Her Final Confession

Chapter Eleven

“We’re not going to crack this case in forty-eight hours,” Noah mumbled as they left Chitwood’s office and made their way to the bullpen—a collection of desks in the center of the large room on the second floor where officers did paperwork, made calls, and conducted research. Josie, Noah, and Gretchen had permanent desks, whereas the other desks were shared by the rest of the officers. Noah had been the one to clean Josie’s personal effects out of the chief’s office while she was on leave. He had been the one to choose her new, permanent detective’s desk, which faced his own. Gretchen’s desk sat to the side of both of theirs, the three desks forming a T.

As Noah threw his notebook down angrily, Josie’s eyes were drawn toward Gretchen’s desk. As usual, everything was neat and orderly. All the files she was working on were stacked tidily in one corner. Pens rested in an old Denton PD coffee mug. She bypassed her own paper-strewn desk and started pulling out the drawers of Gretchen’s desk. “We won’t solve it in forty-eight hours,” Josie agreed. “But we might be able to find Gretchen.”

Noah took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. Folding his arms over his chest, he watched her riffle through the contents of Gretchen’s desk. “’Cause it’s that easy,” he said.

Josie looked up long enough to shoot him a nasty glare. “We work the clues, Fraley,” she said.

He laughed as he took a seat behind his desk. “What clues are you referring to? Because from where I’m sitting, we’ve got a whole lot of nothing.”

Gretchen’s desk contained nothing but office supplies, some random personal hygiene items—floss, a bottle of ibuprofen, and some Alka-Seltzer—and work files. “I need her personnel file,” Josie said.

She returned to Chitwood’s office and waited several minutes while he located Gretchen’s file. He hadn’t bothered to unpack his personal belongings, but he had taken the time to change the filing system that Josie had had in place when she was interim chief. Finally, she returned to her desk with Gretchen’s file in hand. Noah wheeled his chair around and sidled up next to her. “You’re looking for her emergency contact, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Josie said. “When she started, she would have had to put someone down.”

On the various forms that Gretchen had had to fill out upon being hired, she had written: Caroline Weber, and under relationship: cousin. From the area code in the woman’s phone number, Josie guessed she lived in or near Pittsburgh, which was about four hours west of Denton.

Josie pulled out her phone and dialed. A woman answered on the third ring. Josie said, “Ms. Weber? Caroline Weber?”

“Yes?” the woman said. Her voice sounded younger than Josie expected.

“This is Detective Josie Quinn with the Denton Police Department. I’m calling about your cousin, Gretchen Palmer.”

“Gretchen?” the woman echoed, sounding surprised. “Is everything okay?”

“To be honest, we’re not entirely sure. There was a shooting at Gretchen’s home earlier this evening, and we haven’t been able to locate Gretchen since then. She listed you as her emergency contact. We were wondering if you or anyone else in your family has heard from her.”

There was a silence so long, Josie thought the call had dropped. “Ms. Weber?”

She cleared her throat. “Dr. Weber.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s Dr. Weber. I’m completing my residency at University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.”

Josie wasn’t sure what that had to do with Gretchen being missing, but she didn’t push. Instead she said, “I’m sorry. Dr. Weber, have you heard from Gretchen recently?”

A sigh. “Listen, Detective…”

“Quinn,” Josie supplied.

“Detective Quinn, I know why Gretchen put me as her emergency contact. I’m only a few hours away. I’m a doctor, so making medical decisions for her in the event she was incapacitated wouldn’t be an issue—but Gretchen and I aren’t close. I haven’t heard from her in years. She sends me holiday cards. That’s about it.”

“So she hasn’t been in contact with you today,” Josie pressed.

“No. I mean, I can take down your number, and if I do hear from her, I’ll call you, but I can’t help you.”

Josie could understand why Gretchen wasn’t close to the woman. She was as cold as a winter day. She hadn’t expressed even a small degree of concern for Gretchen’s safety or well-being, hadn’t asked a single question about the shooting. Briefly, Josie wondered if that was because she already knew what she needed to know from Gretchen, and she was simply lying about not hearing from her.

“Is there anyone else in your family that Gretchen might contact if she was in trouble or needed help?” Josie asked.

“No, not since our grandparents died a few years ago. I mean, I was probably the closest to her, and that’s not saying much. My mom and Gretchen’s dad were siblings. Gretchen’s dad passed on. I have an older sister, but she lives in Ohio. Gretchen had some aunts and uncles on her mother’s side, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t keep in touch with them. Especially because of—” She broke off suddenly, and the line went silent.

“It’s okay, Dr. Weber. I know about her mother,” Josie said. “Gretchen told me. You wouldn’t happen to have any of their contact information, would you?”

“I wouldn’t, but my mom would. I can get it from her and text it to you if you give me your number,” she offered.

“That would be a big help. Thank you. One last thing—would it be okay with you if I texted you a photograph of a young boy? We found it on Gretchen’s property. We’re trying to figure out who the boy is.”

“Sure, send it over. I’ll let you know if I recognize him.”