Page 6

Cameron

“ H ow can I help you, ma’am?” the woman behind the desk asked.

“Yes, I…” I cleared my throat, unsure what to say. “I was attacked a few days ago. The officers on the scene said I should bring a full written statement in.” I held up the typed sheet of paper I’d brought along.

“Who was the officer who took your initial statement?”

“I think it was an Officer Banks. Does that ring a bell?

She nodded and handed me a clipboard. “That’s Bobby. I’ll get a hold of him. Fill this out real quick, and someone will be with you soon.”

Taking a seat at one of the three plastic chairs in the small waiting area, I quickly filled out the form, then sat back to wait gingerly.

After three days, my bruises were an ugly yellowish-green, but my arm still hurt.

The scratches and scrapes were nothing but small scabs.

The bite or cut on my neck was still sore and tender.

It was hard to get a good look at it in the mirror.

The EMT who’d arrived on the scene had forced me to get a tetanus shot to be safe.

The precinct was fairly busy for a weekday morning, and soon my reporter’s instinct and curiosity got the better of me.

Rather than sitting still, I got up and paced, peering into the main office area.

A dozen or so low-walled cubicles filled the main room.

Honestly, it looked more like an accounting office than a police precinct. Nothing like it looked in the movies.

An officer at one of the desks close to the door was on the phone.

“You said he was last seen at nine p.m. last Saturday…” he said.

“Yes, Ms. Carter, I understand that, but I’m trying to figure out why you’d wait a week to report your husband as missing…

sure… okay… ma’am, I’m not sure how the nighttime activities of your neighbor have anything to do with your husband being missing…

no, I’m afraid we can’t just arrest her…

no, ma’am, even if she was walking around inside her house naked, that’s her right.

It’s her house. In fact, you watching her through her window is actually the part that’s illegal.

.. you think he left you for her? Well, have you asked her if she’s seen your husband? ”

I smiled a little and stepped over to the entry desk. “Miss? Where’s the bathroom?” I asked the receptionist.

“Down the center of the bullpen, dear. Take the first right when you get to the hallway,” she answered, pointing me in the right direction.

I walked slowly through the massive office area, trying to take in the sights and sounds.

Part of why I liked being a reporter was learning and seeing.

My dream was to get on the crime beat and work closely with the police.

As happy as I was to have been promoted to the lifestyle and leisure section a year ago, I’d minored in criminal psychology at university.

My drive was to report on the dark underbelly of human nature.

When Officer Banks told me to come by with a full written statement, I’d seen it as a golden opportunity.

I’d met a few cops in passing, mostly at the parades and festivals I covered for the newspaper.

Rumor had it that there might be a serial killer roaming around the city of Toronto.

If I could find one of the officers I knew, perhaps I could get some information about it.

Catching a scoop on a freaking serial killer was exactly the jumpstart my career needed.

I could make a name for myself with one story.

My source, a low-level rookie who went to the same gym as me, had let it slip that a few bodies with similar wounds had been found around town.

They were all brunette females, and all but one had been found dead outside.

The third victim had apparently been in her apartment.

The poor rookie had been mortified for letting the info slip, but I’d assured him it was safe with me.

Which was true. The deaths had been reported in the paper already, which meant there was nothing new I could add.

The connection to a serial killer had yet to be made, but even to me, that’s what it looked like.

Though, to be a real story, I needed more proof, something beyond cop rumors. Something on the record, if possible.

My foray to the bathroom turned up nothing.

No one in the bullpen looked familiar, so I headed back to the waiting area after relieving myself.

Time slid by like cold molasses, and when I checked my watch, my irritation reared its head.

Half an hour. What was taking so long? Couldn’t I just hand the paper to the woman at the desk and be on my way?

She was typing away on her keyboard as if nothing was wrong and didn’t look my way when I cleared my throat in agitation. This was all turning into a big waste of time. I hadn’t even picked up a lead for a story. God, I should have just emailed the damn statement and been done with it.

