Her Final Confession

Chapter Ten

PRESENT DAY

Denton, Pennsylvania

Chief Bob Chitwood had been in his position for roughly six months, and yet his office still had a temporary air about it; there were no personal touches, and the banker’s box with which he’d shown up on his first week as chief remained unpacked on the edge of the large desk. While Josie stood with Noah, waiting for Chitwood to get off the phone, she looked around, noticing the now-blank corkboard where she had had photos tacked and the empty walls where her degrees, certifications, and commendations had hung. She hadn’t loved being chief—it was a lot of bureaucratic work and political maneuvering that Josie wasn’t well suited to—but it did feel odd to be back at the other side of the desk.

Chitwood hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, hands steepled, regarding Josie and Noah with eyebrows raised. He was a tall, thin man in his sixties with thinning white hair; wisps seemed to perpetually float over the top of his head as though they weren’t firmly attached to his scalp. His cheeks were pitted with old acne scars, and gray stubble dotted his chin. Josie was never sure if he was trying to grow a goatee or if he just kept missing a spot when he shaved.

“I want to issue an arrest warrant for Detective Palmer,” he said. “First-degree murder.”

“What?” Josie blurted.

Noah, always the more measured of the two of them, said, “Chief, I’m not certain we have enough evidence to arrest Detective Palmer for first-degree murder.”

“I’ve already spoken with the DA’s office,” Chitwood said. “We’ve got a twenty-three-year-old kid shot in the back on her driveway. There’s evidence that she was at, or near, the scene when the shooting went down. She’s AWOL and the MDT was removed from her vehicle. What more do you think I need to issue an arrest warrant? It’s only a matter of time before the press gets wind of this whole situation. We don’t want it to look like we’re sitting on our hands.”

“Chief,” Josie interrupted, trying to moderate her voice. She knew she was reacting emotionally, and she tried to push her personal feelings aside. “I can take care of the press. I’ve got contacts. Listen, Detective Palmer is one of us. We’ve already got a BOLO issued for both her and the vehicle. We’ve faxed a warrant to her cell phone provider so we can try to locate her phone. I know Detective Palmer. I’m the one who hired her. I’ve worked with her for over two years. I don’t believe she would do something like this. I think someone else is involved.”

Chitwood’s upper body levered forward, his chair creaking. He put his hands on the arms of the chair. “I’m not interested in what you think, Quinn. You think Tara didn’t warn me about you and all your hot-shotting in this town?”

“Chief,” Noah said, “Tara—Mayor Charleston—has always been biased where Detective Quinn is concerned.”

Chitwood smiled, but it was an ugly thing. “Oh, and you’re not? If I’m not mistaken, the two of you became an item when Quinn came back on duty. So don’t talk to me about bias, Fraley, or I’ll have your ass in a sling by the weekend.”

Josie held up her hands. “Please,” she said. “We’re getting off track. We need to keep the focus on Gretchen—Detective Palmer. I was simply saying perhaps we should give Detective Palmer the benefit of the doubt. Maybe treat her as a missing person rather than a criminal on the run. I can see that it looks bad, but this is not open and shut. There’s the photo of the young boy from 2004. Why would Gretchen shoot this guy in the back and then pin an old photo to his body? There is something more going on here, and I’d like the chance to figure out what it is before we start pointing fingers.”

Chitwood considered this. Josie could practically feel the heat coming off Noah’s body in waves. She chanced a look at him and noticed a flush in his cheeks she knew to be anger. Noah wasn’t the hot-headed type. Chitwood had really gotten under his skin. Josie understood that. Their new chief was implying that their personal relationships kept them from doing their jobs effectively, when the opposite was true. They hadn’t even had a relationship until Josie went out on medical leave—and could it really be called a relationship when they’d never even consummated it? Regardless, for the past two years they’d always put their work before anything else.

She caught Noah’s eye and mouthed the words “Let it go.”

He looked away from her. “At least give us some time,” Noah implored. “Seventy-two hours. We work Detective Palmer’s case as a missing person’s. If we don’t find her by then, you can issue the arrest warrant. Either way, the entire department and the state police are looking for her.”

Chitwood stared at them for a moment longer, his flinty gaze moving back and forth between the two of them. Finally, he said, “You’ve got forty-eight hours.”