“That hairy little frat boy has thirty million listeners,” Jo told her.
“Well then.” Nessa was duly impressed. “Let’s go spill some beans.”
Though he’d been eager to meet, Josh clearly wasn’t letting bygones be bygones. He was going to make Jo pay for her rudeness. While she and Nessa tag-teamed the tale of finding the murdered girl and every strange thing that had happened since then, he sat back and listened, his face expressionless and his arms crossed over his chest.
“Wow. That’s quite a story,” he said when they finished. “Too bad no one’s going to believe it.”
“We have evidence,” Jo argued. “There’s a DNA test that proves the girl who died wasn’t related to the woman who claimed to be her mother. We have pictures of the photo we found in the locker at my gym. And there’s a man in jail right now for breaking into my house.”
Josh Gibbon leaned forward. “Yes, and according to the story you just told me, you also have a friend who claims to be a psychic and another friend who seems to be the town witch, and the three of you are accusing one of the richest men in New York of being a serial killer.”
“Sounds to me like a story millions of people would want to hear.” Nessa tried to lure him with honey. “One that could turn a popular podcast into a cultural phenomenon.”
“Really?” Josh turned to her. “’Cause to me, it sounds like a story that will get me sued straight into bankruptcy.”
“Then let me ask you a question,” Jo said. “Do you believe it?”
She simmered as Josh sat back, his fingers woven together pompously and resting on his ample paunch. In what screwed-up universe did this twentysomething Comic Book Guy get to cast judgment on her story? Jo wanted to pick up the table and hurl it across the room.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “It’s crazy as hell, but I believe it. Doesn’t mean I’m going to put it on my show, though.”
Jo closed her eyes. It was the only way she could resist leaping over the table and strangling him. Three girls were dead. Her daughter had almost been kidnapped. And this little shit wasn’t interested. Fortunately, Nessa kept her cool.
“How many murdered women and girls have you featured on your podcast? How many who’ve been mangled and tortured and chopped into bits?” Nessa asked. “Hundreds?”
“At least,” Josh admitted.
“A thousand or more?”
He nodded. “Probably.”
“All those dead girls made you famous,” Nessa said. “Don’t you feel like you owe them? We just told you there’s a monster on the loose. You going to help us stop him—or are you just out here looking to make a buck off those bodies?”
Josh stiffened. Nessa had clearly hit a sore spot. He didn’t like having his motives questioned or his heroism called into doubt. “I started my podcast to shine a spotlight on killers who had gone undetected. I wanted to save lives, and I have.”
“And I bet you’ve made a lot of money doing it,” Jo said. “Now you’re going to sit back and let a serial killer murder more girls because you’re afraid of getting sued.”
“I’m not afraid,” Josh snapped. “But I can’t go around making accusations if I don’t have real evidence to back them up. Right now, there’s only one body. One body is not proof that there’s a serial killer at work in Mattauk.” He looked at Nessa. “You say there are two other bodies in the water off Danskammer Beach. It’s doubtful they would have lasted this long, but it could be worth having a look. Do you know where they’d be?”
Jo felt a flash of hope. He was starting to come around. He couldn’t bear to have anyone question his white-knight credentials. Nessa was a genius.