“Ms. Torres?”

The deep, booming voice ripped me from my internal thoughts, and I turned, finding a detective in a navy suit smiling down at me, his hand outstretched. “Detective Vickers.”

I shook his hand. “Yes. I’m Cameron Torres.”

His smile grew warmer, and he nodded. “Fantastic. Sorry to keep you waiting. If you’ll come with me?”

“Sure.” I followed him through the main room to a smaller office at the back. He closed the door and pulled out a chair for me in front of his desk.

The man wasn’t what I’d expected. In my head, I’d anticipated a chubby, balding, and overworked middle-aged man. This detective could have been a model, if not for the shoulder-harness pistol holster. He ran a hand through his blond hair as he moved around his desk.

“Can I get you something? Water? Soda? Anything?”

His eyes pierced me, searching, measuring, weighing. Definitely the eyes of a good cop. Maybe if I made some inroads with him, he could be a source later on for other stories.

“No thanks,” I said with a smile. “I’m good. Thank you, Detective Vickers.”

He waved a hand at me as he sat. “Call me Ollie; everyone does. I hate that formal shi—uh, formal stuff .”

“Um, okay. Ollie,” I said, “I was attacked a few days ago. I think it was a failed mugging or something. Officer Banks told me to bring a full written statement down.” I handed him the paper.

He glanced at the seven long paragraphs and whistled appreciatively.

“You know, this is way more than necessary,” he said.

“If I’m honest with you, you didn’t need to bring it this soon.

You could have waited a couple of days. We don’t like to make victims feel like they’re on a time limit.

” He smiled at me apologetically. “I do appreciate this, though.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I write for a living, and this was fairly easy.”

This guy seemed good-natured and open. I decided to try my luck and pressed forward with my suspicions.

“If I may ask, how is the investigation going? Have you made any progress in finding the guy who attacked me?”

“Not as of yet,” Ollie said, setting my statement down and steepling his fingers on top of it. “We’re looking for witnesses, cross-referencing other reports in the area. Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of leads.”

Nodding, I licked my lower lip, doing my best to play the distraught victim. “It just scared me so much. I’m sure you understand.”

His eyes softened. “I’m very sorry this happened to you, Ms. Torres. Rest assured, if that man is still in town, we’ll do everything we can to bring him in.”

I liked that Ollie didn’t explicitly promise to bring the perpetrator in. He knew better than to make a promise he couldn’t keep. Over fifty percent of violent crimes go unpunished, so odds weren’t in our favor. He was cautious and measured in his response.

“Can I ask you something?” I cast my eyes down, pretending to be embarrassed.

Ollie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Sure. Anything.”

Now was my chance. I’d need to play this perfectly if I wanted it to work.

“Well, someone I know heard about my attack,” I said, lying out of my ass. “And they’d heard a rumor that a serial killer might be at work in the city, and that my attack might be connected. Could that be true?”

Ollie’s eyes went wide for a half second before he schooled his features again. He gave me a placating smile. “Not sure where your friend heard that, Ms. Torres. I assure you that no such case is open at this time. Your situation was, most likely, a mugging gone wrong.”

Releasing a relieved sigh, I said, “That’s good to hear. So, there haven’t been any other attacks like that?”

I’d probably pushed too hard. Ollie was eyeing me suspiciously as he took a sip of his coffee.

To deflect, I shrugged and smiled. “My friend said it’s a rumor circulating online. Which is why I’m asking if there had been other attacks like mine.”

That part, at least, was true. Everyone in Toronto was beginning to put the pieces together from the news reports that had come out about the three bodies.

It seemed that everyone except the Toronto PD was talking about a serial killer.

Based on the horror on my source’s face, the upper branches of law enforcement were trying to keep a tight lid on it.

Ollie winced and set his mug down. “Yeah, I’ve seen some of that chatter.

