Her Final Confession

Chapter Fifteen

“You two are not going to Philadelphia,” Bob Chitwood said. Standing behind his desk, hands on his hips, he stared at Josie and Noah.

“Chief,” Josie said, “all the clues lead to Philadelphia. Someone has to go there.”

“Sure,” Chitwood said. “Someone. Not both of you. You think this department is paying for the two of you to take a romantic getaway? You’re out of your damn minds.”

Again, Josie saw the muscle in Noah’s jaw tick as his posture stiffened. He opened his mouth to snap back at Chitwood, but Josie spoke first. “Chief, Gretchen lived and worked in Philadelphia for at least fifteen years before she came here. The odds of her having traveled there are good, and we’re pretty short on clues right now. Plus, I need to look into Omar’s life in Philadelphia and see if I can find out why he rented that car and came to Denton. It would only be a day, maybe two.”

Chitwood sighed. “Fine. One of you goes. I need one of you here. Especially with Palmer AWOL. Quinn, you’re the lead investigator, you go. But your ass better be back here by Wednesday, or I’m writing you up. Now get the hell out of my office.”

Noah spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. Josie followed him, but their paths diverged when they reached the bullpen. Noah kept walking—to get some air, Josie imagined, before he blew his top—but Josie went to her desk where the phone was ringing. “Detective Quinn,” she answered.

A man’s voice gave a reedy hello, and a small ache started in Josie’s chest. She didn’t even need to ask who it was. There was no sound in the world like the sound of grief in a parent’s voice. “Mr. Omar?” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Randall Omar, yes,” he said. “I’m—I’m James’s father.”

“I’m glad you called,” Josie said. “First, let me say how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he said, and the strain in his voice deepened. “The, uh, medical examiner here in Boise contacted us. Told us about… about James. He said you were the detective in charge of finding his… his…”

“His killer,” Josie supplied. “Yes, I’m going to do everything I can to find the person who killed your son and make sure that person is brought to justice. I promise you that.”

“Thank you,” Randall repeated, voice thick and husky. “Do you have any leads?”

Josie went over what they knew, sparing the more gruesome details as much as possible. There was no sense upsetting the grieving father more when he had only yesterday found out his son was killed in such a cold-blooded fashion. “Mr. Omar, your son was found in the driveway of a woman named Gretchen Palmer. Does that name sound familiar to you?”

“No, I’m sorry. I can ask my wife, but it doesn’t sound familiar at all. What about the picture you mentioned? Of a young boy, you said? Would it be possible for us to see it?”

“That would be very helpful,” Josie said. “I can text it to you now, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please.” He rattled off a number, and Josie used her cell phone to forward the photo to him. She waited, listening as he and his wife discussed it, their voices distant and muffled. Then Randall came back on the line. “I don’t understand. We’ve never seen this boy. We don’t know who he is. Do you know who the boy in the photo is, or why it was pinned to my son’s… my son’s body?”

His voice cracked on the word body. Josie’s voice was gentle. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Omar. We don’t know who the boy is—not yet. I’m trying to find out. When was the last time you spoke to your son?”

“Three days ago. It was my wife’s birthday. He called to wish her a happy birthday.”

“Did he mention anything to either of you about going on any trips?”

“No,” Randall said.

“Did he seem like himself? Did he seem stressed at all or distracted?”

“No more than usual. He was always under a bit of stress with school.”

“I understand your son was a graduate student at Drexel University in Philadelphia. Is that correct?”

She heard him swallow. His voice sounded stronger with a subject that put him on firmer emotional ground. “Yes, that’s right. He was studying…”

In the background, Josie heard a woman’s voice interject. “Genetics. He was studying genetics.”

Nervous laughter filtered through the line. Randall said, “My wife said genetics. Sorry, I can’t really think straight right now.” He sucked in a breath. “I did know that. James is always going on about all this scientific stuff—oh God—he was… he was always going on about it. Jesus.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Omar,” Josie said softly. “I know this is an extremely difficult time. Again, I appreciate your speaking with me. Can you tell me where James lived? Was it on campus?”

“Well, I don’t think it was campus housing. He was a grad student. But there’s a small apartment complex a few blocks from the sciences building. It’s not much, but it’s cheap.”

“Did he live alone?” Josie asked. “Or with a roommate?”

“Uh, yeah, a roommate. Ethan.”

“I’ll need to interview Ethan,” Josie said. “Do you have his number, by any chance?”

“Of course,” Randall said. “Are you going to Philadelphia?”

“I’ll be leaving in a few hours,” Josie said. “If you could text me the names and contact information for anyone there you think I should talk with, that would be great.”

“Of course,” Randall repeated. “He had an advisor—Dr. Larson. I’ll send you his phone number. He was a real mentor to James. He’s also James’ landlord. Maybe he can help you.”

Josie thanked him again before following up with one last question. “Mr. Omar, can you think of any reason why your son would have rented a car and driven to Denton?”

A long silence followed, punctuated by the man’s shallow breaths. Finally, he said, “No, Detective. I’m sorry. I can’t.”