Page 18 of Remember Her Name

“That picture could be from anywhere outdoors,” Noah said. “There’s no way to narrow it down. Even if it’s some kind of bank, the river goes for miles and there are too many creeks for us to search them all quickly enough. We can’t put resources behind the picture unless we have a reasonable expectation that it will lead us to Cleo.”

“I agree. Right now, our best bet is locating the car.”

The stationhouse came into view, the massive three-story stone structure towering over nearby buildings. Gray, with a bell tower in one corner, and double casement arched windows, it resembled a castle. It used to be the town hall but had been converted to police headquarters almost seventy years ago. It was on the city’s historic register, which pretty much preventedthe police department from upgrading anything inside. Two WYEP vans were parked nearby. Noah said, “The reporters will be around back in the parking lot waiting for us. Let’s go in through the front.”

In the lobby, WYEP’s newest and most ambitious reporter, Dallas Jones, paced. Pressing a cell phone to his ear, he whisper-shouted angrily. “Vicky, I told you. I’m doing the best I can. They’re not saying anything. All I’m getting is ‘no comment.’ I can’t make them give me information.”

Behind the glass-encased front desk, Sergeant Dan Lamay shook his head as if to say he couldn’t get rid of the kid.

Dallas stopped walking when he saw Josie and Noah. “Detectives!” Lowering the cell phone to his side, he blocked them from walking through the door that led to the rest of the first floor. “Please, wait.”

“No comment,” Noah said.

Dallas’s shoulders slumped. A lock of his dark hair had come loose from his shellacked hairdo, hanging along the side of his face. His white button-down shirt was wrinkled. Sweat stains peeked from beneath his armpits. Josie was glad to see that he wasn’t immune to the heat. It always bothered her how reporters looked perfect, no matter what the weather. She still couldn’t figure out how Trinity woke up looking camera-ready.

“Please.” Dallas lifted his cell phone and told Vicky he’d call her back before hanging up. “Our viewers want to know what you’re doing to find Cleo Tate.”

“Your viewers? Or your producer?” She pointed to his phone. “That was her, right?”

Dallas pursed his lips. He was young, only a few years out of college, and trying to prove himself. “Yes. She’s been breathing down my neck, but that’s her job. This is a big story. Our viewers are worried. Is it safe for people to go into the city park?”

“We’re aware of the public’s concern for safety,” said Josie. “We’ll hold a press conference later.” She muscled past him to the door with Noah in tow.

“Come on,” Dallas pleaded. “Give me something. Do you have any suspects? Any leads? Something I can give the public?”

He was hoping to make a name in Denton so he could get on the national stage. Just like Trinity had done. While Josie respected his drive, she would never compromise an investigation. “No comment.”

Noah held the door open for Josie to pass through. “We have work to do. We’ll see you at the press conference.”

“We did a story on Cleo’s husband!” Dallas called.

Josie and Noah froze, partway through the door, waiting for him to go on.

“It was about three months ago.”

“We’ll watch it on the WYEP website,” Noah said.

“You can’t. Vicky wouldn’t air it.” He let his words hang in the air, dangling like bait.

Josie glared at him. “I hope you’re not trying to trade for information here, Mr. Jones. If you or your producer know something that may help locate Cleo Tate, you need to tell us now. Otherwise you’re looking at obstruction charges.”

Dallas tried to push the errant lock of hair back in place, but it wouldn’t stay. “I know that. I’m not trying to trade but if you could just give me something?—”

Noah shook his head. “That’s not how this works.”

“I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” said Josie. “If you know something material to our investigation then just say it. We don’t have all day to play this game with you. We’re trying to find a missing mother.”

Dallas had the sense to look shamed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that when I did the story on Remy Tate, he seemed…I don’t know.Off. It was a filler story. Boring as hell, but Vicky said they’d save it for a slow news day. He works for the Clerk of Courts. He’s in charge of the records. The story was about them finally digitizing all the old files. You know, Denton getting with modern times and stuff. I’m telling you though, there was something just…off about him.”

Noah met Josie’s eyes briefly. She knew he was thinking the same thing. Dallas Jones was hoping they would slip and give some indication that Remy Tate was a suspect—or at least a person of interest—or a hint that they’d already cleared him.

Noah took a step toward him, the cupholder in his hands practically touching Dallas’s chest. “Are you really coming at us with this nonsense? You spent five minutes with a guy for a story, what? A few months ago? And you think your opinion of him is relevant to our investigation? Listen, Jones. ‘Off’ doesn’t mean anything. Maybe you caught him on a bad day. He has a new baby. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he just didn’t like you. What I know for certain is that Cleo Tate doesn’t have time for your bullshit.”

Dallas’s phone rang. The screen showed a woman with long blonde hair wearing a grim smile. The name above her photo read Vicky Platt. Dallas sent the call to voicemail. “I didn’t know about the baby at the time. We didn’t talk about his personal life. But I’m telling you—when I played back the footage for Vicky, even she thought something was up with this guy. It was the reason she didn’t run the piece.”

“Stop wasting our time,” Josie said as she and Noah walked through the door and let it close in Dallas’s face.

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