Her Silent Cry

Forty-Two

As Josie drove toward the police headquarters, her phone chirped several times. After weaving through the press vehicles, she pulled into the municipal lot and snatched her phone from the passenger’s seat. Several text messages from Trinity had come in, including a photo. Josie turned her vehicle off, took a deep breath and read through them.

Amy’s not who she says she is.

It took hours but I found something in the Fulton Daily News Archives.

Check this out. Dorothy Walsh had three daughters: Renita, Amy and Pamela. Dorothy, Amy and Pamela all died in a car accident.

Then came a screenshot of the news article that Trinity had uncovered. It was dated October 27, 1997. The headline read: Three Women Killed in Car Crash in South Fulton. Her eyes skimmed the contents of the article. “Good God,” she murmured. The article named all three of the Walsh women and gave their funeral arrangements, but there was nothing beyond that. No mention of any other passengers although Josie assumed Amy Ross wasn’t with the Walsh women when the accident happened.

She texted Trinity:

I need a name. Amy knows we know she’s using a false identity, but I can’t get a name out of her. We believe that Amy Ross was friends with the real Amy Walsh. Time is critical. The FBI is on it, but you’ve already got a lead with Renita. Did she call back?

Several seconds passed. Josie didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until Trinity’s reply came back.

Headed to speak to Renita now.

Josie breathed out, pocketed her phone and went inside to speak to Bryce Graham. Gretchen and Mettner stood outside the first-floor conference room door. Mettner handed her a cup of coffee. The smell caused an instant wave of nausea to crash over her. For a fleeting second, her brain told her this couldn’t possibly be from stress. It had to be the other thing. A baby. Whose baby? Noah’s… or maybe Luke’s? No, she couldn’t go there. Not yet. Not now. Josie white-knuckled the mug and managed a smile. “Thanks, Mett.”

He nodded. “I just talked to one of the FBI agents at Graham’s house. Back door was kicked in, lock broken. Nothing appears disturbed in the house. There’s an overturned chair in the kitchen where the phone is located. They didn’t find any, uh, cocoons. That’s it.”

The sound of Lucy’s screams filled her mind, making Josie feel even more ill. She hated to think about how the chair had been overturned.

“The FBI team is processing the scene,” Gretchen added. “We talked to Dr. Graham briefly. We had to convince him that he’d be safer here.”

“Thanks,” Josie said. “Let me talk to him.”

Bryce Graham sat placidly in one of the conference room chairs, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He stood to shake her hand when Josie introduced herself. She sat down beside him and put her coffee mug on the table, pushing it far enough away that the smell wouldn’t reach her.

“What can I do for you, detective?” Graham asked. He smiled at her, the skin at the corners of his blue eyes crinkling. His expression and the tone of his voice was kind and soothing. No wonder so many of the volunteers had spoken with him.

“Amy Ross was your patient,” Josie said. “You’ve been hanging around the park since her daughter went missing, and yet you never approached her, and you never mentioned to anyone in law enforcement that she had been your patient.”

“Is there a question in there, Detective?” Graham asked. His smile and gentle tone told her he wasn’t being confrontational.

“Why didn’t you approach Amy Ross when you came to the park?”

“I don’t know Amy Ross,” he said matter-of-factly.

Josie felt a small flare of anger. She’d had just about all she could take of cryptic answers. “A seven-year-old girl is missing, Dr. Graham. Her life is in danger. I’d really appreciate it if you could cut the crap and speak frankly with me.”

He folded his hands over his stomach. “I’m well aware of what’s going on in this town.”

Josie’s phone chirped. She held up a hand, indicating for him to give her a moment. A quick glance showed a text from Trinity. She opened it.

Her name was Tessa. Renita doesn’t remember her last name. Amy met her at the laundromat. She was homeless. Dorothy let her move in. I’ll see what else I can get from Renita but she doesn’t remember much after all this time.

Josie tapped back a response.

Amy said she used to live in Buffalo?

Trinity’s reply came back instantly.

On it.

Josie set her phone on the table and turned her attention back to Dr. Graham. “Amy Ross told me that you treated her for several years.”

“I did not treat Amy Ross,” he said.

“How about if I have a look at your patient files and then we’ll talk again after that?”

His smile faltered. “You can’t do that. There are privacy laws. You can’t just—I won’t give you permission to look at them.”

“I can get a warrant,” Josie argued.

“No, I don’t think you can. I have no involvement in the case you’re working on. I never even met Lucy Ross.”

“You have no alibi for the day Lucy went missing. Someone broke into your house to call her mother and make a ransom demand. I think that’s enough of a connection.”

“I thought I was here because it wasn’t safe for me to return to my home. Are you telling me I’m a suspect now?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

“I most certainly am not,” he shot back, shifting in his chair. He leaned forward, hands on his knees.

“Tell me about Amy Ross.”

“I don’t know Amy Ross.”

Josie leaned back in her chair, staring at him. Her fingers trailed across the table until they found her phone. She picked it up and placed it into her jacket pocket. His eyes followed her movements. He opened his mouth as though to speak but then decided against it, clamping his mouth shut and looking away from her.

Josie said, “But you do know Tessa, don’t you?”