Page 2 of Remember Her Name

Hugh grumbled but Peluso ignored him, turning back to Josie. “Quinn, go get the clipboard. You’ll be posted here at the door. You’ll be responsible for logging in every person who enters and exits the house.”

Wordlessly, Josie sprinted down the steps and muscled her way through the throngs of onlookers and Denton PD patrol officers until she reached her cruiser. A few officers quietly jeered her as she returned to the porch, but she ignored them. She was just happy that Peluso let her stay and gave her some responsibility. She quickly signed Weaver in while Peluso went around to check on things at the back of the house.

Her back ached as she stood sentry, watching the crowd of neighbors thin out until only a dozen people remained. From the bottom of the steps, Dusty said, “You know who caught this case, don’t you?”

“I don’t care,” Josie said. “All the detectives are dickheads.”

Dusty chuckled. “This guy is the king of dickheads.”

“Great,” she mumbled. Just what she needed. The perfect topping on this shit sundae of a shift.

As promised, Jimmy “Frisk” Lampson showed up fifteen minutes later. He’d gotten his nickname because he routinely pulled over teenage girls for bogus reasons and then made them get out of their vehicles so he could “frisk” them. In high school, several girls had had encounters with him. He was a pervert and a pedophile. Josie always wondered if he’d done more than grope his victims, but no one ever came forward. He was a police officer, and he was very good at intimidating teenage girls. Onegirl in Josie’s class had tried to report him for touching her inappropriately during a traffic stop and she’d ended up in a juvenile detention center for three months. It was a lesson for all of them: Don’t fuck with Frisk Lampson.

Now he sauntered down the sidewalk like he had all day, grinning like he was coming to a backyard barbecue and not a crime scene where multiple people had been savagely slaughtered. He stopped to chat with a couple of the uniformed officers, joking and laughing. Ignoring the male neighbors, he zeroed in on the females, mostly older women. Not his type. Eventually, he spotted a group of teenage girls clustered along the edge of the pavement. Their cheeks were stained with tears, and they held themselves, arms wrapped tightly around their torsos.

Was he really going to pull his bullshit right here? In broad daylight, in front of a bunch of people? At a crime scene?

Josie let out a sigh of relief as he continued to chat with the girls, keeping his distance, jotting down notes on a pad as they talked. Minutes ticked by. A woman in her late thirties approached, joining the group. She curled an arm around one of the girls. Her daughter, probably. They turned to leave and two of the other girls went with them. Only one girl remained.

Scanning the street, Josie realized that the rest of the onlookers had migrated several feet away from Lampson and the girl. Separating the weak from the herd. Lampson subtly moved in on the girl until her back was pressed against a police car. There was a whispered discussion between them, Lampson gesturing toward the other vehicles. The girl shook her head.

“Dusty,” said Josie.

“I’m not getting involved.”

Josie still couldn’t figure out why the hell Ray was friends with him.

“Just go over there. Ask him something.”

“I’m not getting involved.”

The girl’s mouth formed the word no. Lampson stepped closer, dropping his lips to her ear and saying something that made her recoil. Josie took a step forward, the movement drawing the girl’s attention. Their eyes locked. Josie knew the “rescue me” look. She was a woman, after all.

Rage ignited inside her, blazing through her veins. Her heart thrashed inside her rib cage. She could barely hear over the roar inside her own head. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Dusty.”

He must have recognized the change in her tone because he turned and looked at her. “Aww, shit,” he said. “The Chief already talked to you about your temper. How many times now?”

“Only twice.” Josie held out the clipboard. “Come up here and take this. You’re on the door.”

“It’s not worth it.”

The anger was white-hot now, blistering her insides. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, Dusty. Get up here and take this. You’re on the door.”

With a heavy sigh, he tromped up the steps and took the clipboard. “You’re gonna regret this.”

ONE

Sweat dampened the nape of Detective Josie Quinn’s neck. Lifting her black locks with one hand, she used the other to fan her skin. Even at nine in the morning, the July air felt heavy and cloying. She stood on the sidewalk outside a residence in Central Denton, wishing this particular section of the street was shaded. This neighborhood was one of the oldest in the city, featuring large Victorian homes, most of which had at least one tree out front. Not this one. The prospect of air conditioning called to her like a siren song from her SUV, parked nearby.

“Here.” A paper coffee cup appeared in front of her face.

Josie took it and smiled up at FBI Agent Drake Nally. He was off duty, dressed casually in a fitted blue T-shirt and tan cargo shorts. Sunglasses shielded his brown eyes.

“Blonde latte?” she asked him.

“That’s what you asked for.”

“Thanks.” She took a long sip, ignoring the burn across her tongue.

---