LAURIE WAS READY to get Jojo out so fast that Steiner wouldn’t even have a chance to grab his flex-cuffs. She’d pull Jojo’s arm, kick open the door with her foot, and in twenty seconds they could be through the lobby and out the front door.
But Steiner said, “Of course not. She’s not a suspect, but she has to keep her nose clean. Just in case. Don’t be like this. Give me the phone, and I’ll get a forensic dump and grab the prints on it.”
Laurie stayed still.
Steiner said, “Damn it, don’t compromise this case. You’re a dispatcher, remember? Not a cop.”
Laurie shoved it at him. “Fine. Take it.”
“I’m happy to return it after I pull the data. Then I’ll put you in charge of getting it back to her parents, okay? In case anyone else tries to get hold of her.”
Laurie tried not to huff as Steiner left the room.
Jojo said nothing.
They sat in silence for fifteen minutes. Jojo didn’t even try to talk. Laurie sat as still as she could, clasping her hands so tightly her knuckles hurt.
When Steiner came back and handed the phone to her, Laurie said, “We’re taking a break.” She didn’t give Jojo a chance to say no.
It was Saturday, so there was no one staffing Omid’s admin’s desk, no one to stop them. Laurie fumbled with the key ring. There, the big heavy one. Other rooms in the department had coded entry pads. The chief’s office, though, only had two official keys, Omid’s and his admin Marge’s. When Omid had taken the promotion, though, he’d paid a hardware-store buddy to make a copy for Laurie, giving him a hundred-dollar tip to ignore the “Do Not Duplicate” instruction. Just in case, Omid had said, giving it to her.
In case of what?
In case of whatever.
In case of now.
Laurie closed the door behind them. The blinds that looked out into the meeting area and at Marge’s desk were already shut, as were the blinds over the exterior windows. It was dim, the fluorescent lights taking long seconds to warm up. The room smelled like Omid, like his Old Spice deodorant and Proraso shaving cream. His desk was uncharacteristically messy—papers strewn over the surface and an empty coffee cup resting on its side.
He’d run out of the office to save Jojo, and he hadn’t come back yet. Laurie’s heart twisted with a sharp pain she didn’t see coming—Omid was in the hospital. He could have died. How close had she come to losing him?
To losing both of them?
“Mom, do they think I’m a suspect?”
Her breath still traitorously shallow, Laurie said, “No.”
“But he said—”
“They don’t.” If any of her cops spent even a half second wondering if Jojo had killed Zachary Gordon, Laurie would personally detach their nuts from their bodies. “You were there, so they have to say that. But you’re not a suspect.”
“But you said—”
“Enough. Don’t worry.” Laurie dropped onto the dark orange couch she’d helped Omid pick out. She waved Jojo next to her.
Her daughter thumped down, her purse clutched tightly between her hands.
“Can I have that charger, please?” Laurie pressed the ON button again and again, but the phone was obviously long dead.
Jojo handed it over wordlessly, and Laurie plugged it in.
The phone gave a jolt, vibrating to life.
“Mom.”
Laurie looked up. “Yeah, baby?”
Jojo shook her head. Her cheeks were pale. “Nothing.”
A lock screen came up, a picture of Harper making a duck face. Who made their own photo a lock screen? “Do you know the code?”
“Here.” Jojo took the phone out of her hand. “I have thumbprint access.”
Laurie felt a thud in the middle of her belly. The girls were so close again, and she’d never known. What else didn’t she know about her daughter?
Jojo held the phone so that both of them could look at the face of it. Text after text rocketed past, coming to life.
From Jojo: Where are you?
What’s going on?
I don’t know what happened.
You have to answer me.
ANSWER ME.
From the boyfriend, Ray:
Where you at? Call me.
Come on. Why don’t you call me back?
Laurie reached to click on his contact info, but there was nothing else in it—no last name, no address, no other social media accounts. She shot a look at Jojo, who just shook her head.
From Pamela: For the love of God, call us back.
We’re out of our minds.
Harper, I’m losing it. Call me.
Nothing from Kevin Leeds.
“What was the last text she sent?”
Jojo clicked. “Looks like . . . to Ray.” She held out the phone.
Meet us at the side of the house—in the yard.
Laurie felt her breath catch in her chest. “‘Us.’ That’s you and her?”
“I guess.”
“Did you meet up with Ray?”
“We were supposed to, yeah.”
“But you don’t remember.”
Jojo shook her head. She squinted as if she had a headache. “I got in his car with her. But I can’t remember what he looks like or—” She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “God, I’m so stupid.”
“Okay,” said Laurie. “It’s okay. Let’s keep looking. Can you see who she called last night?”
Jojo’s fingers flew over the screen. “No one.”
Well, teens didn’t call anyone, ever. “What about her e-mail? Facebook? Snapchat?”
“Hang on.” Jojo pulled up app after app. “Nothing in e-mail but some school stuff. Last Snap was to me, but it’s gone. Doesn’t look like she downloaded it.” Her daughter’s cheeks colored.
“What about Facebook?”
“Mom.” In Jojo’s voice was what she wasn’t saying: Facebook is for the olds. But she pulled it up.
There were dozens of messages, but only eight unread ones.
“Okay.” Jojo flicked them open. “These two are just some jewelry company she was messaging about some earrings.”
Harper and jewelry. “What about the others?”
“One from her dad from two days ago.” Jojo grimaced. “A cat GIF.”
“And?”
“Five from . . . Wait, Jack Ramsay? Like, Captain Ramsay?”
Laurie tugged the phone from Jojo’s fingers. “Huh?”
There he was. Jack Ramsay’s wide-jawed face looked at her from the tiny avatar. Confusion made Laurie’s thoughts sludgy. Jack Ramsay had retired the year before, on his fiftieth birthday. He lived on the east end and had broken up with his third wife a few months ago. She and Omid had had him over for dinner twice since his retirement. He’d been excited about his new speedboat. “What the hell?”
I need to see you.
Harper, this isn’t a joke.
I’m getting desperate.
Don’t do this.
You need to come to my house ASAP. I’m not kidding around. We could be in a lot of trouble.
Jojo wriggled and reached for the phone. “I don’t get it. Why is he messaging her?”
Laurie kept her grip tight as she scrolled backward. “I have no idea.” There were dozens of messages, going back six months or more.
You’re like a flower. A perfect flower.
Laurie’s stomach tightened painfully.
From Harper: Well, you’re like a gray-haired sugar daddy, and I like sugar and daddies and gray if it’s like fifty shades of it.