Page 74 of Remember Her Name

“No idea what it is?” Noah asked Hummel.

“I don’t know. Some kind of glue maybe? The lab will analyze it.”

She gets this shit everywhere. Everywhere.

Josie’s heart did a double-tap. The killer had been right under their nose from day one. He’d offered himself up as their very first lead.

“Noah,” she said. “I know where we can find Simon Cook.”

FIFTY-SEVEN

The Hampton home looked almost exactly as it had when Josie and Turner arrived there the day that Cleo Tate was abducted except that this time, their remaining car was no longer in the driveway. Noah ran a search for the tag number and got it out to all their patrol units. They’d made two stops on their way, one at WYEP for a brief and fruitless conversation with Vicky Platt, who then tried to get information from them to run on their next newscast. The second stop was at Remy Tate’s house. That interview had proven only marginally more useful, though Josie was still trying to fit all the pieces together in her head as she and Noah got out of their SUV.

As they walked up the front steps, Noah said, “You sure about this?”

Josie’s pulse ticked upward. “As sure as I can be.”

He’d already tried to find whatever information he could about the Hamptons on the drive over. They’d lived in Philadelphia until four years ago when they moved to Denton. Sheila had lived in Denton previously, but Isaac’s prior addresses were all in Philadelphia, at least as far back as they were able to check. He seemed to magically come into existence twelve years ago. His vital information didn’t match up exactlywith Simon Cook’s but it was close. Josie wondered if Simon Cook had stolen an identity all those years ago rather than simply changing his name. Jenna Hampton had turned eighteen a few months before her death. There was no way to prove that Isaac and Jenna were really Simon and Felicity Cook without an admission from Isaac or DNA testing. There was also not enough probable cause at this juncture to arrest Isaac Hampton even if they did locate him.

Although Isaac’s industrial engineer wife used glue in her prototypes and they’d found what they believed to be glue in the classic cars the killer drove from the crime scenes, it wasn’t enough of a connection. If they could get samples of the glue Sheila used and the state lab could match it up with the glue found in the vehicles, that would be a start but still not enough to arrest Isaac. Which was why they hadn’t brought the full force of the police department with them. All they could hope for now was to bring him into the stationhouse for a talk and hope any statement he gave was enough for them to investigate him further.

Josie rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she rang it a second time. Moments later, Sheila Hampton opened the door. Her eyes were bloodshot, face red and blotchy from crying. She barely looked at them before taking a step backward. The door began to close. “This isn’t a good time.”

“Please, Mrs. Hampton,” Noah said. “We wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t vitally important.”

“It’s about your husband,” Josie added.

Sheila hesitated. One of her hands was curled tightly around the edge of the door. “He’s not here, so maybe come back later.”

“Do you know where we can find him?” asked Noah.

She shook her head. Maybe it was grief over the loss of her daughter. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Josie knew better than anyone the way it could catch you off guard monthsor even years after the loss. Yet, she suspected something else was at play. There was a strange tension rolling off Sheila Hampton that put all of Josie’s senses on high alert.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Noah pressed.

“Um, earlier today. This morning, I guess. I don’t remember the exact time.”

“We’d like to ask you some questions,” Josie said. “While we’re here.”

Sheila’s grip on the door tightened until her knuckles blanched. Josie didn’t have to look at Noah to know he, too, noticed something was off. Years of working together and being married left them uniquely attuned to one another.

Was Isaac inside, hiding? If so, where was their other vehicle?

“Mrs. Hampton,” Noah said gently. “Is everything all right? Is there anything we can help you with?”

Shaking her head vigorously, she loosened her grip on the door and stepped back, as if to allow them entry. “No, no. Everything is fine. You can come in and see for yourself.”

Noah stepped over the threshold first. Behind him, Josie’s fingers twitched over the holster of her Glock.

The house had the same heavy air of tragedy inside it. Sorrow was a thick cloud enveloping them as they entered the living room. Nothing looked different. No signs of a struggle. There were no discernible threats and yet, Josie couldn’t ignore the low thrum of anxiety coursing through her body. Sheila panned their surroundings and then looked up at them as if to say, “See? Nothing amiss here.”

Noah said, “Is anyone here with you?”

“No one’s here. It’s just me.” She turned her back and walked toward the kitchen. They passed through a short hallway. On one side was a door—a closet or possibly the door to the garage—and on the other, stairs to the second floor. A rolling suitcase sat at the bottom of the steps.

The kitchen was small but brighter than the living room. The cabinets were all white, the countertops speckled gray. A large window overlooked the backyard. Hemmed in by a white vinyl privacy fence, it was empty except for a barbecue grill. The grass was cut short and the garden beds running along the base of the fence were filled with the yellow, wilted leaves of long-dead tulips. A light brown hazmat suit—similar to the Tyvek suits they wore at crime scenes—hung from a clothesline.

Forcing her gaze from the hazmat suit, Josie noticed the kitchen table was covered with Sheila’s work materials. Goggles, earplugs, headphones—some intact and others broken apart into smaller pieces. Tubes of glue littered the table. An open duffel bag was in the center of it all. Brown and white fabric, the texture of the hazmat suit out back, poked from its opening.

---