Page 12 of Remember Her Name

A onesie from Gracie’s diaper bag?

“Did you see any blood?” asked Josie.

“No blood.”

“Did she look over here?” Josie looked from Charlotte’s home to the vehicle across the street. “Did she see you?”

Charlotte nodded. “Yeah. We made eye contact and she immediately looked away. He was talking into her ear. She kept her eyes straight ahead. I couldn’t hear anything he said. Too far away. Then they stopped at this white car—it was directly across from here—and he kind of pushed her into the passenger’s seat. He got in the other side, and they drove off. I was going to call the police but then I thought, ‘What would I say?’ That the woman’s hand was wrapped up? That she looked afraid? Nothing actually happened. I put it out of my mind until this officer showed up asking questions and had me look at that photo. It was the same woman, based on what she was wearing, and her hair color. I’m sure of it.”

Dougherty was back. “I showed her the still of Cleo leaving the house.”

Cleo had looked afraid but when he put her into the car, she hadn’t tried to escape. He must have threatened her with a knife.He’d already drawn blood once. That was likely how he’d gotten her to leave baby Gracie behind. The two of them must have passed more than one person exiting the park and coming down this street and yet, Cleo had made no attempt to run or even to signal for help—not even when she made eye contact with Charlotte Thompson—which meant that she believed she was in mortal danger. Fighting back could result in her being stabbed to death. Going along with him was an act of self-preservation.

Cleo Tate was hoping to survive so she could come home to her baby.

From the corner of her eye, Josie saw Charlotte’s brother move from the wall to the railing, resting his forearms against it, leaning his body forward. Watching. It was almost unsettling.

Turner shuffled to the side, blocking Josie from the brother’s view. “Could you tell whether or not he was armed? Did you see a knife? Anything that looked like a weapon?”

“No, no. I definitely would have called 911 if he was armed. Although now that you say that…” She wiped sweat from her forehead. “His other arm was crossed over his middle, sort of tucked under her elbow. Like this.”

Again, she clutched Turner’s tricep. His eyes bulged. He looked at Josie helplessly but all she could do was give a little shrug. Charlotte positioned her other arm over her abdomen like a lap bar, her paint-stained hand disappearing beneath her elbow, between hers and Turner’s bodies. “Maybe he had something and was holding it like this.” Turner jerked as she poked him in the ribs. Honestly, this was the best shift with him that Josie had ever worked. Charlotte continued, “But I couldn’t see it from the way they were walking because they were so close together.”

Turner extricated himself, giving her a tight smile. “How about the guy? What did he look like?”

“Definitely not as tall as you,” Charlotte said, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. “Maybe a little shorter than this officer, here.”

Turner was well over six feet. Dougherty was slightly shorter. “Five foot nine or ten, maybe?” Josie suggested.

“Yeah, I think so. White, not too thin, not overweight. Average, I guess.”

“You know who else is average?” Turner said to Josie, and she knew he was referring to Remy Tate.

“Not now,” she said. “Go on, Charlotte.”

Charlotte looked at Turner, as if waiting to see if he’d say more. When he didn’t, she continued, “He had on long pants, like the kind that landscapers wear in the summer? Or, mechanics? Black. A navy-blue T-shirt. He was wearing a hat, just like her, so I couldn’t see his hair color.”

“What kind of hat?” asked Josie.

“You mean like a logo or something? I couldn’t tell from here,” Charlotte replied. “Just that it had one of those leafy patterns all the hunters around here usually wear. I’m sorry. I didn’t get a good look at his face either.”

“That’s okay,” Josie told her. “This is very helpful. Is there anything else you can tell us about the man? Any tattoos? Scars? Facial hair? Anything distinguishing?”

Charlotte shook her head. “None of those things. At least, I didn’t notice. I’m sorry.”

“Was he wearing gloves?” Josie asked.

“I don’t think so. Unless they were like those clear vinyl ones? They were too far for me to tell. Oh, wait! He had some kind of a bag with him. You know, those weird, one-strap backpacks that go across your body? It was black.”

“Was there anything distinguishing about it?” asked Josie.

She’d looked so proud of herself a moment ago, remembering the bag. Now her expression faltered. “No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’re doing great. This is all helpful. I’d like to show you something.” Josie took out her phone and easily found Cleo Tate’s Instagram account. It was private but the profile photo featured her, Remy, and Gracie. It was a professional photo. “One second.”

Turner sidled up to her, watching as she cropped Gracie and Cleo out of the picture. If Charlotte didn’t recognize Remy, Josie didn’t want her potentially telling others that the police were looking at Cleo’s husband as a person of interest. As Josie turned the screen toward Charlotte, she asked, “Is this the man you saw?”

Charlotte studied the picture for a long moment and then slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Maybe? Like I said, I just didn’t get a close enough look at him.”

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