“Dillian, it’s me,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I need a favor. Big one.”
There’s a pause, then his voice drops. “Tony? What the hell, man? I’m on someone else’s clock right now.”
“I know. That’s why I’m calling. There’s going to be a 911 call coming in any second from a woman named Lila Fischer. I need you to take it.”
“What? Why? What did you do?” His voice is sharp, suspicious.
“Nothing bad, I swear. Look, short version, her husband’s an ass. I left her some books as a gift, and she freaked out. Now she’s calling the cops on me.”
“Books? Where did you leave the books, Tony?” The disbelief in his voice is clear.
“In her house.” I reply.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind!?”
“Just take the call, please. Take a cruiser and go yourself. Talk to her, calm her down, but don’t look for me. I’m not going to hurt her. I’m trying to help.”
Another pause. I can practically hear the gears turning in his head.
“This better not be what it sounds like, Tony,” he says finally.
“It’s not. I swear.”
“Fine. But you owe me an explanation. A real one, not this cryptic bullshit.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up, relief washing over me. Dillian will handle it. He always does. We’ve been through too much together for him to let me down now. Still, I owe him big time for this one.
I move further back into the dunes, finding a spot where I can watch the driveway without being seen. A police cruiser pulls through the open gate about fifteen minutes later. Dillian steps out, tall and solid in his uniform, his movements precise as he approaches the front door. Always the professional.
Lila answers after the second knock, her body language screaming anxiety—arms wrapped around herself, shoulders hunched forward. Even from this distance, I can see she’s been crying. Was this because of me or her husband?
“Mrs. Fischer?” Dillian’s voice carries on the evening air. “I’m Officer Reynolds. We received your 911 call about an intruder?”
She nods, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “Someone broke into my house. Left books and a note in my library. I saw him outside, in the dunes.”
Dillian makes a show of looking around, even shines his flashlight toward where I was standing earlier. “I don’t see anyone now, ma’am. May I come in and take a look at these books and the note?”
She hesitates, then steps aside. Dillian follows her in, and I lose sight of them. I edge closer to the house, careful to stay hidden, until I can hardly hear their voices through the closed window of the library.
“—a way to get in?” Dillian is asking.
“Idon’t know,” Lila’s voice trembles. “The alarm didn’t go off. My husband was home earlier, but he left right after we had a fight.”
“A fight? About what, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Another pause. “Nothing important.”
“Mrs. Fischer, I need to ask. Does your husband ever hurt you?”
The silence that follows is so heavy I can feel it pressing against my chest.
“No,” she says finally, but the word sounds hollow, practiced. “Why would you ask that?”
“Just routine questions, ma’am. You mentioned a fight, and sometimes domestic situations can escalate.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
