Page 79 of The Couple's Secret
Apparently bored with the conversation, Turner took his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling. “True. But Quinn, somebody knows something. They always do. Even if they don’t know that they know something. Figure out who it is and get them to talk. That’s how you nail Hollis.”
She watched him walk to his desk and plop into his chair, eyes never leaving his phone. He was right again. It was maddening. Crimes weren’t committed in a vacuum but Hollis wasn’t the only common denominator.
Forty-Three
There were still reporters camped outside the Denton location of At Your Disposal. All day, cloying humidity had been building. If the gray clouds rolling in overhead were any indication, the glorious streak of sunny days Denton had been enjoying was about to be snapped. Josie and Gretchen were bombarded by questions as they walked into the building. They ignored all of them. Ellyn frowned as they approached her desk. As Hollis’s sister, she likely didn’t appreciate the renewed police scrutiny of her brother.
“Mr. Merritt’s not here,” she said curtly.
“We’re looking for Jackson Wright,” Gretchen told her.
“Oh, well, I guess you can… he’s out back.”
“Thank you.” Josie gave Ellyn a professional smile that was not returned.
They found Jackson near the very back of the lot in front of one of the bays of the old car dealership’s service building. Most of the garage area was filled with massive trash compactors but this area was used for storage of what looked like valuable antiques. Jackson had parked sideways across the threshold of the bay. He stood in the bed of his pickup truck among what looked like the items that had been in his and Riley’s living room the day that Josie and Gretchen were there, as well as a few things Josie hadn’t seen before. A huge, blocky red Coca-Cola vending machine that looked like it had been new in the 1950s, a rosewood grandfather clock with a silver face and an intricate inlay design, and a nautical telescope wrapped in plastic.
Utility gloves covered Jackson’s large hands. He wore a company hat, the brim turned backward. Dark stubble peppered his face. His eyes were glassy, almost vacant. Grief and exhaustion. Josie recognized it well. Anya had told them that he’d called a half-dozen times wanting to know when Riley’s body would be released so they could plan the funeral.
Another funeral.
“If you’ve come to accuse Hol of more shit, he’s not here,” he said without looking at them.
“We’d like to talk to you,” Josie said, trying not to react to the heavy odor of rotting garbage wafting over from the compactors.
Jackson lifted a rolled carpet and tossed it onto the ground next to the truck. “Already talked to you.”
“Let’s talk some more,” Gretchen said in a tone that didn’t invite argument.
He shook his head and pushed a red industrial bar stool toward the edge of the truck bed. “I’m not stupid. I know how this works. Watched Fanning do it to Hol for seven years. You’re here to ask the same questions again to see if I’ll slip up and say something different. When I don’t, you’ll come back next week or maybe the week after. Let me save you some trouble. I never witnessed Hollis committing any crimes. He didn’t kill my wife. Now, are we done here?”
A cool breeze sliced through the thick warm air they’d endured all morning, portending rain and lifting the hair at Josie’s neck. “We’re not here to talk about Riley.”
He ignored them, pushing a second stool toward the edge, then a third.
Gretchen forged ahead. “What do you remember about the day your mother left?”
Jackson had one hand on the side of the truck bed, knees bent to jump down from the tailgate. He froze. Josie counted off the beats of stillness. From other parts of the lot came the sounds of dumpsters being lowered unceremoniously to the concrete with cacophonous bangs. Employees shouting instructions at one another. Truck engines purring like cats with bronchitis. Josie swore she heard the distant rumble of thunder. Slowly, Jackson turned his head, studying Gretchen, then Josie with a wary expression. “What?”
“Your mother,” Josie said. “Rachel. What do you remember about the day she left?”
He sprang back into motion, hopping down from the truck and unloading the stools, placing them one by one just inside the garage bay. “Why are you asking me about my mother?”
“We understand that there is some uncertainty about what happened to her,” Josie said. “You were home that day. We’d like to know what you remember.”
Back in the truck bed, he picked up a small table wrapped in plastic and positioned it near the tailgate. “I was three.”
“So you don’t remember anything?” Gretchen asked.
“It was a long time ago. I never… The things I remember are just flashes. I’m not even sure if they’re real memories or if my mind just filled them in after hearing stories about it my whole life.”
“What kinds of flashes?”
He muscled a church pew from the back of the truck bed to where the plastic-wrapped table sat. “Shit. I don’t know. Her face. Being hungry. Being upset. Scared. You happy now?”
“No,” Josie said. “Because it sounds like you’ve never been able to get a break from tragedy.”
He jumped down again, lifting the table out of the truck bed and placing it next to the stools. A gust of cool air, stronger than the last, batted at them. “You think it’s tragic that my mom abandoned me? It’s fucked up, is what it is.”
