Page 31 of Remember Her Name

TWENTY

The dark thumbprint bruises on her thigh throbbed. The pain was deep, like a toothache. Standing in front of the full-length mirror on the door of her bedroom closet, she turned her leg this way and that, grimacing at the way he’d marked her. She’d have to wear pants for the next few days. Otherwise, the bruises would draw too much attention. There was no way to cover them up and she couldn’t think of an explanation as to how she’d gotten them that didn’t sound like an outright lie. She’d made a grave miscalculation. Again.

He remembered too much. Plus, she hadn’t expected him to be so intense. Not now. She definitely hadn’t anticipated him assaulting her. The strange glow in his eyes when he wrapped his hand around her throat had nearly made her pee herself. One moment he was just a pathetic excuse for a man, shuffling through life with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and the next, he was a beast begging to be unleashed. It was like a switch being thrown. She hadn’t witnessed it before although she’d known it was there. How could she not?

Knowing and experiencing were two very different things.

It had taken some fast talking to extricate herself from that car. Her eyes lingered on her reflection as if to assure herselfthat she had made it out, that she was safely home, in her own bedroom now. She changed out of her shorts and into a loose pair of linen pants. Then she downed the glass of wine on the dresser. The third of the night. A quick glance out her bedroom window assured her that he wasn’t parked outside, thinking about finishing what he started. He didn’t know where she lived. Yesterday, she would have thought he was too stupid to find out but now, she wasn’t sure. What if he was out there watching? What if he saw how many times she checked for him? He’d see that as an invitation. She knew he would because that was how his mind worked. He was a sicko.

Flicking off her bedroom light, she sank to the floor next to her window. She had to recalibrate. Come up with a new plan.

Or she could forget the whole thing. Go back to normal life. Let the bruises fade and pretend today had never happened.

Except she was afraid she’d awakened the monster in him again, and now that she had, no one was safe.

TWENTY-ONE

For the dozenth time, Josie’s gaze drifted away from the CCTV feed to her phone screen and the picture she’d taken of the second polaroid. She blinked, hoping to clear some of the grit from her eyes, and looked back to the large television that showed a haggard Remy Tate still talking to Noah and Gretchen in one of Denton PD’s two interview rooms. They’d been at it for hours. The clock on the wall ticked past onea.m. So far, Remy had admitted to having an affair but wouldn’t disclose the identity of his mistress.

Early on, Noah had taken on the role of the good guy, easing into the smooth and friendly persona he often donned when interviewing male suspects or persons of interest who knew they’d done something wrong but were afraid to admit it. Now, Noah inched his chair closer to Remy’s so that their knees nearly touched. He lowered his voice as if Gretchen wasn’t standing over them with her arms crossed, glaring. “Look, Remy, I get it, okay? Your wife’s pregnancy was difficult. Then the baby came along, and she wasn’t sleeping. Probably pretty crabby, right? Too tired to fool around. Not feeling sexy anymore, not in the mood, blah blah blah. Maybe snapping at you or pushing you away when you tried to touch her.”

Josie knew that Noah would never say such things under normal circumstances but right now he was playing a character. A man who understood and shared questionable morals. A man Remy Tate could confide in.

Remy kept his eyes on his lap but nodded.

“Must have been hard,” Noah continued. “I know you love your daughter. Fatherhood’s amazing, right?”

Another nod.

“But let’s be real here. We’ve got needs, right? Maybe it was a mistake to cheat. I think we can agree on that, can’t we?”

“Yes,” Remy said. “But listen, I didn’t technically cheat.”

Noah smiled knowingly. “I know what you’re saying. I do. But I’m wondering if your wife would have seen it that way. You know how women are.”

Remy nodded. “Right. You’re right. Cleo would definitely have seen it the wrong way. Listen, I’m not proud of myself. I wish I could take it back.”

Noah shrugged. “But shit happens. You can’t undo what you did, but you can give us the name of your mistress so that she can clear your name and we can get on with looking for the real killer. What do you say?”

With a sigh, Remy said, “I…I really can’t.”

Josie startled at the long groan that sounded behind her. Over her shoulder, she saw the Chief. She hadn’t heard him come in even though the viewing room was roughly the size of a walk-in closet. Now he watched the interview, silent and stock-still, one arm crossed over his chest while his other hand rubbed at his chin.

“His mistress is married,” he announced.

Josie had been thinking the same thing.

“Or worse,” he added.

Josie squirmed in her seat at the thought that Remy might have been involved in a sexual relationship with an underagegirl. Why else would he guard the secret so closely? But Josie couldn’t see Kellan Neal covering that up. Maybe he wanted to protect his son-in-law’s reputation or, more likely, didn’t want the fact that Remy had a mistress to make it into the press and take away from finding Cleo’s actual killer, but Josie was certain Neal would never protect his son-in-law if he’d committed a crime.

The Chief said, “We should look at babysitters.”

“They didn’t have one yet,” Josie said. “Cleo did everything.”

Gretchen finally stepped forward and snapped, “You can tell us who she is or we can take your entire life apart and find her anyway. First thing tomorrow morning, our team will be interviewing your family, friends, coworkers, everyone you know. We’ll get a warrant for the contents of your phone, since you’ve refused to consent to a search, and we will find her. If you think the press won’t notice how closely we’re looking at you, you’re sorely mistaken. You really don’t want to be tried in the court of public opinion. People will think you killed your wife, or that you hired someone to do it for you.”

Remy looked stricken. Still, he refused to give them a name. The interview continued. At this rate, they’d be here all night.

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