Page 8 of Remember Her Name

Josie pushed the jogging stroller down the path. “Let’s go.”

FOUR

Cold air cascaded over Josie’s face as she pushed the stroller into the park office. The temperature in the tiny brick building was at least twenty degrees cooler than outside. It felt glorious. Just inside the double doors was a large metal desk. A laptop and telephone sat on its surface, but no one manned it. Josie took a quick glance at the baby, now asleep, and shoved past the desk into the short hallway beyond it.

“I thought you said they would be here,” said a panicked male voice behind the first door on the left.

Then came Turner’s voice. “They’ll be here any second.”

Josie used the front wheel of the stroller to prod the door. A second later, it opened, Turner’s huge form filling the doorway. He now wore a blue suit and even in the mid-morning heat, still had his jacket on. From one of the pockets peeked a can of his beloved energy drink. He stepped aside so that Josie could maneuver the stroller into what was a very small room lined with shelves that held tools, paint, and other outdoor supplies. Another empty desk took up most of the space. A window looked out on a grove of trees. A shorter, thinner man pushed past Turner to get to the stroller. Even in the air conditioning, his light brown hair curled from the humidity. The short-sleevedwhite button-down shirt he wore clung to him, wet with sweat, making the tank top beneath it visible. His green tie hung loosely around his neck.

He dropped to his knees and began unlatching the straps. “Oh my God. Gracie. My God.”

Turner said, “This is Remy Tate. Cleo’s husband.”

Remy lifted his daughter and cradled her in his arms. She continued to snooze. He looked at the crown of Gracie’s head. “Is she okay? Do you think she’s okay?”

Josie pulled her polo shirt from her neck, shaking it to cool herself down. “She seems fine, but if you’d like to have her checked out at the hospital, we will be happy to take you both there.”

Remy didn’t even register her answer. He pressed a kiss onto little Gracie’s head and sighed with relief. Then his expression changed to panic. His body went rigid. Meeting Josie’s eyes, he said, “Detective Turner told me what happened. The 911 call. Gracie left alone in the park. Cleo missing. Do you know what happened?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Josie said. “Not at this time. We’ve got teams searching the entire park for any sign of her or anyone who might have seen her. When is the last time you spoke to your wife?”

“This morning,” he said, shifting Gracie so that her cheek rested against his chest. “I left the house around seven. She was feeding the baby. I kissed them both goodbye and then I went to work. We have one of those Ring cameras. She left with Gracie around eight thirty.”

“Mr. Tate here provided me with that footage. I pulled a still from it. We can get that out.” Turner perched along the edge of the desk, turning his focus back to Remy. “You guys fight at all recently?”

Remy looked mystified. “What? No. Not recently. I mean, we’re exhausted, but that goes with the territory, having a newborn. Maybe we’re snapping at one another more lately but other than that, we’re good.”

“You sure?” Turner pressed. “Kids can cause a lot of stress.”

Remy stared up at Turner, mouth open.

Josie jumped in. “Do you have other children?”

“No. Gracie is our first.” Remy smiled down at her sleepy face.

Turner’s fingers drummed against the lip of the desk. “Is your wife a full-time mom?”

“No. She’s on maternity leave. Somehow, she got six months. Lucky. I only got two weeks—which I know is more than most dads get but I would have loved to have been home with my girls longer. I work for the city, by the way. The clerk of courts. Records department. That’s where I met Cleo.”

“What does your wife do?” asked Josie. Cleo was indeed lucky. Denton PD only offered six weeks of paid maternity leave and it was even less if they adopted.

“She’s an attorney for Harbor Insurance Company. She’s due to go back to work in two months.”

Which meant that little Gracie was four months old, as Josie had estimated.

Turner took out his phone. Was he really going to start scrolling in the middle of an interview? He must have seen her glare because he put it back into his pocket with a sigh. “Mr. Tate, how’s your wife’s mood been lately? She seem like she enjoys being stuck at home with a kid?”

So much finesse.

Remy laughed, an edge of nervousness to it. “She’s looking forward to going back to work. Her mood has been fine. What are you suggesting? That she had some sort of breakdown and left Gracie in the middle of the park? Cleo would never do that.We have enough support from friends and family that if she needed a break, she could have had one.”

Josie was certain that someone had told Turner about the blood found with the diaper bag and the picture. Still, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Cleo had harmed herself and staged the scene. Unlikely, in Josie’s estimation, but not impossible.

Turner didn’t answer Remy’s question, instead asking another of his own. “She got postpartum, or what?”

Remy shook his head. Gracie shifted in his arms, one of her tiny fists clutching at his shirt. “No. She’s fine. It sounds like you’re accusing my wife of abandoning our baby. Cleo wouldn’t do that.”

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