“How long did the job take?” Josie asked, before he could ask why they were so concerned with whether or not he owned guns.
He shrugged. “I don’t remember specifically. Probably the same amount of time they always do. Coupla months.”
“Were there any interruptions to the job?” Gretchen asked. “That you remember now? Anything unusual?”
He looked from Gretchen to Josie and back. “You think someone buried this girl under the foundation while we were in the middle of the job? And we didn’t notice?”
They said nothing.
Again, he gave them the grimace that indicated he was searching his memories. “A couple of times we had to stop because they were having plumbing work done, if I remember correctly, and we didn’t work weekends. There was some time at the end of the job that the house was empty. My dad had to get the key from the landlord, I think. Back then, we just figured the mom and daughter were on vacation or something. We just wanted to finish the job. That’s all I remember. I mean, I guess it’s possible someone could have put her in there while we were in the middle of the job if they did it at the right time and left everything looking the way we left it.” He shuddered. “That’s a terrible thing. I’d hate to think we poured concrete over that girl and didn’t even know it.”
Josie took out a business card and handed it to him, telling him to give them a call if he remembered anything else he thought they should know. He took it slowly, suddenly looking dumbfounded and very distressed.
Gretchen said, “Mr. Newton? You okay? Is there something else?”
He shook his head and Josie thought she saw his eyes glistening. “It’s just—who would do something like that? Something so awful?”
Josie said, “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Seventeen
It was nearing lunch time so they got takeout which they ate in the car before heading to Kelly Ogden’s address. As Josie drove, Gretchen sent a text to Noah asking him to check into the firearm ownership of Calvin Plummer and George Newton to confirm they were both telling the truth. She also asked him to see if he could find a death certificate or obituary for a man in his mid-twenties whose name started with A during the summer of 2004.
“So, possible suspects: we’ve got the landlord,” Josie said. “Ray, George Newton, and now this guy Beverly was flirting with on Newton’s work crew.”
Gretchen said, “The list is getting longer with each person we talk to.”
“It doesn’t help that half of our list is dead,” Josie said.
They pulled up in front of a crumbling five-story apartment building in a run-down part of Denton that had somehow escaped the flooding thus far. They found Ogden’s apartment easily enough but after ringing the bell and knocking for several minutes, there was no answer. Since Josie had figured out from perusing her Facebook page that she now worked at one of the local supermarkets, they headed there, where they found her working checkout in lane seven. She passed people through her line with a blank-faced efficiency, only talking to customers to tell them how much their bill was and to ask if they had any coupons. As in her profile photo, her brown hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. In person, she looked much older than her thirty-three years.
Gretchen left Josie just inside the store while she went in search of the manager. Fifteen minutes later, Kelly led them sullenly out to the parking lot, around to the side of the building. A light mist had begun to fall from the heavy clouds overhead. Beneath a small overhang, a lone ash tray stood among the weeds on the cracked asphalt. Kelly took a long drag from her cigarette and wrapped one arm across her chest like a shield. “I don’t know nothing about that looting last night. I know you got my brother, but I wasn’t there. I was home sleeping, minding my business. I got a job. I don’t need to steal stuff. My brother, you know, he got into the drugs, or whatever. I don’t do drugs. The looting and all that wasn’t even his idea. He started running with that old dude, what’s his name? He got arrested last night too, you know. You should talk to him, not me.”