Jo’s phone pinged just as she set it down on the front desk at Furious Fitness. A text message had arrived from Claude.
Got the surveillance video of the Harding house. I just pulled up outside the gym. Can we talk?
Jo glanced out the window. Sure enough, Claude was sitting in a car across the street, holding up what looked like a thumb drive. Jo eagerly waved her over.
“You okay?” Jo asked as Claude pushed through the door. She barely resembled the woman Jo had come to know. Her skin was sallow and her eyes swollen.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” Claude said. “You were right. Rocca was at the Harding house a few hours before Spencer crashed. Have a look at file number one.”
Jo immediately inserted the drive into her computer. It contained two video files labeled “ONE” and “TWO.” When she clicked on file ONE, she saw black-and-white footage of the street-facing side of the Harding house. Three kids sped by on bikes and a woman in a gray uniform walked through the frame in the direction of the nearest neighbor’s house. A time stamp in the lower right corner read JUNE 9 19:00.
“The files are twelve hours long. Spencer Harding’s helicopter went down just before midnight on June ninth, am I right?”
“Yes,” Jo confirmed.
“So you’re looking at seven o’clock. Fast-forward to 21:38.”
Jo slid the cursor to the right point and pressed play. A man in a polo shirt and shorts appeared on the sidewalk and turned down Harding’s drive.
“That’s Rocca, isn’t it?” Claude asked, tapping the screen.
Jo moved the cursor back a few seconds and paused on a frame where the man’s face was visible. If she’d passed him on the sidewalk, dressed casually and out of context as he was, she might not have recognized him. But the gait definitely belonged to Chief Rocca.
“So he was at Harding’s house three hours before the helicopter crash.”
“He was,” Claude said. “And did you notice which direction he came from?”
Jo studied the still image. “It looks like he was coming from the direction of Jackson Dunn’s house.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Claude said. “So I had a look at a few other files. Open the one labeled ‘TWO.’”
Jo clicked on the second file. This time, the camera was facing the Dunn home. At 21:32, Chief Rocca exited the house. He walked briskly and with purpose. Even from a distance, the scowl on his face was unmistakable.
“Do you know what happened forty-eight minutes before Rocca decided to pay Harding a visit?” Claude asked Jo. Jo thought for a moment, then shook her head. “A forty-three-minute-long special episode of the podcast They Walk Among Us was released—the same episode in which you and your friend accused Spencer Harding of murder.”
“So Rocca was with Jackson Dunn that night. As soon as the podcast was over, he headed to Spencer Harding’s house. Three hours later, Harding’s helicopter crashed in New York Harbor. An hour after that, the Mattauk police officially arrived on the Pointe.”
“Yes,” Claude said. “And now you have proof that Rocca let Spencer escape.”
“And some pretty compelling evidence that Jackson Dunn was involved, too.”
“Yes, but it’s too late to make Jackson pay for his crimes. It hasn’t made the news yet, but he died yesterday.”
“Bees?” Jo asked.
Claude nodded. “He was on his roof deck when it happened. One of the staff members witnessed the whole thing. She told me that a swarm swooped down out of nowhere. Jackson was stung hundreds of times, but she wasn’t touched. The poor woman was so traumatized that I had to give her the rest of the weekend off. She said Jackson suffered horribly.”
Jo was quiet for a moment. “Good,” she said.
“There’s something else I need to show you,” Claude said. Her hand was visibly shaking as she leaned over and replayed the second clip. Once again, Chief Rocca exited the Dunn home. Just as he reached the sidewalk, Claude hit pause. “See?” She pointed to the glass windows. A pair of silhouettes could be seen on the drawn curtains. “There are still two men inside.”
Jo leaned in. Claude was right. There were two figures standing in Dunn’s living room. A noticeable paunch identified Jackson. The second man appeared leaner.
“That can’t be Spencer,” Claude said. “And we just saw Rocca leave for the Harding house.”
“Who do you think it could be?” Jo turned to find Claude crying. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?” she asked, pulling Claude into a hug.
“I think it might be Leonard.”
“Leonard?” Jo asked as Claude sobbed. That seemed ridiculous. When Claude finally pulled back, Jo handed her a tissue. “Did the footage show Leonard entering Jackson’s house?”
“I watched hours of footage, and there was nothing on it,” Claude said, using the tissue to wipe her eyes. “But Leonard went whale watching that night. I walked down to the dock with him and left him there when it got boring. He could have entered Jackson’s house from the beach. The footage from the camera covering that entrance is missing.”
“Do you have any reason to suspect Leonard might be involved?”
“No,” Claude said. “But it wouldn’t be the first time a man hid the truth from me. If it turns out Leonard lied, after all that I’ve been through, I’m going to kill him, Jo. I’m serious. I will beat the man to death with my own two hands.”
