Josie couldn’t imagine why anyone would be happy to see her appear on their doorstep in her capacity as a police detective, but she started unpacking his sentence at the beginning. “Ex-wife?”
He kicked lightly at the duffel bag. “We’ve got an incredible kid, but we couldn’t keep the relationship together. I’m dropping Lil off. She had a dentist’s appointment this morning. She’ll be back with Devon for a week. Then back to me. One week on, one week off. That’s how we do it.”
“You live here in Denton?”
“Yeah. About ten minutes away.”
A woman emerged from the kitchen. Tall, mid-forties, fit, and wearing yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and ankle socks with no shoes. She looked like she had just come from the gym. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and Josie saw gray strands starting at her temples. Her brown eyes widened as she approached. “You’re here,” she said.
Although Josie was used to being recognized in Denton due to her notoriety, the feeling that Devon Rafferty was somehow expecting her was disconcerting. She extended a hand. “Dr. Rafferty. I’m a detective with the Denton—”
“I know who you are,” Devon said, shaking her hand. “I’ve seen you on TV. I know your sister is Trinity Payne. Is that why you’re here? I watched her new show a couple of days ago. The Unsolved show? She covered my dad’s death when she was a reporter here. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” said Josie. “I—”
“Dev,” said Bob. “I have to run.”
“Oh sure,” said Devon distractedly. “Lil’s in her room getting some extra tablet time.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “She’ll be out of your hair for at least an hour, then. Nice to meet you, Detective.”
He kissed his ex-wife’s cheek and left.
The moment the door closed behind him, Devon zeroed in on Josie like a hawk studying prey. “Is Trinity the reason you came? She promised me back then that if she ever came across any information about my dad’s death that she thought would help, she would tell me. I was thinking, now that I’ve seen her show, she could do an episode on him. Kind of a ‘what really happened to Dr. Jeremy Rafferty?’ With theories. I’ve got a couple. Come in. My office is right here. I don’t have to teach today. Faculty meeting later this afternoon, but that’s it.”
Josie followed her into the home office. Instead of a desk, there was a long wooden table that had been made from various types of wood, giving it a mismatched, distressed look. More houseplants dotted the room, standing on every surface: table, bookshelves, filing cabinets. The floor was shiny hardwood with a colorful area rug in the center of it. A small round coffee table sat in the middle with two brown wingback chairs on either side of it. In the center of the table sat the Thatcher Toland book. Josie suppressed a sigh. He was literally everywhere she went and yet, getting a meeting with him was proving difficult.
“Sit,” said Devon, waving to one of the chairs. She saw Josie staring at the book and smiled. “Have you read it?”
Josie took off her coat and held it in her lap. She perched on the edge of a chair. “No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, you must!” said Devon. “In fact, you can take that copy with you when you leave.”
“I’d really rather—” Josie began, but Devon bent and picked up the book, handing it to Josie. “He’s fabulous. Really, and I’m not even into… church. You know about the new place they’re building at the old hockey arena?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The grand opening is Christmas Eve. I was going to go. So far I’ve only seen his videos online, but he’ll actually be there in person. You should read this and then come to the Christmas Eve service. Maybe we could—” She broke off, the light in her eyes dimming. Quieting her tone, she said, “I’m sorry. Never mind. You’re not here for that. Hang on a second while I find something.”
Devon walked over to one of her bookshelves and began searching. “I still want you to have that book, though,” she said over her shoulder.
Trying to get things back on track, Josie said, “Trinity mentioned that you had some doubts about whether or not your father really died by suicide.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Devon said, “I used to, yes, and to a degree, I still do. I’m not sure. What I do know is that if it was suicide, someone drove him to it.” She found a large black binder and pulled it from one of the shelves. Instead of sitting in the chair across from Josie, she sat on the floor, folding her legs beneath her and opening up the binder. “Did you know that in the six months before my dad’s death, he withdrew over $50,000 from various bank accounts he owned?”
“No,” Josie said. “I didn’t—Trinity didn’t mention it.”
“I didn’t know it then,” said Devon, finding a green tab and turning to that section of the binder. Then she turned the pages toward Josie, pointing to what looked like a collection of bank statements. “I didn’t know it until I went to settle his estate weeks later. My mom died before him, you see, so it was just him. I was already out on my own by then, married to Bob. I didn’t need anything from his estate, but still, it was quite shocking.”
“Did you speak with anyone at his banks?” asked Josie, studying the first statement where Devon had highlighted three withdrawals. “Surely he wouldn’t be able to withdraw large amounts at once without raising some red flags.”
“I did. It was three different banks, several small withdrawals over the course of a month. The largest he took out from any single bank was $5,000.” She flipped through the statements, showing Josie each withdrawal she had highlighted, along with the dates.
“What did he do with the money?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’ve always wanted to find out. I went to the police, but they said since he died by suicide and it was within his right to take his own money from the bank, there was nothing they could do. I was hoping your sister—with this new show—maybe she could get the public interested in his case.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Josie said. “But I can run it by her.”
“I’d really appreciate that.”
“Dr. Rafferty—”
“Devon, please.”
“Devon, is there anything else you found odd about your father’s death? Besides the money?”
She flipped back to an earlier section in the binder. “When I went through his files—you know, to return them to the patients, since I had to close his practice—I found one patient file on his desk.” From a plastic sleeve she pulled an old manila folder.
“He used paper files?” Josie said.
“Yes, handwritten notes. He was very old-school, and terrified that if he kept them on a computer, they could somehow be hacked into. He took patient privacy very seriously. He was pretty famous, you know. He thought that made him even more vulnerable to anyone who might want to snoop around, get their hands on his files, and threaten to release them. He would have been ruined.”