“Maybe she lured you, then. That doesn’t account for what happened to the first woman—the sick one—but this Ramona would have been one of the last people to see you,” Josie said, almost to herself. “In your… flashes, do you remember seeing her again or seeing any other women?”
There was a long silence and another sigh, then Ginger said, “No, I’m sorry. I don’t. I remember blathering on about the name Ramona, and that’s when I woke up.”
“If this woman was real, do you think you’d recognize her if you saw her again? If you saw a photo?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”
“In this dream, did Chemo Lady leave while you were talking to Ramona?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
“Did they have a conversation?”
“I think so, but I can’t remember the particulars. I’m sorry. The whole thing was still quite hazy but I’m certain now there was another woman.”
She’d stopped to help a sick woman and had then been approached by a woman calling herself Ramona. She had been abducted, drugged and assaulted. Held for three weeks until the pressure of the national press coverage became too great and her captors chose to dump her. Alive. Again, Josie was struck by the care these people took to avoid committing some crimes while actively committing others. It was like the evidence in Ginger’s file, which had been scattered but not destroyed. Ginger had been abducted and assaulted but not killed. Instead of killing her, they’d dumped her and then took care to discredit her story. Why?
Because it was easier to discredit a stay-at-home mother of three than it was to beat a murder rap.
Still, they had taken a big chance in allowing Ginger to live and go free. Whoever they were.
“I’m sorry. You probably think I’m being ridiculous. Calling you about a dream,” Ginger said.
The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. Josie took her time walking down the hall, not wanting to finish the conversation in the ICU waiting room where many of the state troopers had gathered. “You’re not being ridiculous,” Josie assured her. “I want to hear anything you can remember, even if it came in a dream. Thank you.”
“You’ll keep me posted?”
“Of cour—” Josie faltered as a passing woman bumped shoulders with her, sending her phone flying and muttering a sorry as she hurried on. Josie retrieved her phone, her eyes locked on the diminishing figure. She wore scrubs like all the staff, with a faded black hoodie on top. There was something familiar about her, but Josie couldn’t place her. Her hair was short: dirty blond with dark roots, and spiked. Josie could have sworn she’d seen tattoos peeking out from the collar of her top, but she had passed so quickly. There was something off about her though. Josie pressed the phone back to her ear. “Ginger, you there? Sorry, I dropped my phone. If you remember anything else then…”
“I’ll call.”
“Great.”
They hung up and Josie stared after the woman. Then it came to her: she was wearing boots. Old, beat-up combat boots. The nurses in the hospital all wore either sneakers or those rubberized clogs. No one working an eight-or twelve-hour shift would wear combat boots, no matter how worn in they were. Josie took off in a dead run after her.
Chapter Forty-Four
The woman turned her head at the sound of pounding feet and Josie saw the glint of a nose ring. When she saw Josie bearing down on her she set off in a sprint.
“Wait!” Josie hollered.
The woman zigzagged down the hallway, trying every door, looking for escape. Finally, she disappeared behind one. Josie caught up and pushed through the door to find stairs and the sound of the woman’s feet pounding downwards. She raced after her, jumping down three steps at a time. Two floors down she caught up, snagging a handful of the woman’s black hoodie and pulling hard. Within a few seconds she had the woman’s cheek pressed into the wall, her arms behind her back, legs spread wide. Josie held her there. “Keep still,” she said breathlessly.
“Let me go,” the woman spat. “I don’t even know you. Why are you harassing me? This is assault. I’ll call the police.”
“I am the police.”
The moment the words were out of Josie’s mouth her captive started struggling like her life depended on it. Josie held tight, bucking like she was on a mechanical bull in a dive bar.
“I know who you are,” Josie bellowed into her ear. “Lara Spencer. Now stop. I need to talk to you.”
Dirk Spencer’s sister didn’t give an inch. “I got nothing to say to you, bitch.”
“I can help you,” Josie said.
When Lara continued to resist, furiously, Josie said, “I know you’re in trouble. I know June is in trouble. I want to help. I’m not really with the police. I’m on suspension. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on and I need your help.”
She stilled, but Josie could feel every muscle in her tensed. The moment Josie let go, she would bolt.
“I think I’m in danger too. My fiancé tried to help me find out why women are going missing around Denton, and he got shot for it. He’s in the ICU, same as your brother. I think I’m next. Please.”
Lara’s muscles relaxed slightly. “Have you… have you seen June?”
“I saw them both, Lara. The car Dirk was in almost ran me over when it crashed. I was the last one to talk to him before he went into a coma. I saw June right after she killed that woman in the nursing home. I need to talk to you. I won’t tell anyone you’re here, or that you’re you.”
She relaxed a little more, and Josie slowly loosened her grip until she had released Lara completely, staying close though in case she made a run for it. Lara turned and straightened her clothes. Up close, Josie could see how thin she really was, a different woman from the one in the photo of her, June and Dirk that Josie had found on Dirk’s fridge. The scrubs and hoodie hung on her. Her cheeks looked sunken in. Tattoos climbed up her neck almost to her chin. She said, “No one knows who I am anyway. I got fake ID.”
“Oh. Well that’s good, then.”
Lara looked Josie up and down, assessing. “You got any money? I sure am hungry.”
“Actually, I don’t. I just spent my last five dollars in the cafeteria.”
“You got any credit cards? They take those.”
She hadn’t wanted to use her card for a meal that only cost a few dollars, but then she remembered the baskets and shelves in front of each food station. She should probably get some snacks for later. She could leave them in her car. “Okay,” she told Lara. “Let’s go.”
The cafeteria was now packed and Josie was grateful. No one paid them any mind at all as Lara greedily loaded up a tray with food: cheeseburger and fries, taco bowl, chef salad, yogurt and three bottles of iced tea. Josie bit back a protest as the cashier rang it all up and she reluctantly handed over her credit card.
Lara ate hungrily, her hood pulled low over her head, shoving food into her mouth like she was in some kind of eating contest.
“Put your hood back down,” Josie hissed. “Having it up draws attention. When’s the last time you ate?”
Hastily, Lara pushed her hoodie down and kept on shoveling food into her mouth. “Few days ago,” she said around a mouthful of food.
Josie waited for Lara to slow down, surprised by how much the skinny woman could put away. Her eyes drifted back to the television on the wall. More news. It would go on for a few hours, refreshing every half hour until the afternoon when the daytime soap operas came on.
“How’s Dirk?” she asked.
Lara shrugged. “He’s shot up. Got a big tube down his throat. Machine breathes for him. How do you think?”
“I’m sorry.”
Another shrug, as if to say, “Whatever.”
If June had been anything like her mother, Josie could see why Solange had found her to be such a challenge. “Lara,” she said. “What was Dirk doing in an SUV full of gang members from Philadelphia?”
“How do you know they were gang members?”
“Tattoos.”
“Oh. I don’t know.”
“Lara. Be straight with me. This is serious. Your brother is fighting for his life.”
Lara looked up at Josie, eyes flashing. “You think I don’t know that? He’s all I got. Him and June.” She tapped a finger against her temple. “And I heard June ain’t really there no more.”