The Girl With No Name

Chapter Twenty-Three

Josie stared at Lamay, uncomprehending. “What did you say?”

“I said she’s gone.”

Josie rushed down the flight of steps to the holding area on the ground floor of the station. It was empty. Only one officer sat at the desk, streaming coverage of the Aaron King trial on the desktop computer.

“Son of a bitch,” Josie said. “What the hell happened?”

Lamay followed just behind her, struggling to keep up. “I’m sorry, boss. A United States marshal came about a half hour ago and took her. He said she was in Witsec.”

“The witness protection program?”

He nodded. “He had identification. Credentials.”

Since Josie had been on the force, they’d never had a United States marshal show up unannounced for a custody transfer. Of course, Lamay had been on the job for many years before Josie came along. “Sergeant Lamay, have you ever seen a US marshal’s credentials before?”

Lamay drew himself up a little straighter. “No, but what reason would I have to question him? He came here asking for the girl, and he had identification. It looked as real as anything I’ve ever seen.”

Josie squeezed the bridge of her nose, a headache beginning to pound out a steady beat across her forehead. “Did he say who she was? Did he ask for her by name?”

“No, but he had a photo of her. He wouldn’t tell me who she was. He said it was a very sensitive case and that with her photo on the news, he had to get her back into custody as soon as possible. He said her life was in danger.”

I bet it is, she thought. “Did you call the Marshal’s Office to confirm with them that this was an authorized custody exchange?”

“N-no, I didn’t—”

“Did you have him sign the transfer forms?”

“Yes, of course,” Lamay said, looking somewhat relieved. “I’ll show you.”

She followed him back to the lobby, texting Noah as they walked. “I need you here now.”

A large pile of paperwork teetered on the edge of Lamay’s desk. On top of it was the custody transfer form they typically used when transferring persons in custody to another law enforcement agency. The man had filled it out and signed it, but his handwriting was completely and purposefully illegible. “Call the Marshal’s Office,” Josie instructed, surprised at the calm in her voice. Her only lead to Luke had been plucked from right beneath her nose, most likely by one of Eric Dunn’s goons if not the US Marshals Service. “See if they confirm this transfer. I want to see the CCTV footage. If this guy was here, he’ll be on our cameras.”

Noah came through the front doors, and Josie felt a sudden wash of relief come over her at the sight of him. She waved him over and together they went into the CCTV room just off the lobby in what used to be a broom closet. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“The girl with no name, she’s gone. I think I know who she is, but she’s gone.”

“How?” Noah asked.

“A man claiming to be a United States marshal came in about an hour ago and took her. Told Lamay she was in Witsec.”

Noah pushed a hand through his thick mop of hair. “Holy shit,” he said. “Did you get anything on the guy?”

“His signature is unreadable. I’m trying to pull him up on the video now.” She sat down at the small desk and started clicking away at the computer, trying to bring up the CCTV footage of the lobby from that afternoon. “That’s not all,” she added, and proceeded to tell him about her meeting with Trinity.

“So, you think our girl is Kim Conway—Dunn’s girlfriend? Brady Conway’s sister?”

Josie nodded, her eyes never leaving the screen as she sped through the footage—the mailman, a UPS delivery driver, two women, a man Josie knew to be from the civic association, another man from the historical society and a few more women. They all spent some time at the counter speaking with Lamay before departing. A couple of them stopped to hang fliers on the community corkboard next to the front door. Cataloguing them helped keep her anxiety at bay.

“Where have you been?” she asked Noah.

“At the state police barracks. I went to see if I could convince them to expedite matching the prints we took from Misty’s house.”

Josie kept moving through the footage, looking for a man in a suit rather than in the blue marshal’s uniform. She assumed if it had actually been a US marshal coming to take someone into Witsec, they would not draw attention to themselves by dressing in full uniform, and if it was someone posing as a marshal, he might not have been able to get his hands on a real uniform. A few more people zipped in and out of the lobby onscreen, dressed too shabbily to be posing as marshals. “Did they expedite the prints?”

