Page 37 of Remember Her Name

Noah said, “These seem like pretty straightforward stabbings. Is there anything else we should know?”

Anya waved a hand across Stella’s torso. “Yes. All of the wounds on Stella’s body were here, along the front of her body. Torso and neck. Given the characteristics of the wounds, I believe that the killer was standing over her when he stabbed her, just like with Cleo Tate.”

“He hit her in the back of the head and knocked her down,” Josie said, remembering the way they’d found Stella’s body. “She turned over and he stabbed her. Then she flipped back onto her stomach and tried to crawl away but bled out before she could.”

Anya held up one finger. “Except she couldn’t have crawled away. The stab to her throat was deep. It nicked her cervical spine, severing the nerve that innervates the muscles from the chest down. She would have been paralyzed.”

Noah raised a brow. “What if it was the last wound? What if she was trying to crawl away and then he turned her back over and stabbed her in the throat?”

“He still would have had to reposition her,” Josie said. “He moved her.”

“Yes,” Anya said. “Regardless of the order of the stab wounds, Josie’s right. Whether he administered the paralyzing wound first or last, before he left her he would have had to put her onto her stomach.”

The image of Stella’s hand reaching for the grass flashed through Josie’s mind. “He staged her to look like she was trying to crawl away.”

But why?

“He’s trying to tell us something,” said Noah.

Anya gently covered Stella Townsend’s body. “I sure hope you figure it out soon. I’d really prefer not to have another one of his victims on my table.”

TWENTY-FIVE

It wasn’t difficult for him to find out where she lived. She wasn’t careful when she fled the car, allowing him to follow her easily. That told him that she was just playing hard to get. Everything was a game to her. She enjoyed playing with him. But she wouldn’t have gotten into the car if she didn’t want something. Something he was more than happy to give her. It was hard to ignore the way she’d trembled under his touch, the way her eyes had widened. The gasps that slipped from her parted lips. Even now, standing at the edge of the parking lot where her car waited, arousal stirred at the memory of how she’d reacted to him. He hadn’t seen her in a long time.

All his prior attempts to find her had failed and he had tried very hard to locate her.

Like a ghost, she’d vanished. Wreaked havoc on his life and disappeared as if she’d never existed. At times, he wondered if she’d been a figment of his imagination. If he was like a character in a movie with multiple personality disorder—or whatever they called it now—and she was just one of his others, whispering lies into his ear. Eventually, he’d given up. But he’d never forgotten.

His eyes swept over her body as she emerged from the building. It wasn’t safe for him to take her now, not from her own building—in broad daylight with cameras everywhere—but that didn’t stop the exhilaration from pinging through his veins. The encounter in the car had breathed life back into his hollow soul. Fingers twitching, he imagined all the ways he could make her repay her debt to him. He’d finally get to show her what she had done to him, what she had made him. Then he’d find someone new. After all, there was already blood on his hands. Lots of it, and, if the past had taught him one thing, it was that he was untouchable.

TWENTY-SIX

The scents of the hospital cafeteria were welcome after being in the morgue. Josie cataloged each smell as they passed the various kiosks. Grilled chicken, French fries, pizza, stir-fry, pasta drenched in spaghetti sauce. All of it combined to elicit a grumble in her stomach even though she and Noah ate before they reported for their shifts. They were legendary among friends and family for their complete incompetence when it came to making meals—Josie more so than Noah. They’d been taking cooking classes from their friend Misty so that if—hopefully when—they matched with a baby, they would be capable in the kitchen but still, everything not made by them tasted better than their paltry creations. Josie’s mouth watered as they came to the coffee counter.

Noah said, “Go find Turner. I’ll get us a couple.”

She found him at a corner table, a half-eaten slice of pizza in front of him. As usual, he was scrolling on his phone. Josie tried to see what was on the screen as she approached but he sensed her behind him and quickly put his phone face down on the table.

Josie sat across from him. “Want to tell me how you know my sister yet?”

Turner took a bite of his pizza, chewing slowly. Avoiding the topic. Noah slid into the chair next to Josie, pushing a cup of coffee toward her. Looking at Turner, he said, “What do you have?”

Turner took his time swallowing and wiping his fingers on a napkin before picking up his phone and swiping a few times, presumably bringing up his notes app. “Stella Townsend was a student at Denton University, pursuing a degree in communications. She quit school for a while but was re-enrolled for this fall. She was a production assistant at WYEP until recently when she dropped down to part-time. I talked to a couple of her coworkers and neighbors. They all said she has no significant other, no stalky exes, and they weren’t aware of her having any trouble with anyone lately. Don’t worry—I got assurances from Stella’s boss that they wouldn’t release anything about her death until we gave them the green light.”

It seemed counterintuitive to trust the press, especially after the shakedown from Dallas Jones the other day, but Josie knew WYEP’s upper management wouldn’t want to burn any bridges with the Denton PD. Not if they hoped to stay on good terms for future stories.

Turner went on, “Warrants are out for her phone records and the GPS from her car. Also there was a messenger bag in the back seat that contained her laptop. Got a warrant out for that. Waiting on that information to come back.”

Josie said, “Did you find out when she was last seen? Where she might have gone missing from?”

Turner grinned again, smugly, thumb flying across his phone screen. “Oh honey, wait till you see this.”

Josie held out her palm. Without even looking at her, Turner’s free hand disappeared beneath the table as he searched his jacket pocket. He came up with a dollar bill, pushing it across the table to her. At least this one wasn’t moist. He turned hisphone screen toward them. “This is footage from the parking lot of Stella Townsend’s apartment complex from threethirtyp.m. on Monday.”

It was the same time that almost all of Denton’s police resources were focused on searching the fifty-acre lot where Sheila Hampton’s car had been left, trying to find Cleo Tate. The footage was in color, but the camera was angled downward, from a substantial height. Maybe from a light pole. It made it difficult to see the face of the man who weaved his way through the parking lot until he found Stella’s Camry, especially since he wore the same hat that Charlotte Thompson had described. It was too far away to make out the logo on the front of it. The strap of his cross-body backpack was visible. He leaned against the driver’s side door. Arms folded, he waited.

Turner said, “I tried following him on surveillance cameras. Found him walking past a few businesses nearby but lost him after that. Didn’t get a clearer look at his face.”

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