“Fair enough,” I replied. I tried to modulate my voice so the dread I felt over potentially dealing with Billy Sampson again didn’t show. “I assume they’ll be looking in to CPD as well.” It wasn’t that Nate said the police department was corrupt, but the vague comment could be construed that way, so an investigation was the only thing to do.
“Oh, you can bet on it.” Captain retrieved Nate’s email and slid it back into the file. “I’m waiting for a call from your union rep, Jillian Rosewood, to see when she’s available for your interview. I’ll let you know when everything is set up.” I could tell by his brisk tone that our conversation was finished and he was ready to move on to other tasks.
“Yes, sir.” I rose from my seat and exited his office.
Adrian nodded his head toward the coffee station that was set up in the rear of the room. “What’s going on?” he asked when we were out of ear shot from everyone else. Adrian listened intently as I told him about the email and the pending interview with IA. “That’s some serious shit.” Adrian rubbed the back of his head in shock. “Someone has to be held accountable for overlooking that email.”
“Agreed.” There wasn’t anything I could do to help Nate Turner any more, unless I somehow was called upon to investigate his homicide, but that was highly unlikely. I could, however, make sure that Josh stayed safe, and by doing so, potentially solve Nate’s case.
I tried to convince myself again that morning that it was a fluke, a coincidence. I wanted to think it was Sampson’s jealous tantrum, but my gut was telling me it wasn’t him. My fears were confirmed when the desk sergeant stopped at my desk with an envelope for me.
“This was dropped through our mail slot and is addressed to you,” O’Malley said. He set it on the corner of my desk and walked away. All I could do was stare at it while a strong sense of foreboding snaked its way up my spine and burrowed inside my brain.
“Partner, you look like you’re about to get sick,” Adrian said when he returned from the bathroom. “What’s this?” He reached down to pick up the envelope, but I stopped him.
“Gloves,” I told him. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out two pairs of black latex gloves. My heart was in my throat when I picked up the envelope with gloved hands. My name was written crudely in blood red marker on the outside.
“I don’t like this, Gabe,” Adrian said.
“That makes two of us.” I released a deep breath and opened the envelope. Inside were several photos of Josh. “These were taken this week.”
“How do you know?” Adrian asked.
“These running tights are brand new,” I replied. Josh loved the bright aqua blue stripe down the side of the gray pants and I loved the Andrew Christian jock in the same shade of blue he wore beneath them that day. “Oh, God,” I said when I came to the last picture. “This was last night.” It was a photo of Josh standing in his driveway with a shell-shocked expression on his face. “He flattened his tires and then purposely set off the car alarm so Josh would come out.”
Confirming my worst fears that the person who stalked, threatened and killed Nate had moved onto Josh didn’t make me feel better. There were times in life that a person wanted to be wrong, but Josh was in danger and the pictures proved it.
“Whoever killed Nate thinks you know more than you do,” Adrian said, confirming my thoughts. Fear gripped my heart and made it nearly impossible for me to think. “We need to bring Captain up to speed.”
I knew Adrian was right, but all I wanted to do was find Josh and hold him tight before I put him on a plane to a destination far from here so I would know that he was safe.
AS MUCH ASI hated how quickly word got around a small town, it sometimes had its perks; such as my insurance agent calling me before I had a chance to call her. “I heard you had a bit of trouble last night,” Holly Givens said over the phone not five minutes after Gabe left for work with Adrian.
“Just a little,” I told her.
“Well, is it as bad as the rumors at the diner this morning?” she asked.
“Ohhh, how bad did they say it was?” In the grand scheme of things, four flat tires weren’t that big of a deal. I was glad it seemed as if my reality was better than the rumors, which wasn’t always my experience.
“Four flat tires, hate messages scratched into the paint, and a busted windshield,” she responded.
“Wow! The town really thinks someone has it in for me.” I paused for a minute to think it over. Did they think I deserved that kind of reaction from someone or were they just having fun with the speculation? “What did the hate messages say?”
“Funny,” Holly said with a laugh, “no one seemed to know that. It was just ‘downright hateful.’” I could tell she was quoting exactly what she’d overheard because she changed her tone of voice to a shocked whisper. We had two murders in our town and one right outside of town in less than six months and two attempted murders–counting mine–yet, my vandalism garnered as much attention.
“Huh,” I said, not sure what else to say. “Well, you’ll be glad to know it’s just the tires.”
Holly went on to explain how coverage for replacing tires worked. Apparently, the insurance company depreciates for the wear and tear on the tires. “It’s not a replacement cost policy like you have on your home and business,” she told me, “so you will have more out of pocket expense than just your deductible. I just wanted to give you a heads up so that you’re not surprised when your adjuster talks to you later today.” I heard her fingers typing busily in the background. “You have rental car coverage if Earl can’t get you in at the Tire Store today. Just give me a call and let me know if you need it.”
“I sure will, Holly. Thank you for your help.” She’d been the agent for my family almost all my life having taken over the agency when her father retired. I never even thought about shopping around for insurance because the service I got from her was impeccable.
It turned out that Earl was booked up for the entire week so I called Holly back and arranged for a rental car to be delivered later that day. Holly told me that my adjuster would be out to look at the damage and measure the amount of tread that was left on each tire. “He’ll cut you a check on the spot.”
I hung up from her and decided to check my inventory. There wasn’t anything else I could do about the situation and dwelling on the fact that someone might want to hurt meagainwasn’t productive or healthy. I fell into my old habits of seeking comfort from routine.
That lasted for all about fifteen minutes before Chaz and Meredith came rushing into the salon.
“Baby, are you okay?” Meredith asked.
