side. He hummed to himself as he fiddled with some sort of knob on a massive panel of gauges, levers, and intake valves.

As they drew closer, Josie saw the name SPILLANE in block letters across his back. “Hey,” he said, giving them a cursory glance. “You guys here to see the chief?”

“Carter West,” said Josie.

He jerked his head toward the back of the bay. “First hall on your right. Head down that way. He’s either in the kitchen or the gym.”

Although the inner sanctum of the fire house was spotless, the white cinderblock walls, concrete floors and dull mustard-colored doors were the very definition of glum. Though most doors were labeled, they still got lost in the maze of hallways, taking a full fifteen minutes to find Carter.

Josie heard the hum of the treadmill along with the steady pounding of feet before they entered the gym. Carter’s arms pumped as he ran. Sweat poured down his face and neck. It painted patterns on his green T-shirt near his collar, under his armpits, in a V down his chest and across his stomach. The fabric clung to him like it was a size too small. He wore black basketball shorts and a new ballcap backward on his head. The curls at his neck coiled more tightly from the moisture. The room felt close and humid, even more so than outside. It wasn’t big but it was well-equipped. Another firefighter sat on the edge of a weight bench on the other side of the room, doing bicep curls.

Carter noticed them first. He punched some buttons on the treadmill and it started to slow. Gretchen leaned against the nearby elliptical machine and slowly retrieved her notepad and pen from the back pocket of her khakis. Josie grabbed a towel and water bottle from an empty weight bench nearby and handed them to Carter as the treadmill finally stopped. In the quiet, she could hear the strident notes of rock music being piped in from somewhere.

“Thanks.” Carter wiped his face and neck with the towel before draining the water bottle and tossing it into a trash bin along the nearest wall.

“Are you back to work?” asked Gretchen. “Or you just came to use the gym?”

Carter took his ballcap off and used the towel to dry some of the perspiration from his hair. “The gym. I just needed to get out of the house. Get out of my head. A bunch of the guys brought food for us from home, and I volunteered to come pick it up. I just needed to let off some steam before I go home, you know? It’s hard to see the girls so wrecked. Anyway, what’s going on? Tell me you’ve got something. Please tell me you’ve got something.”

Josie glanced across the room, but the other firefighter had moved on to triceps extensions and he was too focused on counting out his reps under his breath to notice them.

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen told him. “I wish we did.”

He spit out a curse. Then he said, “Sorry, that wasn’t directed at you two. I’m just frustrated.”

So are we, Josie thought. Instead, she gave him a grim smile. “More questions.”

Carter tossed the towel over his shoulder and put his hat back on before lowering himself onto the bench. His face was bright red. “Right. Sure. But you don’t have any leads? None at all? What if this guy starts up again?”

“We can’t discuss the details of an open investigation.” Josie felt a sheen of moisture coat her forearms and the back of her neck. “But we are well aware of the threat the Last Kiss Killer poses and we’re doing everything we can to locate him.”