“Ms. Cheney, you know better than I do that without a name or real evidence, there isn’t much the department can do.”
“He’s been inside her home.”
“What would you like me to do, give her a dedicated unit sitting on her house at all times?” the captain jokes.
To which Allision snaps, “Yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do. Thank you for being so kind and generous with city resources. It shows how much you care about the citizens of Oakland.”
She’s backed him into a wall, and I’m watching him slide down it, his nails raking the wallpaper to ribbons on his descent.
“Well, I?—”
Allison’s stare hardens, and suddenly, I feel like a five-year-old watching their parents square off.
“I’m happy to do it. I’ll give you my best.”
“Surely not Officer George,” Allison says, a mirthful lilt to her tone.
He clears his throat. “No. Obviously not.”
“Shaw!” Captain Leigh calls, and a head swivels around, dark eyes finding mine.
“Yeah, Cap?”
He’s equally as tall as the good captain, with blond hair and brown eyes that could melt the panties off a nun.
“Do they all look like that?” Allison whispers.
I shrug, remaining stoic. If they see me making light of this, they’ll only continue to take it as such, even if Allison’s carefree banter is making me feel less tangled in knots.
“I need you on a fixed detail at Ms. Allen’s residence. We have a stalker on the loose, and he’s not in our database. I need you to be alert. If you need to take someone with you, you can have your pick of officers, other than George.” The captain’s piercing eyes find Allison, and I don’t doubt for a moment he’s considering asking the tornado of a woman out.
“Cap, you know how stalkers are, that could take weeks to resolve, and I have the Brent Cavendish case that just landed on my desk.”
I suck a breath in, feeling like the room’s closing in on me as Allison keeps a straight face but grabs my hand in hers. “We should probably speak to you about Mr. Cavendish while we’re here. But somewhere more… private.”
Shaw, who looks more like a detective than a duty officer, leans against the front desk. “What the hell would you know about a dead man in the woods?”
I whimper, and Allison pulls me in as my tears fall like rain. My body is shaking, and I can’t think past the image of Brent at dinner, us laughing, and my almost texting him afterward.
“All the recent murders, all of the men you’ve been finding with the Nightstalker signature, Greer dated them before they died. I think her stalker is killing them after contact.”
Shaw straightens, looking me over with a critical eye. “And you’re just now coming forward, why?”
“Because no one believed her about the stalker. Your office treated her like a mockery, sending the fucking desk boy to do a detective’s job.” Allison’s grip tightens on my shoulders, and it becomes the only thing I’m holding onto, clinging to for dear life so I don’t faint.
“Forgive me, Ms. Cheney, but your client can speak for herself, can she not? Is she mute?” Shaw snaps.
“Shaw!” Captain Leigh reprimands.
“She can, but she doesn’t have to.”
Captain Leigh gives Detective Shaw a stern look. “I believe interrogation room two is open.”
Shaw sighs. “Right this way, ladies. Seems you might be the lead I’ve been waiting for.”
After over an hour of drilling, Allison finally leads me out of the station. I’m relieved of my shoebox of notes, and for some reason, I hate that I had to turn them in.
They’re the only things keeping me sane. The proof that my stalker’s real. That I’m not losing my fucking mind.
