Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Josie felt strangely numb as she stood in front of Turner’s apartment door.
After pulling several still photos from the footage Gretchen had found, they’d woken Chief Chitwood.
Delivering bad news to him when he was already at the stationhouse and fully caffeinated wasn’t something either of them relished but waking him just past midnight with this news?
It was like awakening Satan himself. Josie had offered to talk to Turner while Gretchen stayed behind to review more of the information on Dani’s phone and to hopefully begin downloading data from Cassidy’s phone.
Josie was here, about to flip Turner’s world upside down.
The small apartment complex he lived in was equidistant from Dani’s place and the stationhouse.
The buildings were well-maintained, four stories each, with limewashed brick exteriors that gave them a rustic feel.
The main entrance to Turner’s building was on the street side of the complex.
He lived on the third floor. Josie had taken the stairs to give herself more time to consider exactly what she was going to say to him.
Too soon, she arrived in a dimly lit hallway that smelled of must and stringent lemon floor cleaner.
The interior of the building was dingier and more worn-looking than she would have guessed from the outside.
The beige tiles were scuffed and cracked in places.
Between each door, the cream-colored walls bore dirt smudges, stains, and small nicks.
Despite the number of apartments that lay ahead of her, the floor was eerily silent.
Each one of her footsteps seemed overly loud.
By the time she found herself standing outside of Turner’s unit, she was surprised no one had come out into the hall to see what all the noise was about.
Gripped in her hands was a slim can of the energy drink he was constantly guzzling down, condensation turning her hands clammy.
There were feelings swirling around deep in her gut.
They were still amorphous, not easily identified but their very presence, the hint of them, was enough to make her uncomfortable.
As far as she was concerned, the only thing she and Turner had ever had in common was their job.
She hadn’t even known he had a daughter until a few weeks ago but now they had that in common—teenage daughters.
Like everything in her life since Wren arrived, all thoughts led back to her.
Josie imagined opening her own door and getting the same news from one of her colleagues that she was about to give Turner.
Noah’s words floated back to her. No one tells you about the fear.
Would Turner take it as hard as Josie would? Maybe he was a horrible dad. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine it, especially since his wife—possibly his ex-wife—and daughter appeared to be living completely separate lives.
But her perusal of Cassidy’s bedroom told a different story.
Did Turner know how much his daughter revered him?
Did he care? Josie thought of the long series of questions he’d asked Charles Barnes about being a father.
Yes, Turner cared very much. Very, very much.
Josie took a deep breath and mentally crammed all the questions not directly related to finding Cassidy and her mother into a box marked Shit I Don’t Have Time For Right Now and locked it in her mental vault. Then she knocked.
No movement from inside.
She hadn’t called him or messaged him. There would be too many questions she didn’t want to answer by phone before she even arrived. She hadn’t even known where he lived. Chief Chitwood had given her the address.
She knocked again, harder this time, until she heard some noise from inside and Turner’s muffled voice.
The door swung open and he stood blinking down at her, his curly hair even more unruly than usual.
He was in a plain black T-shirt and basketball shorts, and it was so disconcerting to see him in anything but a suit that Josie openly gawked.
“Quinn,” he croaked, blinking sleepily. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
His brow furrowed and he leaned his head past the doorway to scan the hall. “Does the LT know you’re here?”
Josie shoved the energy drink against his chest and barreled past him. “You really can’t stop yourself, can you?”
Unsurprisingly, his apartment was as messy as his desk.
Dress shoes kicked off in the middle of the living room.
A takeout container and four presumably empty cans of his beloved drink were spread across the coffee table.
Three different color suit jackets had been tossed over a recliner.
There was a small table just inside the door, presumably for keys and mail, but it was empty.
Instead, a pile of half-opened mail was jammed in between two couch cushions, and his keys were nowhere to be seen.
“Let yourself in,” Turner muttered from behind her. “Quinn, I think you’re crossing some pretty big lines here, especially with the way you’re up my ass all the time about your personal space.”
Despite the Turner-like disarray, his home decor was nothing like Josie expected.
His furniture was a soft gray that went well with the washed oak of the coffee, console and end tables.
A small wooden sign next to his television read: My housekeeping style is best described as: there appears to have been a struggle.
Obviously, the penchant for signs was a family thing.
Under any other circumstances Josie would have had a good laugh at Turner’s since it wasn’t wrong.
Her gaze traveled along the pale blue walls where three drawings of owls hung.
She didn’t need to see the tiny initials on the bottom of each drawing to know Cassidy had done them.
Her heart sank.
“Turner,” she said, spinning to face him.
He yawned, tangling his fingers in his hair. “Seriously, Quinn. What the fuck is going on?”
Rip off the Band-Aid.
“Dani and Cassidy are missing. They were abducted.”
For several seconds, he simply stared at her, frozen in place. His arm was still up from messing with his hair. The underside of his bicep was visible, what looked like a tattoo peeking from the cuff of his shirt.
“Turner,” Josie said. “You still with me? Your ex-wife and daughter are—they’ve been abducted.”
His arm dropped to his side. “What? No. How do you… What are you talking about?”
“A call came in from the neighbor for a welfare check.”
She told him the rest, including the presence of the camellias at the scene, watching the color slowly drain from his face.
As she talked, he darted back and forth across the room, yanking on a pair of his dress shoes and digging through the pockets of his suit jackets until he found a set of keys.
Next he riffled through the mess on his coffee table, locating his wallet under a pile of takeout menus.
Without a word, he strode to the front door.
“Turner,” Josie called. “Where are you going?”