There was no doubt she meant it. “Want to find out?” Jo asked.
Claude balled up her tissue and nodded. “Yeah.”
Just then, Heather burst through the door of Furious Fitness. “OMG, you beat me to work again! Don’t you ever sleep?” It wasn’t easy impressing a boss who worked as hard as Jo.
“The place is all yours,” Jo told her. “I was just about to go out for a jog. You coming?” she asked Claude.
“Right behind you,” Claude said as Jo took off.
By the time Claude caught up, Jo was already halfway down the block, her arms pumping like pistons as the rage inside her propelled her forward. “Where are we going?” Claude asked.
“The police station,” Jo told her.
“To see Rocca?” Claude asked. “Do you really think he’ll tell the truth?”
“He will if I beat it out of him,” Jo said. But when they reached the station, the parking lot was barricaded by sawhorses and the front door was cordoned off with yellow caution tape. The warning seemed rather unnecessary, considering the building itself was covered in furry black mold.
“Shit, I forgot about this,” Jo said. “I should have known the station would be closed.”
“What happened?” Claude panted.
“The cops fucked with the wrong bitch,” Jo said. “Come on, let’s jog down to Grass Beach.”
“Grass Beach?” Claude asked, her eyes still fixed on the mold.
“It’s a beautiful run,” Jo replied. “And all the police officers live down that way.”
On the outskirts of Mattauk, a bridge carried the road over a sea of tall grass that grew in the swampy land separating the town from the beach. It was a peaceful stretch of highway where one was unlikely to encounter another human so early in the morning. The air hadn’t yet lost its nighttime chill, and the breeze off the ocean sent ripples across the grass. Jo’s eyes landed on a patch in the center of the marsh that appeared to be moving against the wind. Something was out there among the reeds. Suddenly, it took a sharp turn to the left, followed by another, until it was heading back the way it had come.
Jo stopped to watch. Claude raced past her, then slowed and doubled back.
“Probably a dog,” she said.
“Maybe.” Jo had to be sure. “Hello?” she called, sending a flock of birds shooting into the sky. “Someone out there?”
“Help!” a frantic girl cried in response. “I’m lost! I can’t find my way out!”
“Don’t panic!” Jo shouted back at her. “Just walk straight for a moment so I know which way you’re facing.” She watched carefully as the grass moved. “Okay, stop! Now turn to your five o’clock. Then start walking forward from there.”
The grass bent in another direction. “Am I doing this right?” the girl shouted. “I can’t see a thing!”
“You’re headed in the right direction! Keep going, you’ve got a few hundred yards till you reach the edge of the marsh.”
Soon a girl with a tear-slicked face emerged from the grass, her pretty gray running shorts and tank stained green and black. Her skin appeared to be speckled with moles, until Jo realized they were moving. The girl shrieked when she noticed the ticks and frantically brushed them away with both hands.
“Breanna?” Jo rushed to greet her. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
“It’s you.” The girl began sobbing.
“Why were you out there?” Jo turned her around and swept the ticks off her back. “What the hell happened?”
“Jordan and I usually run together, but she and Mama slept late this morning. I always come this way when I’m alone. It’s supposed to be safe because all the police live down here by the water. I was crossing the bridge when a cop car pulled up beside me. He said something had happened to my mom, and he’d give me a ride back to the house.”
“No, no, no.” Jo didn’t want to imagine what might have happened to Nessa’s girl if she’d gotten into the car.
“Then I realized it was that cop from Newsnight—the one who lied about you and Mama. I told him I’d run back to the house myself, and he started to get out of the vehicle. I figured I wouldn’t be able to get away if he pulled his gun, so I jumped off the bridge and hid in the grass. I stayed down there until I heard him drive away. But after he was gone, I couldn’t find my way out.”
The story sounded all too familiar. “Was there anything unique about his patrol car that would identify it if we saw it parked in a driveway?” Jo asked.
“Yeah,” Breanna said. “It had a big number one painted on the hood.”
Jo took her phone out.
“What are you going to do?” Claude asked.
“I’m going to get Breanna’s mom out of bed.”
Nessa was already awake and at her computer. While she’d been sleeping, an email had arrived. The author had written “The Girl in Blue” in the subject line. A few days after she found the body by Danskammer Beach, Nessa had posted portraits of the girl on every major missing persons site. A few responses had trickled in at the beginning of the summer, but this was the first email she’d received in weeks.
To Whom It May Concern:
I am certain the Girl in Blue is my niece. Her name is Faith Reid, born March 29, 2004.
I have enclosed a photo. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.
Dana Reid
Montego Bay, Jamaica
Faith. The name couldn’t be a coincidence. Her heart pounding, Nessa opened the picture Dana Reid had attached and found herself face-to-face with the girl she’d found at Danskammer Beach. She was leaning in for a closer look at the pendant Faith wore around her neck when the call came in from Jo.
