“How do you know he wasn’t lying so he wouldn’t look completely incompetent?” Jo asked.
“Because Rocca said he arrested Danill Chertov on the night of June eighth. He claims they kept him in custody until Chertov informed on his boss. Rocca said he used Chertov’s intel to get an arrest warrant for Harding. But I know for a fact that none of that ever happened.”
“How?” Nessa asked.
Harriett grinned. “Chertov broke into my house on June seventh. He’s been in my compost pile ever since.”
The room fell silent.
“So we’re fucked,” Jo finally said.
“Why?” Nessa asked.
“Don’t you see? We can’t prove Rocca lied without revealing that Harriett killed someone.”
“Do you two believe that Rocca was involved?” Harriett asked her friends.
“Of course,” Jo said.
“Then who else do we need to convince?”
Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing
There were no more requests for interviews. After Chief Rocca’s appearance on Newsnight, the episode of They Walk Among Us featuring Nessa and Jo was pulled from the podcast’s website and replaced with an apology from Josh Gibbon. He refused to explain his actions to Jo over the phone, worried the conversation might be recorded. Later that day, Nessa spotted him pumping gas at a station in town, wearing a ridiculously unkempt beard and dark glasses. When confronted, Josh admitted that while he knew everything she and Jo had said to be true, he couldn’t afford to stand by them. His credibility had taken a serious hit. He’d lost sponsors and received hate mail from thousands of listeners. He pleaded with her to leave him alone.
“Just take my number.” She scribbled it down on a scrap of paper when he showed no sign of pulling out his own phone. “If you hear anything new or receive any tips, please let me know.”
“Why?” he asked. “Spencer Harding is dead. He’s not going to hurt anyone. Didn’t the three of you get what you wanted?”
Not yet, Nessa thought as she watched Josh drive away. Harriett seemed confident that Rocca would be punished, but Nessa couldn’t figure out how. If Harriett had a plan, she hadn’t shared it. I’ll do my job, she’d told Nessa. You focus on yours. Nessa’s job was to identify Spencer Harding’s victims, and two of the three girls still remained nameless.
That truth was tormenting Nessa several days later as she pushed a cart through the Stop & Shop aisles, her arm reaching out to grab the usual items as though it had a mind of its own. She was so lost in her thoughts that she got all the way from produce to canned goods before she finally sensed someone was following her. She spun around, hoping to catch the lurker off guard. Behind her was a woman Nessa recalled seeing in the parking lot who’d done a double take as Nessa passed her.
“You’re Ms. James?” the woman asked shyly.
“I am,” Nessa said, steeling herself for what might come next.
“My name is Mary Collins, and I’ve heard you have the sight,” she half whispered. “My girl disappeared a year ago. We’re from Queens, but she was out on the island visiting a friend when she vanished.”
The woman pulled a photo, creased and dog-eared, from her wallet. When she held it out, Nessa took it, though she could hardly bear to look. Smiling back at her was a teenage girl with braids and braces.
“She’s beautiful.” Nessa stroked the face in the photo with her thumb and ordered herself to stay strong. “What’s her name?”
“Lena. They told me she ran away from home—like that girl Mandy Welsh. I never believed them, but what could I do? Have you seen Lena, Ms. James? Can you tell me what happened to her?”