“Uh, yeah,” Noah replied. “I mean, some of them are still unknowns, but…”

By the tone of his voice, Josie knew he had found something. Her finger lifted from the mouse, pausing the footage. She turned to look up at him. “What?”

Had they found Luke’s prints all over Misty’s house? she wondered. Had the two been having an affair? Had he been sleeping with both their mysterious witness and Misty Derossi?

“Jane Doe’s prints turned up at Misty’s house. In the bedroom, master bath, kitchen, and the room where the attack took place.”

“Are you sure?”

“I had them run the prints twice. She was there.”

Josie turned back to the footage, her right index finger pressed against the mouse again, speeding it along. “Come on,” she muttered under her breath. Beneath the desk, her leg bobbed up and down at machine-gun speed. On screen, there was a long lull in activity before another one of her officers relieved Lamay for his morning break. He returned fifteen minutes later with a cup of coffee in hand. She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had the marshal shown up while Lamay’s relief was on duty. Would that officer have questioned the marshal more thoroughly? It was a matter for another day. Right now, she had to find this guy. Her finger pressed harder against the mouse button, as though that would make the footage play more quickly. “What the hell was Jane Doe doing at Misty’s house?” she asked Noah.

“Maybe they were friends?” Noah suggested.

“Do you still have the best friend’s phone number? Brittney? Text her a photo of our girl and see if she recognizes her. I would have expected her to call if she had recognized her from the news, but you never know.”

Noah perched on the edge of the desk, pulled out his phone, and sent the text.

“Got it!” Josie exclaimed.

Finally, the sped-up footage showed a burly, bald-headed man in a charcoal suit walking through the doors to the station. Josie set the video to regular speed as she and Noah watched him approach the counter and speak at length with Lamay. There were three cameras in the lobby—one overhead; one behind the front desk just above shoulder level, meant to capture people’s faces; and one above the doors leading outside. The man kept his face angled so that both the camera above the doors and the one behind the front desk only caught him in profile.

“He’s purposefully avoiding the camera,” Josie said.

Noah leaned across her and clicked something to the left of the screen. “Did you check each camera?” He replayed the initial encounter with Lamay from all three cameras, but the man managed to avoid looking directly at all of them. “Shit,” Noah said, returning to an aerial view of the lobby. “You’ll never get a still from this footage. He’s good.”

“Too good. A real marshal would have no reason to avoid the camera,” Josie said. “Shit.”

She fast-forwarded through several minutes of film. More discussion between the man and Lamay. Lamay examined his proffered credentials, made a call—to holding, Josie guessed—had the man fill out the transfer form, and then Lamay made another call. For ten whole minutes, the man managed to keep his face out of the line of all three bird’s eye cameras as he perused the corkboard just inside the front doors.

Then another officer emerged from behind the partition with Jane Doe trailing behind him. Josie watched the officer motion to the man. The girl suddenly stopped walking, her entire body stiffening.

“She recognizes him,” Josie said. “She knows him.”

Noah squinted down at the screen. “How can you tell?”

Josie rewound the video. “Watch.”

“So, she was lying about having no memory,” he said.

“Did you really think she was for real?”

“I had my doubts, but mostly I thought she was genuine.”

Josie rolled her eyes.

Noah’s phone chirped, and he looked down at the screen. “Brittney says she’s never seen the woman in the photo before.”

On the computer screen, the officer left Jane Doe with the man. Josie and Noah checked the footage from all three cameras once more, but again the man was careful to keep his face in profile to the lobby’s cameras. Jane Doe stood frozen in place. After a brief, tense exchange, the man grabbed her upper arm—not gently—and pulled her toward the door. She looked up toward the ceiling, craning her neck, searching until she found the dead-eye of the camera. Then she looked directly at it and mouthed two words: Help me.