Nessa left the car running and the driver’s-side door standing open. Barefoot and still dressed in her nightgown, she grabbed Breanna and held her against her chest. Jordan, who’d hopped in the passenger seat before Nessa could back out of the drive, stood with her arms wrapped around her mother and her twin. The tears running down Nessa’s face felt scalding hot. She’d never contemplated killing another human being before. Now it was all she could think about. For the first time, she understood exactly how Jo had felt the night a man had come for Lucy.
“Jordan, drive Breanna to your aunt Harriett’s house,” she ordered. “Tell her what’s happened, and ask her to get all the ticks off your sister and make sure she’s okay.”
“You’re not coming with us, Mama?” Jordan asked.
“Not now,” Nessa told her.
“Your mother and I have someone we need to visit.” Jo shifted from foot to foot. She was having a hard time standing still. The energy racing through her system couldn’t be contained much longer. It needed to be released before it blew her to pieces.
“The chief of police?” Jordan scoffed. “You’ve got to be joking. What are the two of you going to do? The guy’s a dirty cop. He could shoot you.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going with them,” Claude said. “I’ll make sure I get everything on camera. Rocca won’t try anything stupid as long as I’m there.”
That didn’t seem to do much to convince Jordan. She kept her eyes on her mother. “How’s she going to protect you? Rich white ladies generating their own force fields these days?”
“Go,” her mother ordered. “Now, Jordan.”
“I’m not ready to be an orphan,” Jordan snapped.
“Now!” Nessa roared.
Jordan glowered but kept her lips sealed. Then she climbed into the driver’s side of Nessa’s car and slammed the door. Jo put an arm around Nessa as they watched the girls drive away.
“Something very bad is about to happen,” Nessa said. “I can feel it.”
Jo squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “I know,” she replied. “You ready?”
“Let’s go,” Nessa said.
They found the cop car with a number one on its hood parked beneath a massive house that sat atop stilts and hovered over the dunes. There was no way to reach the front door. A locked gate blocked the stairs that led up to the porch. The place was a fortress.
“Follow me.” Jo stomped around the house and climbed atop a grass-covered dune that faced the house’s deck. The sliding doors that led into the house were standing open, and their curtains fluttered in the wind. Rocca was sitting at a table with a cup of coffee in front of him.
“Morning, motherfucker!” Jo bellowed with her hands cupped around her mouth. “You ready for us to tell everyone in Mattauk what you really do for a living?”
Nessa climbed up on the dune beside Jo. Down on the beach, two joggers paused to see what would come next. The next-door neighbor appeared on his porch wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
“Chief Rocca sure has a very nice house, doesn’t he? You ever wonder how he can afford to live this way on a small-town cop’s salary?” Jo called out to their audience. “I can tell you! He pays the bills by pulling little girls into his cop car and selling them to perverts like Spencer Harding.”
“It’s the truth!” Nessa shouted. “And ten minutes ago, he tried to kidnap my girl. He went and messed with the wrong mama this time.”
Rocca yawned in response. “What are you talking about? And why are you bothering me on my day off? Get the hell off my property before I have you both arrested.”
“Go ahead and have us arrested,” Jo told him. “It’ll give us a chance to show your colleagues the security footage from the Pointe. It’s pretty clear from the videos that you were with Spencer Harding for three hours before he fled the Pointe in his helicopter.”
“Honey?” A petite woman appeared on the deck with a plate, which she set down in front of Rocca. She’d been pretty once—and might be again if she got help for her sickly complexion and thinning hair. “What’s going on out here?”
“A couple of crazy women are claiming to have something that doesn’t exist, and they’re about to get their butts thrown in jail.” Rocca picked up the piece of coffee cake his wife had just brought him and took a large, leisurely bite.
“They have the security footage from the Pointe. I gave it to them.” Claude stepped into view and Rocca’s face instantly fell.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“They know what you, Dunn, and Harding were doing at the Pointe. Kidnapping girls and killing them. Was Leonard involved, too? That’s what I want to know.” The force of Claude’s fury took even Jo by surprise. She was out for blood.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Rocca snarled.
“John,” Rocca’s wife broke in. “What is she talking about?”
He coughed and cleared his throat. “Go back inside, Juliet,” he ordered. “None of this concerns you.”
“Does it have anything to do with the fifteen-year-old girl you assaulted on your boat?”
“What—” Rocca looked up at his wife, but he couldn’t seem to finish the thought. His hand rose to his throat and his mouth stretched open as he desperately struggled to breathe.
“Have some more coffee cake, sweetheart,” the woman said, cramming the remainder of Rocca’s breakfast into his wide, gaping mouth. “I made it from scratch just for you.”