Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“No,” I say.
“Grace mentioned you have a tendency toward violence?”
“She mentioned I have a punching bag as part of a home gym. So do a lot of other people.”
“Yes. But she also said she was scared of you. Did you ever threaten your cousin?”
“No.”
“Then why was she afraid of you?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “You’d have to ask her that.”
“I hope I get the chance to.”
“So do I.”
The detective pauses. “Grace seemed to think you were searching for the bodies of other missing women. I’m surprised you’d want anything to do with that. Anything that would remind you of your ex. The memories of what happened can’t be pleasant.”
“They had to pry his hands from around my neck. So, no…not my favorite.”
She waits for me to give her more. Then she says, “Any information you might have on the possible whereabouts of missing persons should be turned over to the police.”
“In my experience, the police don’t tend to listen to what I have to say. I tried to tell them ten years ago. How he would take me hiking. Some of the places where he liked to stop. They either wouldn’t take me seriously, implying that I was a stupid girl who spread her legs for a monster and didn’t know anything worth hearing. I’ll spare you the actual slut-shaming language that was used. Or else they thought I was somehow involved and was misdirecting them to waste resources.”
“This is about helping missing women, Miss Walsh. Not you processing your hurt feelings.”
“You’re right,” I say. “It does hurt my feelings when your people harass me.”
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“Easy enough to prove. Check out how many parking, speeding, and other types of fines have been issued to me in the last decade.”
“Have you lodged any complaints about this supposed behavior?”
I don’t bother to answer.
“I called your aunt earlier. She doesn’t seem to be a fan of yours.”
My mouth stays shut.
“She’s driving up from New York now. Should be here by this evening,” says the detective. “Is there anything you can tell me that might help with the investigation?”
I frown and think it over. “He’s been in touch a couple of times lately. Ryan.”
“It’s highly unlikely he has anything do with this given he’s still safely locked up.” She frowns right back at me. “Is that unusual, him contacting you?”
“It’d been about a year since the last time he wrote. He’s never tried to call me before. But he did this morning.” I pause and think it over some more. Trusting the police is an issue for me. Obviously. “His girlfriend has also been hanging around.”
Noah blinks but says nothing.
“You really think they could be involved somehow in your cousin’s disappearance?” she asks, not bothering to hide the trace of disbelief.
There’s a small possibility I sound paranoid. But such is life. “This has to be a copycat, right? Probably someone who’s in contact with him. I know he’s involved somehow. Why don’t you look into those idiots who send him fan mail?”
The detective stands and gives me another of those long looks. Like she’s trying to read my soul or something. She must come up empty since she says nothing.
“A state forest is a big area to search. When do you think they’ll want volunteers?”
“I’d guess tomorrow morning,” she says. “The crime scene and surrounding area will be processed today. Our people are out there looking. But there’s rain forecast for this afternoon. Having dozens of people tramping through the woods and possibly disturbing any evidence won’t matter so much after that.”
I just nod.
“But you have to know, given the situation, your presence could well be more of a hindrance than a help.” She heads for the front door. “Thank you for your time, Miss Walsh.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Small rituals help me not to panic. Because losing my shit won’t solve anything. Some of the coping mechanisms are things I learned in therapy. Taking deep even breaths as I redo the locks on the door. Setting my back against it and focusing on this safe space. Concentrating on the things I can control. The reporters are outside and can’t get in—not if I don’t let them. And any relevant information has been shared with the detective. There’s nothing more I can do right now to help Grace and that absolutely sucks.
I can’t wait to put in some time with my punching bag. To work out the anger and frustration. They might have a valid point about me and violence.
Noah is still sitting on the lounge chair. It’s a special sort of magic how the sight of him calms me. Though it’s the steady gaze that really gets me. Seems he has a settling effect on the dog too since the very good boy Auggie is asleep on his lap. Which is handy. We don’t need him growling or barking at our unwanted visitors and making the situation any more stressful than it already is.