Page 43 of Husband Missing

Josie queued up a fifth video offered by a business across the street from the site but in the opposite direction from where Gina Phelan had been attacked. It showed the blonde running past, but there wasn’t anything more than what they already had.

Or was there?

Josie rewound and paused, freezing the blonde in profile, center-screen, mid-sprint along the sidewalk. Her cap was still pulled low. This side of her body wasn’t covered in so much blood. But what interested Josie the most was the smudge just below her ear. Josie zoomed in. “Turner.”

“I’m looking at the list of employees and contractors! Again. A couple of these guys have records. I can track them down tomorrow.”

“Blondie has a tattoo.”

His chair creaked. Then he was behind her again, leaning over her shoulder to squint at the screen. “That’s blood.”

“It’s a tattoo.” Josie found another video taken from a neighboring business and paused it at the point where the tattoo was most visible. The footage was crisper, though the more she zoomed in on the woman’s neck, the blurrier the image became. Still, it was enough to prove her point. “Look. It’s black. The shape of a star or something.”

It was no bigger than a quarter, but Josie counted at least four lines extending out from its center.

“That’s not a star, Quinn. The ends aren’t even pointy.”

She turned her face up toward his. “Then what is it?”

“I don’t know,” he said irritably, as if this clue was a waste of his time.

People remembered tattoos. A friend or loved one watching the news or scrolling social media might not recognize the woman based on her stature or hair color but those things together with the tattoo could spark something. Even if they couldn’t make out the precise nature of the tattoo, its location, color, and size might be just what was needed for someone who knew her to put all the pieces together and contact police.

Josie opened her mouth to lecture Turner on exactly this when he sighed and leaned in closer to her monitor. One of his hands rested on the back of her chair while the other splayed across her desk, caging her in.

He must have sensed her annoyance because he muttered, “Relax. I know. I’m too close. Just give me a second.”

Josie turned her attention back to the screen, trying to make sense of the image. Maybe a drawing of the sun with its rays extending outward? Probably not. It pained her to even think it, but Turner was right again. The points weren’t pointy enough for that.

“It’s an ink splotch,” he said. “Or a hand or something.”

“It’s missing a finger.”

Turner tapped against the monitor. “Or that finger is hidden under her earlobe. Take some screenshots. I’ll make sure Amber gets this out.”

Without another word, he went back to his desk. The whoosh of him tossing his little basketball sounded, followed by curses.

Josie watched him in shock. He was never this easy to work with, even when they agreed.

Clenching the ball in his large hand, he said, “You’re off this case, though, so I’m taking credit for the tattoo.”

Josie rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It didn’t matter to her who got credit as long as the photos got out to the public. She started taking as many screenshots as she could, pausing the footage at different points and zooming in to try to get the clearest picture. Even as her hand manipulated the mouse, her eyelids drifted closed. Somewhere between waking and sleeping, a low hum started in her ears. White noise. The faint sound of Coldplay’s “All My Love” joined it. Noah’s aftershave drifted over her consciousness. His hands were warm on her hips. They swayed together. He was there, right there, if she could just?—

“Quinn!” the Chief’s voice boomed, jolting her out of her dreamlike state.

She startled, heart thundering in her chest. With clammy hands, she wiped sweat from her face. The memory of dancing with Noah in what would be their child’s nursery slipped away. It felt like another life now.

“Are you listening to me or what?” The Chief stood over her now, his acne-pitted face lobster red. Wisps of his white hair floated over his scalp. “Why the hell are you here? What are you doing?”

“I wouldn’t go there, Chief,” Turner said without looking up from the packet on his desk. “You’re volatile right now, aren’t you, Quinn?”

Josie blinked up at the Chief, still slightly dazed.

“You volatile right now, Quinn?” he barked, folding his arms across his thin chest.

Josie nodded, trying to shake off her fatigue. She needed another latte. Hell, she’d be willing to try one of Turner’s disgusting energy drinks at this point. Especially for the tirade she was about to endure given the way the Chief glowered at her.

But he didn’t yell, didn’t berate her. Instead, he said, “Good. Stay that way. You’re off the Phelan case. Don’t let me catch you snooping or it’ll be your ass. Now get the hell out of here.”

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