“That’s her,” Josie said, giving a tight smile. She took out her phone and scrolled through the list of real estate listings Noah had made for all of them that included properties that both Eden and Amber had viewed. When she found what she was looking for, she turned the phone toward Devon. “Your dad lived in Harrisburg. Was this his home there? Did he ever live here?”
Devon’s brows scrunched as she studied the address and photo of the house. “No,” she said. “We only ever lived in one house there, and his offices were out back in the carriage house. Here, I can pull it up for you.”
She pulled the laptop closer and tapped away at it until she found the listing. Turning the computer back to Josie, she said, “This was our home. Since I was a little girl.”
Josie made a mental note of the address, but she already knew that it wasn’t one of the homes that the Watts sisters had researched. “Thank you,” said Josie.
Devon closed her laptop and leaned toward Josie, her expression serious. “Do you think that whatever you’re working on now has something to do with my father’s death? Because if it does, maybe you could reopen his case? All I’m asking—all I’ve ever asked—is for someone to take another look at his death. Please.”
Josie’s heart ached at the pleading note in her voice. The Purdue connection was tenuous at best. Maybe this was a dead end after all. “I’ll do the best I can,” she promised.
Devon continued, “Don’t serial killers have that cooling off period or something? What if he kills people and dumps their bodies at the dam? I mean, I know my father’s death was a long time ago, but don’t serial killers have that cooling-off period, or something?”
Josie smiled tightly.
Face flushing, Devon looked away. “I’m sorry. I watch too much true crime on television. It’s just that you don’t understand what it’s like to live with something like this.” She touched the binder, caressing it with her fingers as if it was something precious. Josie knew that in a way, it was. It was a connection to her father. It represented the last shred of hope Devon had that he hadn’t actually abandoned her.
“My dad never met Lilly,” Devon said, almost to herself. “Bob and I were trying to have kids for years before my dad died. I kept having miscarriages. I was actually pregnant when Dad… when it happened.”
“Trinity told me,” Josie said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Devon kept her eyes on the binder. Her fingers stroked its well-worn cover. “I was further along than I’d ever been. I thought that time would be the one, you know? But the stress of losing my dad like that—so suddenly and in such a horrible way—my body couldn’t handle it. The worst part was that he was the person who got me through all the miscarriages before that.”
Devon smiled and met Josie’s eyes. Tears streaked her face. “He really was a great psychologist.”
Josie reached over and laid a palm over Devon’s hand, as if taking a solemn vow on the binder itself. “I will take another look at your dad’s case file when my current case is concluded, okay? I’ll talk to my sister as well.”
She let go and Devon quickly wiped her tears. “Thank you. It would mean so much to me.”
Josie handed her a business card. “I’ll be in touch,” she said. She set the Thatcher Toland book back on the small table but Devon picked it up and pressed it into her hands again. Reluctantly, Josie left with it.
The cold air was welcome for once. When she got into her car, she didn’t even bother putting the heat on. Instead, she tossed the book onto the passenger’s seat and checked her phone, ignoring the tremble in her fingers. She had a myriad of missed text messages from Noah and Gretchen as well as one missed call from Noah.
She scrolled through the messages and updates. All the warrants they had prepared were out, and they were just waiting for records to come in. Noah had made multiple requests to various county clerk records’ offices for more information on the properties that both Amber and Eden had searched. No word yet from Thatcher Toland. Noah had stopped by the megachurch again, but neither Thatcher nor Vivian was there, according to Paul. Gretchen hadn’t gotten anywhere with the mysterious diary numbers and had left them for the Chief to scrutinize. Although Hummel had pulled a few sets of prints from the Toland book and news article Josie found in Amber’s bedroom, none of the prints were in AFIS.
Most interesting of all, Hummel had pulled three sets of prints from Amber’s surveillance camera. The first two belonged to Amber and Mettner. Their prints were on file because they both worked for the police department. The third set of prints belonged to Gabriel Watts. His were on file because he’d been convicted of writing bad checks several years earlier.
The last message was from Noah. We think Gabriel Watts is home. Meet us in Woodling Grove as soon as you’re done.
Thirty-Five
Woodling Grove wasn’t much more than a smattering of houses along a winding mountain road northwest of Denton. At the bottom of that road, a single main street featuring a post office, grocery store, hardware store, bar, and three churches sat along a wide creek which had frozen over now that the weather had decided it truly was wintertime. Josie’s ears popped as she drove past the main street establishments and up into the mountains to locate Gabriel’s house. She toggled the knob for the heater, turning it up higher. Hot air blasted into her face. Proximity to Devon Rafferty and her grief—which Josie recognized and knew all too well—had made the cold seep into her bones.
She saw Gretchen’s car pulled onto the shoulder of the road in front of a single-level clapboard house with white siding, now gray with grime. The front yard was overgrown with dead weeds and a sign instructed her to FIND YOUR FAITH. JOIN RECTIFY CHURCH. TEXT WAKE UP TO 33489. Trees closed in all around the tiny house, their bare branches reaching down as though they were going to scoop it up into their spindly arms. A mailbox tilted on the top of a weathered wooden pole. Faded black letters and numbers spelled out “Watts 35.”
Josie parked behind Noah’s vehicle and got out. Gretchen and Noah joined her, standing at the end of the gravel driveway. At the other end was a decrepit detached garage painted a pale ugly green. Its doors were closed. Josie knew from searching for information about Gabriel Watts that he had an old Ford Bronco registered to him at this address but if he was home, he hadn’t left it outside. Josie quickly caught them up on her conversation with Devon Rafferty before they turned their attention to the matter at hand.
“He’s home,” said Gretchen. “We think. Since we’ve parked here, the curtains in the windows on either side of his front door have rustled fourteen times.”
Josie looked around. There were no neighbors nearby—not within sight. “How many acres does he have?”
Gretchen took out her notebook and flipped some pages. “He’s only got one acre. Behind his place and on this side is state game land, and the other side belongs to a neighbor. It’s about a half mile to that neighbor’s house.”
Noah registered Josie’s concern. “You think he’d try something?”