Her Final Confession

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Planning a news conference with Chief Bob Chitwood was about as pleasurable as getting a root canal, but after an hour, the three of them had a pretty good idea of which details the chief should disclose to the public. He asked them rapid-fire questions about the murders, the scene, the timeline, the family—almost as if he were testing their aptitude for police work and not just their patience. Leaving his office, Josie buoyed herself with the thought that for once, she wouldn’t be the one in front of the cameras. Also, the news of the double homicide of a young, beloved Denton couple would keep Gretchen’s name out of the press for at least another day or two. Josie sat back down at her desk and made a few phone calls to her press contacts. As she finished up her last call, her cell phone rang. A Philadelphia number.

“Josie Quinn,” she answered.

“Detective Quinn,” said a familiar male voice, “it’s Dr. Larson.”

“What can I do for you, professor?”

There was a beat of hesitation. “Well, it’s about Ethan. Ethan Robinson? James’s roommate?”

“Yes,” Josie said. “I remember. I spoke with Ethan’s dad just after you sent me his information. Have you gotten in touch with Ethan?”

“Well, no. That’s the thing. His dad called me because Ethan hasn’t answered any calls or text messages.”

“Ethan’s dad told me that wasn’t unusual behavior for him,” Josie pointed out.

“No, it’s not. Ethan goes, how shall I put it? Off the grid sometimes. But Mr. Robinson was concerned that when he turned up, he would have no idea about James’s murder, so he really wanted to get in touch with him. He called me and asked if I could access Ethan’s class schedule—there was a copy in the apartment actually—and talk with his professors, see if he’d been in class. I’m afraid Ethan hasn’t attended any of his classes for a week.”

Josie felt a small kernel of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. “Dr. Larson, this is very concerning, but you have to understand that Philadelphia is well out of my jurisdiction. I think you or Ethan’s father should report him missing to the Philadelphia Police Department immediately. Then try to help them establish when was the last time anyone has heard from Ethan.”

“Okay, I can do that. I suppose I can make the report. We have campus police as well.”

“Have you had any luck finding the footage we discussed? Of the apartment entrance?”

“I should have it within the next day or so,” Larson answered. “I spoke with my contact at Rowland Industries, and they’ll be emailing it over. The last two weeks. I will try to isolate any footage with Ethan and James on it.”

“Perfect,” Josie said. “When you get it, turn that over to the Philadelphia police. They’ll likely ask for it right away anyway. Again, if you could let me know what you find on the footage, it would be very helpful. Also, perhaps the last time you can find the two of them together—that would help as well.”

“Of course. Thank you, Detective. I’ll keep you posted. Have you given any thought to my proposal that you and your twin participate in my study?”

“No,” Josie said before he could launch into a spiel on the benefits of epigenetics. “I’m sorry, but we’re not interested.”

They hung up, and Josie again ruminated on the bizarre relationship—or lack thereof—between Ethan and Doug Robinson. It should have been his father showing this kind of concern, not his landlord. Unless the entire thing was just an excuse for Larson to call and try to get her and Trinity involved in his research.

Noah plopped into the chair behind his desk and tossed a sheaf of papers over to her. They fanned as they landed on her desk.

“This is from Gretchen’s house?” she asked as she sifted through the pages.

“Yeah, her prints are all over the house, obviously. They found Omar’s prints on the porch but not in the house. There are a number of other prints in the house, all unidentified, but those could be from former residents, or anyone who came in to repair something.”

“What about the photo?”

“No prints on the photo,” Noah said. “I mean there were a few partials on the back, but they were so old, the techs couldn’t get anything.”

“But Gretchen’s prints weren’t on it,” Josie noted.

Noah stared at her. “Somehow, I don’t think the DA is going to put much stock in that. Not when she went to the house just before Omar was shot, the bullet they dug out of the kid was the same caliber as her gun, and she went MIA and removed the MDT from her car.”

Josie bristled but said nothing.

Noah booted up his desktop computer. “We should order food,” he said. “’Cause we’re gonna be here all night doing paperwork.” He lowered his voice. “When we’re finished, I think you should come home with me. We’ll get a couple hours of sleep…” He trailed off.

Josie’s desk phone rang before her mind could fill in the rest. Hoping it was ATF agent Jack Starkey returning her call, she snatched up the receiver. “Quinn.”

Sergeant Lamay’s voice sounded strange, his words seeming to flutter in and out. “Uh, Boss? Can you… can you come down here?”

“What’s going on, Sergeant?”

There was a long pause. Then Lamay said, “Uh, Detective Palmer’s here, and she wants me to arrest her.”