Page 39 of Remember Her Name

“I left Vicky Platt a voicemail asking her to come to the stationhouse in the morning to discuss them,” Josie said.

Turner took one last look at the exchange before handing it back to her. “Yeah. Good luck with that. You’re telling mebetween Stella Townsend and Remy Tate’s phone records, you got nothing else.”

Noah turned another page. “You’re welcome to try. We’ll leave the last of them for you.”

“Great,” muttered Turner.

Josie was about to call it a night when a new set of text messages in Stella Townsend’s phone records caught her eye. For a moment, she was confused, wondering if she and Noah had gotten their reports mixed up, but as she read on, adrenaline hit, clearing away every last vestige of her fatigue. “Holy shit.”

Noah yawned. “What is it?”

“Remy Tate’s mistress was Stella Townsend.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Gracie Tate’s wails cut right through Josie. Even through the wall separating the interview room from the CCTV room, with the sound turned down on the monitor, she could hear them. Every cell in her body wanted to race next door to soothe the infant. Josie looked behind her to where Gretchen leaned against the wall, sucking down another pecan frappé. By the furrow in her brow, she, too, was bothered by the cries.

It had been just over six hours since Josie had found the lengthy records of Stella’s texts with Remy over the last month. Josie and Noah had gone home to sleep while Turner went over them with a fine-toothed comb, looking for anything and everything Noah could use when they brought Remy back in for questioning. He gave Noah a surprisingly thorough report when they came back on shift.

When Josie and Noah had gone to the Tate home to bring Remy in for an interview, he had insisted on bringing Gracie with him, claiming he had no one to call to watch her, even for an hour or two. Josie had run through a number of suggestions: his parents, Cleo’s mother, a neighbor, Cleo’s closest friend. Finally, he had agreed to call his mother. She lived outside of Denton but promised to meet Remy at the police station to take Gracie offhis hands. Until then, he waited in the interview room with his very unhappy infant.

Noah sailed through the door, a stack of printouts from Remy Tate’s text messages in his hands. With a grimace, he said, “You can hear her in the hall. What’s going on with this guy?”

On camera, Remy sat hunched in one of the chairs, elbows on knees. He alternated between sinking his face into his hands and half-heartedly pushing Gracie’s stroller back and forth. He made no attempt to pick her up. It was a far cry from the concerned father he’d been the day Cleo was abducted. Josie guessed four days of full-time solo parenting was wearing on him.

Gretchen tossed her empty cup into the trash bin under the desk. “I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt since his wife was just murdered but given Cleo’s phone records, I don’t think he ever had much interest in being a hands-on dad.”

Given his lack of paternal instinct, Josie found it odd that although Cleo had just been killed, Remy was caring for his daughter alone. It was times like these that loved ones tended to surround a grieving spouse, trying to help in any way they could. Had no one close to the couple offered to help, or had he kept everyone away? Did he think people would ask too many questions? Or were people already suspicious of him?

If they weren’t, they would be soon. Josie wasn’t sure they would be able to keep a lid on his affair after today. They were going to release the news about Stella’s murder once they spoke with Kellan and Remy. Josie had no interest in stirring up a press frenzy, but with practically zero leads other than a blurred polaroid, they had no choice but to turn to the public for help. It wouldn’t be long before Stella’s relationship with Remy spread like wildfire. At least one of Stella’s old college friends had known about it. That friend, Abbie Roads, had moved to Oregon a couple of years ago after graduation, but she continued to textback and forth with Stella, most recently about the affair. Mostly because it was hardly an affair at all.

Of course, the press wouldn’t cover that part.

Josie had tracked down a number for Abbie Roads and left a message for her, although she wasn’t sure how much more Abbie could offer them that might help the investigation. The last exchange, from a week ago, was both curious and instructive given that Noah was about to question Remy.

Stella:I really screwed this up. R is coming on strong now. Too strong. I should never have let him kiss me.

Abbie:You should never have let things get this far.

Stella:I know!!!! He’s married.Several crying emojis followed.What does it say about me that I’m actually attracted to him? I mean, I’m both attracted and repulsed.

Abbie:Cheating on his wife is repulsive. Period.

Stella:He didn’t really cheat. We never slept together.

Abbie:Girl, he’s a cheater. Not only did you do other things, but the way he was coming on to you from day one, no spouse would put up with that shit. Maybe it’s not technically physically cheating but it’s emotional cheating and that’s worse.

Stella:He wants to see me again. Alone at his house while his wife is out. God, why am I like this? How can I be attracted to this guy? R is no better than HE was or my dad.

Abbie:Absolutely not. Public place only. You cannot do this. It’s not just unprofessional. It’s unethical and immoral. Your credibility will be tainted and once that happens, you can kiss a career in journalism goodbye. You can kiss it all goodbye—even a book deal.

Stella:Even if I have a big gun backing me?

Abbie:Yes. Even then.

Gracie Tate went from wailing to shrieking. She was hungry. Couldn’t Remy tell? Had he even brought bottles?

Gretchen paced. “Where is Kellan Neal?”

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