Josh Gibbon leaned forward. “Yes, and according to the story you just told me, you also have a friend who claims to be a psychic and another friend who seems to be the town witch, and the three of you are accusing one of the richest men in New York of being a serial killer.”
“Sounds to me like a story millions of people would want to hear.” Nessa tried to lure him with honey. “One that could turn a popular podcast into a cultural phenomenon.”
“Really?” Josh turned to her. “’Cause to me, it sounds like a story that will get me sued straight into bankruptcy.”
“Then let me ask you a question,” Jo said. “Do you believe it?”
She simmered as Josh sat back, his fingers woven together pompously and resting on his ample paunch. In what screwed-up universe did this twentysomething Comic Book Guy get to cast judgment on her story? Jo wanted to pick up the table and hurl it across the room.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “It’s crazy as hell, but I believe it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to put it on my show, though.”
Jo closed her eyes. It was the only way she could resist leaping over the table and strangling him. Three girls were dead. Her daughter had almost been kidnapped. And this little shit wasn’t interested. Fortunately, Nessa kept her cool.
“How many murdered women and girls have you featured on your podcast? How many who’ve been mangled and tortured and chopped into bits?” Nessa asked. “Hundreds?”
“At least,” Josh admitted.
“A thousand or more?”
He nodded. “Probably.”
“All those dead girls made you famous,” Nessa said. “Don’t you feel like you owe them? We just told you there’s a monster on the loose. You going to help us stop him—or are you just out here looking to make a buck off those bodies?”
Josh stiffened. Nessa had clearly hit a sore spot. He didn’t like having his motives questioned or his heroism called into doubt. “I started my podcast to shine a spotlight on killers who had gone undetected. I wanted to save lives, and I have.”
“And I bet you’ve made a lot of money doing it,” Jo said. “Now you’re going to sit back and let a serial killer murder more girls because you’re afraid of getting sued.”
“I’m not afraid,” Josh snapped. “But I can’t go around making accusations if I don’t have real evidence to back them up. Right now, there’s only one body. One body is not proof that there’s a serial killer at work in Mattauk.” He looked at Nessa. “You say there are two other bodies in the water off Danskammer Beach. It’s doubtful they would have lasted this long, but it could be worth having a look. Do you know where they’d be?”
Jo felt a flash of hope. He was starting to come around. He couldn’t bear to have anyone question his white-knight credentials. Nessa was a genius.
“Yes, but the ocean floor is littered with lobster traps,” Nessa said. “It’s like a giant dump down there. That’s probably why the killer chose the spot.”
“Maybe the bodies are inside lobster traps.”
Nessa had considered that, too. But it didn’t make the situation any less hopeless. “There could be thousands of traps. We don’t have the resources to pull them all up.”
Josh’s brow furrowed. “Why bring them up to the surface? Why can’t someone go down and take a look?”
“You mean police divers?” Jo asked. “We can’t go to the cops. We think someone on the force is tipping off Spencer Harding. And even if there isn’t a mole, the police wouldn’t send divers down just because Nessa says she sees dead people.”
“Why does it have to be the police?” Josh had clearly experienced an epiphany. “We just need to find someone who’s certified to scuba dive.”
Jo fell back in her chair as a thought slammed into her. “I’m scuba certified.” That’s what she’d gotten from an employer one year in lieu of a promotion—scuba classes and gear. Refusing to acknowledge the insult, she’d learned how to dive. The skill came in handy every spring when her family visited Art’s mother and stepfather in South Florida, allowing Jo to escape for few peaceful hours every day.
“Then I suppose all we need is the equipment,” Josh said.
Jo hesitated for a moment before she added, “I have that, too. It’s in my garage. I’d just need to clean it off and get tanks from the dive shop.”
“You’re really willing to go looking for dead bodies at the bottom of the ocean?” Josh suddenly seemed to be taking the whole enterprise more seriously. “Who the hell knows what else might be down there.”
“If you’re worried, you can come along and keep me company,” Jo offered.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Josh said. “But I’ll happily throw in a GoPro.”
When they got back to Harriett’s, they found her stoned on the sofa, wearing headphones plugged into an iPhone.
“Did you know—” Harriett pulled off her headphones and took a toke. “That three hundred thousand women and girls were reported missing last year? Two hundred and forty thousand were girls under twenty-one. Half were women of color. Let’s say ninety-nine percent made it back home safe and sound. That still leaves twenty-four hundred girls. Where are they? The FBI claims there are fifty serial killers active in the U.S. at any one time. So how many of those girls are everyone’s favorite bogeymen taking? Five hundred? A thousand? What’s happening to the others?”
“Where are you getting all these statistics?” Nessa asked.
“They Walk Among Us,” Harriett said. “Figured I ought to check it out. Josh Gibbon’s a bit of a serial killer fanboy, isn’t he?”
“What the hell, Harriett,” Jo said, staring at the device in Harriett’s lap. “We came all the way back here to tell you the news and you’re lying there listening to a podcast? Since when do you have a phone?”
“Since always,” Harriett said. “I own a leaf blower, too, but I seldom use that, either. How did your meeting go?”
“He’s interested, but he wants proof. Do you think Celeste might be willing to take us out on her boat tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah. Her husband took the kids to his parents’ house, so she and I are going to spend the night on the boat. We’ll meet you at the dock at eight.”
Jo shot Nessa a look. “You already arranged it?” she asked Harriett.
“Right after you left. I assumed your podcast friend would want to have a look for the bodies. A scoop like that would be too hard to resist.”
“What did you tell Celeste we’ll be doing?” Jo asked.
“I told her the truth,” Harriett said. “I know we agreed to keep everything between the three of us, but Celeste is important to me and secrets are such a bore. Besides, she’ll know soon enough as it is.”
“And she’s okay with it?” Nessa wasn’t so sure.
“Finding evidence that two girls were murdered?” Harriett seemed perfectly at ease. “Yes, she’s okay with it. She trusts me to know what I’m doing. And I trust her to tell me if I don’t.”