Her Silent Cry (Detective Josie Quinn #6)- Lisa Regan Page 0,96
threw her arms around Josie’s neck, causing a sharp pain in Josie’s stomach, but she held on, grateful for Misty’s friendship, grateful that she wasn’t alone—the way Amy was alone even when surrounded by people.
Fifty-Seven
Mettner drove Josie to Denton Memorial Hospital where they ran a battery of tests and cleared her for duty. She was still sore and had several other bruises and cuts on her body from her tumble down the mountain that she hadn’t noticed before, but she felt clearer-headed than she had earlier. She told the doctor about her ongoing nausea and he told her it was likely stress, gave her an anti-nausea drug and told her to follow up with her regular doctor if it continued. Script in hand, Josie found the elevators and went up to the fifth floor where she found Gretchen pacing outside the surgical waiting room.
“Hey,” Gretchen said. “I was worried. You okay?”
Josie hugged her middle, which still felt as though she’d done one thousand sit-ups. “I’m fine. Thanks. Any news on Amy?”
Gretchen shook her head. “Still waiting.”
Through the windows, they could see Colin seated between two FBI agents in the waiting room. Gray stubble covered his face. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the tops of his legs, his hands steepled together in prayer under his chin. His mouth moved although neither of the agents with him seemed to be responding to anything he said.
As if reading her mind, Gretchen said, “He’s praying.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Josie muttered. “Have you heard from Oaks?”
“He’s still out at the mill. Between there and the high school it’s a big scene to process.”
“Have they ID’d the female?” Josie asked.
Gretchen said, “Not yet. They’re working on it.”
“What about the money?”
“It’s still sitting where the Rosses left it. Oaks put two agents on each package to watch. If anyone approaches, they’ll be detained.”
“That’s good,” Josie said. “But that money can’t sit in the middle of Denton East’s football field indefinitely.”
“Right,” Gretchen agreed.
“We should leave it there until after the time passes for him to give Lucy back though.”
“You really think he’s going to return her?” Gretchen asked.
Nausea kicked up in her stomach again. “No,” Josie said. “I don’t think he will. I think this is all about hurting Amy and as long as she’s still alive, he will want to keep torturing her. Did you talk to Violet Young?”
“Not yet,” Gretchen said. “The doctors were working on her, running tests.”
“I’ll try to speak with her,” Josie said. Her phone chirped. She looked at the text message. “That’s Oaks. He’s downstairs in the morgue with Dr. Feist. I’m going to head down there first. Then we’ll see if we can talk with Violet. You stay here. Keep me posted.”
“You got it, boss.”
Fifty-Eight
The Denton City Morgue was located in the basement of Denton Memorial Hospital, windowless and drab with a lingering odor that was half chemical and half biological decay. The walls of the long hallway had originally been white but hadn’t been painted in so long that they were now a dull gray, and the floor tiles had become jaundiced long ago. It was also the quietest place in the hospital—maybe even the city. Usually the silence made Josie’s skin crawl, but given the chaos of the last twenty-four hours, it was a welcome relief. She saw Oaks as soon as she stepped into the exam room, his suit streaked with mud, his face haggard. He stood several feet away from the stainless-steel table which now held the woman Josie had found shot to death in the cave. Dr. Feist leaned over the woman’s face, holding what looked like a driver’s license up next to the woman’s head.
Oaks nodded. “We found a backpack in a third-floor room in the old mill with a wallet inside of it. We pulled the license. We’re running prints now to see if they match the unknowns from the Jaclyn Underwood scene and Lucy’s room, but we believe it belongs to her. Dr. Feist is making the comparison now. We’ll also take DNA from her body and try to match it from the hair on the pillow found in Jaclyn’s closet.”
“Who is she?” Josie asked.
Dr. Feist walked over and handed Josie the license. “Natalie Oliver. Twenty-four.”
The woman in the driver’s license photo stared back at Josie, a challenging tilt to her chin, brown eyes penetrating. She looked as though she’d been trying