” He sat forward, that kind smile back on his face.

“Trust me, Ms. Torres, nothing links your case with those other unfortunate women. There’s no reason to worry yourself.

Just because you bear a passing resemblance to the three women who have died doesn’t mean you’re in danger.

It’s all a big coincidence. Is that causing you some anxiety?

That the mugging might be connected to some hypothetical serial killer? ”

It felt like our rapport was going well. Maybe now that we’d talked for a bit, he’d be more open to some direct questioning.

“The real reason I’m asking questions is because I’m a reporter for The Chronicle and want a little more information on the situation.”

The good-natured smile on Ollie’s face vanished. He’d have found out, anyway, when he checked out my background. No reason to keep it hidden.

He leaned away, an icy look in his eyes. “Ms. Torres, I think we’re done here. Thank you for the statement. I’ll add it to the case file.”

“Hang on,” I said as he stood and rounded the desk. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Couldn’t I just ask a few more questions? Off the record. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. I protect my sources.”

He took me gently by the arm and helped me stand. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. Follow me.”

I huffed and let him lead me from his office to the front door.

Seeing my chance evaporate, I threw caution to the wind. Might as well see what I could pry out of him before we got to the exit, subterfuge and professionalism be damned.

“Are there any leads on the three murders? Any persons of interest?”

Ollie ignored me.

“Would Toronto PD like to make a statement, perhaps?”

The door made a whoosh ing sound as Ollie shoved it open. He held it and smiled, though it wasn’t nearly as warm as it had been earlier.

“You have a good day, Ms. Torres,” he said. “We’ll be in touch with any further developments in your case. You can count on that.”

As I stepped through the door, I thought I caught him sniffing the air as I passed. The frown on his face—confused and surprised—made me wonder if I’d forgotten deodorant. Whatever it was, he said nothing about it and nodded as I departed.

Without another word, he went back into the building, leaving me out on the sidewalk.

“Well, shit,” I hissed. Not the most graceful way to go about things. Maybe I needed more practice before I could move to the crime beat.

I turned to leave, then paused. What had Ollie said? Just because you bear a passing resemblance to the three women who have died doesn’t mean you’re in danger .

A shiver crept up my spine, like someone was sliding an ice cube across it.

I pulled my phone out and pulled up the obituaries for the three victims. I’d seen them in passing, of course.

Had studied what had been written by my colleagues in the paper and done some more research when my source gave me a thread to work on.

Even so, I’d never really looked at them.

In my mind, they were a story, not people.

And I admit, that was a pretty shitty way to think of the women who had been cut down in their prime by some psycho.

As each picture loaded, that icy feeling on my spine grew more intense. Ollie was right. There was more than a passing resemblance. All three women—four, if you counted me—looked quite similar. Exactly what a serial killer would look for if he had a type.

Had I been seconds away from being killed?

The shock of that possibility rocked me to my core. Even though it was a bright, sunny morning, everything looked darker and more malevolent now that I could see the world for what it was. A dangerous place full of menace.

After a few minutes of freaking out, I got myself under control.

There was no way that was what happened.

The guy who jumped me and Lesley had been out of his mind, high or drunk off his ass.

It was totally different from the other deaths.

None of those had been anywhere near witnesses and had been more secluded than a parking garage where anyone could walk by.

No serial killer would blow his cover like that.

Plus, loads of women had dark complexions and dark hair. It didn’t make me special.

By the time I climbed into my car, I’d calmed myself down enough to think straight. Detective Vickers was hiding something—that had been obvious from the look on his face. The police knew more than they were letting on, and I needed to follow that trail.

A quick glance at the clock on my dash told me that I wasn’t going to be as late to work as I thought I would be. I decided to head in and immediately go find my editor. Maybe if I showed him something really juicy, he’d give me some leeway to chase it.

I really didn’t want to cover another off-Broadway show or country music festival. If I played this just right, maybe my dream would come true.