But I can’t do any of those things.
What I can’t stop asking myself is what if it were me? If I were Kendra, I would hope the person on the other end of the phone would try their hardest to help.
I couldn’t help her in that moment, but I can help now. Because they haven’t asked to speak with me, and the people above me haven’t mentioned it, even though I could barely get through a shift.
Which is why I took some emergency time off. They can still reach me, and I was very insistent about wanting to know the moment I’m needed.
But it’s been two days and nothing.
Nothing?
It doesn’t feel right.
Something is up.
There hasn’t been any mention of her being on the phone when she was attacked. Would they even mention it? Is it one of those details the police hold back from the press?
Or have I just watched too many crime dramas and really have no idea how the whole thing works?
Yeah. It’s probably that, but if I was the one who was killed, I would want someone moving fast and putting in the effort.
Or maybe they are and I’m just naïve.
If I can cut through some of the red tape and can help faster, then it’s what I’ll do. I even brought the flash drive. I don’t know if they have the recording or not and I’m willing to risk losing my job over it.
It’s the least I can do.
Kendra didn’t deserve what happened to her. No one deserves that.
And that man’s voice? It’s been haunting me for two days now. I need to do something to get it to stop. I’m hoping this helps.
It’s the need to stop his whispering in my ear which has me climbing out of my car and walking into the police station. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I realize when I’m almost at the front desk that I’m probably being suspicious as hell. My head snaps up and I lock eyes with an older cop at a reception desk.
His gaze sweeps over me, but there’s nothing creepy about it. That’s a win, I suppose. I’m going to take it because this whole adventure feels like a gamble. And a risk.
If Jensen and Tal knew about my plan, they would be pissed. Which is why I didn’t mention it when I got in my car and drove the two hours to Charleston from Magnolia Point. I just can’t shake the feeling that someone should have already called me.
“Hello,” my voice wobbles, but I’m able to force one word out.
“Good evening, miss,” he’s still eyeing me, but his face softens as I clutch my purse to my chest like a shield, “can I help you with something? Are you in trouble?”
He looks over my shoulder and then back at me. I shake my head and he relaxes slightly.
“No,” my voice breaks and I clear my throat before trying again, “sorry. Nothing like that. I just,” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, “was wondering if I could speak to whoever is working Kendra Wagner’s case?” I hate how it comes out as a question, but it is what it is at this point.
The cop’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline before dropping back down. His words come out slowly, like he’s ensuring he is being clear, “Kendra Wagner’s case?”
“Yes,” I nod my head, “I think I can help. I witnessed the whole thing. I have proof.”
He rears back like I slapped him, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he’s standing up and leaning over the desk, “You say you witnessed it?”
“W-w-well, yes,” I whisper the words, a feeling coiling in my gut to run.
I force my feet to stay in place though and before I can say anything else, or sound surer about why I’m here in the first place, he’s picking up the phone on his desk and dialing a number. Someone must answer because he rushes out, “I have a woman at the front desk saying she has information on the Wagner case.”
He eyes me as if he’s worried about me bolting. To be fair, he’s not wrong to be concerned.
I’ve lived a fairly sheltered life when it comes to crime. I have never been a witness, let alone the victim of a crime. To say I have no idea how any of this works is an understatement.