His hand clamped down on the doorknob. “I have to get over there. Over to the house.”
Josie reached him just as he yanked the door open.
She had to muscle her way in front of him so she could bar him from leaving the apartment.
He scowled down at her, nostrils flaring.
This close to him, she could feel the buzz of his fear, sense the terror quaking just beneath the surface. She knew it well.
“Get out of my way, Quinn.”
“Turner,” she said. “There’s nothing for you to do there.”
He tried to shove past her, but she planted her hands on his chest and pushed, knocking him back inside with strength that surprised both of them.
“Quinn,” he shouted, looking down at where she’d touched him in astonishment. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing? I have to get over there. This isn’t a joke. Stay here or come with me but I’m going to Dani’s house.”
When he lunged toward the door again, Josie moved with him, blocking his way. Louder, she said, “You can’t do anything at the house. They’re gone. The ERT has already processed it. What I need from you right now is for you to answer some questions.”
Turner was silent for a long moment, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, eyes blind with terror. He looked ridiculous in his shiny dress loafers with no socks, basketball shorts, a suit jacket over the top of a T-shirt, and wild hair.
Blinking, he seemed to get a tenuous hold on his emotions. “I have to—”
Josie cut him off. “You have to do what will help Dani and Cassidy the most right now and that’s talking with me.”
More seconds ticked by. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened them again, he began to slowly peel off his jacket. Then he kicked off his shoes.
Josie approached him warily. Not wanting to waste any more time, she took her phone out and pulled up the still photos of the man who had abducted Dani and Cassidy. The Chief had told them not to show him the footage and Josie had no problem with that directive.
“Do you recognize him?”
“No, no, I don’t—it’s just some guy in a baseball cap. I don’t understand. How did this happen? Quinn, this doesn’t make sense. You’re saying this guy just walked into the house and they left with him?”
“Not willingly,” Josie said.
He leaned down until his face was only inches from hers. “What the hell does that mean?”
“He had a gun. He was holding Cassidy’s arm, forcing her to walk with him. Dani was behind them. Once they got to the porch steps, he made her get in front of them.”
“So she wouldn’t try anything,” he muttered.
“There was a small cut on Cassidy’s face which likely accounts for the blood on the coffee table and carpet.”
Turner reared back, the look in his eyes desperate and angry. “He hurt my kid?”
“Focus, please,” Josie said, trying to redirect his attention. “I need to ask you some questions.”
“Wait,” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. “What day did you say they were taken?”
“Monday,” Josie said. “But Turner—”
Before she could finish, he dashed out of the room, down a hallway. She wasn’t sure whether to follow him or not but moments later she heard him say, “Stay here,” before he reappeared, phone in hand.
As he frantically swiped, Josie said, “Turner, is there someone else here?”
“Yeah,” he said absently.
“Do you want to ask her to join us? I may need to ask her some questions.”
“It’s not like that,” he mumbled, scrolling with one hand while he tugged at his beard with the other.
“Well, I might—”
Before she could continue, an ancient-looking Dalmatian emerged from the hallway, carrying a threadbare blue octopus in its mouth. It lumbered over to her on unsteady feet, tail wagging.
“Cassidy’s battery ran out Wednesday night,” Turner said.
“Dammit. I thought she was home. They were ignoring me. Both of them. I just figured it was more of the same. It never occurred to me that something like this could happen. What about her tablet? She has a tablet she uses for art. It’s got Wi-Fi. I bet we could track it if—”
“Her tablet was in her bedroom,” Josie said.
“Earbuds,” he went back to his phone, swiping and stabbing at the screen. “Wireless earbuds. We’re on the same account. Dani didn’t want a smartwatch. She wears a Fitbit but they both have earbuds. We might be able to track them that way if I can just get this damn app to open—”
A wild panic flashed through Turner’s eyes as he studied the screen. Then he tipped his head back and screamed a curse that reverberated through the entire apartment. The dog bumped Josie’s thigh, pressing against it. She scratched his head, noting his cloudy eyes.
Clearly, the earbuds were a dead end.
“Turner, I need you to—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Quinn,” he snapped.
“I need you to answer some questions,” she said evenly.
“Right, right. Fine.” Another tug at his beard. “You need my phone. Here, take it. I-I’ll get dressed and we can—”
“No,” Josie said, stroking the dog’s head. “Right now I need you to sit down. Have the drink I brought. We’re going to talk.”
She was certain he’d registered her instructions, but he didn’t sit. Instead, he threw his phone onto the coffee table and started pacing the room, large palms yanking at his beard and pulling at his hair while a stream of obscenities spewed from his lips.
“Turner,” she finally snapped. “Sit. Down.”
The dog pushed its octopus against her leg, his tail wagging furiously now. “It’s okay,” she reassured him. “You’re a good dog.”
Turner collapsed onto his couch and put his head in his hands. “He’s actually not. In fact, he’s kind of an asshole. Never listens. Spot, go lay down.”
The dog continued to offer Josie his slobbery octopus.
“See?”
“He puts up with you,” Josie said. “He can’t be that much of an asshole.”
When he lifted his head, he wouldn’t look at her, even when she moved around the coffee table and perched on the edge of it, leaving only a couple of feet between them.
His hands shook as he rubbed them on his bare knees.
Spot meandered into the space between the table and sofa, octopus swinging back and forth.
Josie wondered if he used it to help him find his way around.
“Quinn,” Turner croaked. “The flowers. Those damn flowers. What if—”
“No,” Josie said sharply enough to jolt the old dog. “No, Turner. We’re going to hit the ground running on this and for that, I need you to focus. Let’s get started.”