Page 29 of Remember Her Name

“Considering that he clearly wanted us to find this,” said Gretchen, “that was a risk. If she’d been out there any longer, the picture could have been damaged by the decomp process, bad weather, or animals. Any number of things.”

A chill worked its way up Josie’s spine in spite of the frigid air conditioning in the room. Gretchen was right. Any longer and the photo might not have been intact. As it was, the quality wasn’t great. Like the first one, it was somewhat blurred in places, as if it had been taken too quickly. From what Josie could tell, the foreground was black asphalt. A horizontal white line cut across it. Part of another white line extended toward the bottom of the photo, the two lines connecting in a stunted T-shape. Above the horizontal line, a spear of light sliced the scene almost in half. In the distance beyond that was what appeared to be part of a building, but all Josie could make out for certain were windows. The section of the building that was visible was slightly out of focus. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar but she wondered if that was just because it might be any parking lot in front of any store or office building.

“You know what it is, Quinn?” asked Turner. “You figured out the last one.”

Josie turned to see him throw his foam basketball at the net, missing. “The more important question is where it is,” she said.

“There has to be something there that helps us identify it,” Gretchen said. “He made sure to include part of the boat when he took the first photo so that one of us would know he’d dumped her near Cold Heart Creek.”

“One of us?” said Turner. “You mean Quinn.”

Noah shook his head. “I worked the Cold Heart Creek case, too. I was there the day we saw the boat. It just didn’t cross my mind when I saw the polaroid.”

“The photos are so blurred,” Gretchen said. “They only show fragments of places and yet this guy clearly wants us to figure out where they were taken.”

For a few seconds, none of them spoke. Josie’s stomach burned at the thought of what they might find if they could figure out the location where the picture had been taken.

Turner drummed his fingers along the edge of his desk. “I’m gonna go ahead and say the shitty thing out loud. If we figure out where this was taken and go there, we’re looking at another body. Right?”

“Or if we figure it out quickly enough, would we get there before someone else is killed?” said Noah.

“That would be a hard thing for this guy to pull off,” Turner said.

“Not impossible,” Noah said. “If the location pictured here is remote enough, he could leave her bound for a certain amount of time and if we don’t find her by then, he kills her.”

“Then he expects us to play a game he made up when he didn’t bother to tell us the rules,” Turner complained.

“Even if he’s not timing us with the intent to potentially let the next victim live—which wouldn’t be smart if she can ID him—if he leaves us another polaroid…” Gretchen drifted off.

“That means he’s still killing,” Josie filled in. “And he’ll keep going until we can stop him. We should start checking for any women who might have gone missing in the last day or so.”

Turner tossed his ball again. Missed. “Wouldn’t we have been assigned to a case like that?”

“Not if it was something like a welfare check where the responding officers had no compelling reason to enter the home,” said Gretchen.

Turner eyed her. “So we’re talking about a broad who?—”

Gretchen bristled, glaring at him. “No one says ‘broad’ anymore.”

Turner grinned at her. Of all of them, he seemed to enjoy provoking Gretchen the most.

“Okay,” he said. “We’re talking about some spinster?—”

“Turner!” Josie snapped.

His head swiveled in her direction, eyes wide. “What is it now?”

Gretchen’s chair squealed as she stood up. A dollar bill appeared in her hand. “I’ll tell you what.” She leaned over and put the dollar into the jar on Turner’s desk. “You’re a jackass.”

Noah sighed. “Gretchen, that’s not how this system works, and you know it.”

Gretchen ignored him. Josie could see the satisfaction in every line of her face. Josie was beginning to think she enjoyed calling Turner a jackass to his face more than she enjoyed the pecan croissants she wasn’t supposed to be eating anymore.

Turner picked up his jar and swirled it around, the few lonely dollars inside fluttering. “Don’t knock her, LT. I don’t mind getting back some of the money I’ve been putting out trying not to offend these two.”

Josie looked at the jars on hers and Gretchen’s desks, stuffed full of dollars. “Maybe we should get one of those signs you talked about, Turner.”

He laughed, a full-throated, genuine laugh. Then he winked at her. Josie tried not to recoil.

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