Page 8 of Husband Missing

“She was wearing a necklace,” Josie said. “Someone tore it off.”

Had Gina’s death been the result of a robbery gone wrong? This certainly was the area of Denton in which it was most likely to happen.

Anya must have had the same thought. Shaking her head, she let out a heavy sigh. “So senseless. Why kill someone over something so meaningless?”

This was an almost daily lament in their line of work. It never changed. They fell into silence as Josie helped Anya continue her examination. They rolled Gina’s body over. There was nothing beneath her. Anya lifted her shirt to get a look at her back. They checked her pockets, finding one lip gloss and a key fob that Josie assumed was for her car. Then they checked her sleeves, her pantlegs, her waistband, searching for additional injuries or any evidence that hadn’t been visible.

“Detective Quinn!” Brennan’s voice sounded from outside the crime scene perimeter. “That footage is ready!”

“Go,” said Anya. “As soon as I’ve finished the exam and autopsy, I’ll get you my findings, though this looks pretty straightforward.”

FIVE

Sweat dampened the back of Josie’s neck. The inside of the trailer that served as Shirley Swenson’s temporary office was overly warm. Or maybe it just felt that way since Josie had hoofed it all the way around the perimeter of the sprawling construction site to the rear entrance. Keeping outside the crime scene tape, she’d walked past the trail of Gina Phelan’s blood to where one of the ERT members was bagging the knife and phone. Then she continued down the sidewalk until the fencing cut to the left, breaking into a jog as night closed in. There were no lights along the fence line. As she went, she tried to figure out why Gina was out here in the first place.

“Would you like to sit down?” Shirley stood behind her desk chair, gesturing toward the open seat. “I’ve got everything queued up.”

Josie didn’t miss the small tremor in Shirley’s lower lip or the red rimming her eyes. “Did you know Gina well?”

Shirley stepped aside to let Josie sit. A crumpled tissue appeared in her hand, and she used it to dab at her eyes. “Not that well. She doesn’t usually have much occasion to visit the sites, but I’ve met her several times at staff meetings and holiday parties, that kind of thing. She’s very sweet. Don’t getme wrong, she can be intimidating as hell, but mostly, she’s very kind. Funny, too. Really funny. One year, she bought all the supervisors and administrators—basically anyone who spends a lot of time behind a desk or in an on-site trailer—these screaming goat noisemakers.”

Josie smiled. “Screaming goats?”

She turned her attention to Shirley’s computer screen. The program that Phelan Construction used was a top-of-the-line security system created by Rowland Industries. Josie was familiar with it. She clicked on the thumbnail that brought up the footage from the west-facing camera outside the construction site.

Behind her, Shirley made a noise like she was unsuccessfully holding back a sob. Reaching into the desk drawer on Josie’s right, she pulled out a plastic, circular button, about three inches in width and one inch in height. It was a desk toy. From its surface, a dismayed cartoon goat stared up at them.

“I won’t press it,” Shirley said. “But trust me, it’s hilarious. Gina used hers to break the tension during internal meetings sometimes. Well, probably to wake up anyone who dozed off. Sometimes she startled people in elevators. She told us to have fun with them. Find other occasions to use them, like when you felt like screaming yourself but might look crazy doing it.”

Josie couldn’t help but laugh. “You didn’t look crazy pressing a screaming goat button?”

“Well, yeah, we did.” Shirley looked at the button in her hand almost lovingly. “But we were having fun looking crazy. It’s silly, but Gina liked silly. She said there wasn’t enough of it in the world.”

The sadness Josie had pushed away earlier returned like a punch to her gut. She had a feeling she would have liked Gina Phelan had she gotten to know her.

“I’m sorry,” she told Shirley.

She pressed play on the footage. The camera was in an elevated position, above the fencing. The video started in late afternoon. Two security guards stood outside the gate. A large group of people faced off against them. The angle was such that most of the people were only visible in profile. Josie clicked pause and quickly counted heads. Seventeen against two guards.

“The Phelans will be here soon,” Shirley said.

“Great.”

Josie hit play again. As the seconds ticked past, the protestors’ bodies pressed together, forming a single mass that surged forward. There was no sound, but Josie sensed the growing agitation of the protestors in their stiff shoulders, mouths cracked wide open in what looked like shouts, and fingers pointed toward the security guards. The guards waved, trying to herd them backward. From this angle, at least, a waving sign made it impossible to tell who instigated what came next—one of the guards or one of the protestors—but soon, the entire scene deteriorated into a frenzy of swinging fists, flailing limbs, and aggressive pushes as the protestors attacked the guards. It was difficult to make anything out, especially given how quickly it all happened. The gate slid open, and two more guards joined the fray.

“Did you speak to Gina today?” Josie asked, keeping her eyes on the screen.

“Yes. She arrived around seven this morning. Right after Mr. Phelan—Mace—they were both here to inspect the site. He wanted to make sure the extra security measures he’d ordered had been put into place. She wanted to document them and then assess whether they could do more.”

Josie leaned closer to the computer, watching what was visible of the sidewalk beyond the crowd in the direction from which Gina had come. The camera had captured very littleof it. Finally, there was movement. A shadow. Then someone barrelled into view.

Not Gina Phelan.

SIX

A blonde woman sprinted into view, her face obscured by a dark blue ballcap. There was no logo on it from what Josie could see. A long ponytail poked through the opening in the back, swishing across her shoulders as she ran toward the brawling mass of people ahead. Her feet were clad in black ballet flats. An oversized gray sweatshirt fell to the middle of her thighs. If she had shorts on beneath it, they weren’t visible. Blood smeared and smudged her clothing and bare thighs. She didn’t look behind her, instead plunging into the crowd, aggressively muscling her way through to the other side. With so many fists and elbows flailing, cell phones held aloft filming, and bodies jostling to reach the overwhelmed guards, no one noticed her at all.

Emerging from the other side of the skirmish, she fell to her knees, hands breaking her fall. Then she jumped back up and ran, away from everything, disappearing from view. Josie rewound the footage. “Shirley, do you recognize this woman?”

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