Stalked. Elizabeth Heiter

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СКАЧАТЬ not get ahead of ourselves,” Evelyn said. “We don’t know when this note was written. And we don’t know if Haley was coerced.”

      “If it’s legit,” Sophia said grimly as she finally looked up from the note, “then we’ve got a whole different case to investigate.”

      “Are we sure someone didn’t just copy Haley’s handwriting?” Quincy asked from over Evelyn’s shoulder.

      The three of them were crowded around the note, no one touching it because they didn’t want to add prints—or smear any. Other cops stood at a distance, necks craned as they tried to get a look.

      “We can have a handwriting expert at the FBI take a look,” Evelyn said. “They should be able to tell us if it’s Haley’s writing or an imitation. They might even be able to identify signs of coercion, although with a note this short, I don’t know.”

      “Really? They can tell coercion from this?” Quincy sounded skeptical as he read the note aloud. “‘Stop looking for me. I’m safe, but I won’t come home for another beating from Stepdaddy. Let me go.’”

      “Maybe,” Evelyn replied, then turned to face Sophia. “You know the case best. Does this sound like Haley’s voice to you? Is this how she’d talk? Is that what she called Pete?”

      “It is,” Sophia said slowly. “Her friends all referred to him that way, said it’s what Haley called him, in kind of a mocking way. They didn’t get along, but none of her friends thought he was abusive, at least not that they were willing to tell me. But what about the last part? ‘Let me go’? Am I the only one creeped out by that? Shouldn’t it be just ‘leave me alone’? Why ‘let me go’? This is the kind of language people use when they’re waiting to die.”

      Her phone beeped and Sophia pulled it out of her pocket, then swore. “Well, let’s push coercion right up the list,” she said, then turned her phone toward them and pushed Play on a video attached to an email that went by too quickly for Evelyn to read.

      Bill Cooke’s craggy face filled the screen, pressed close to what was obviously a camera on a home computer. He looked furious, and he was wearing the same clothes he’d been in when they’d stopped by his house earlier in the day.

      “My name is Bill Cooke. My daughter, Haley, ran away from home to escape abuse from her stepfather. This bullshit about a stranger stalking her is just that—bullshit. She’s out there somewhere, and I want her to know I understand, and I support her decision.” He’d been staring down during most of the talk, but he suddenly looked up and stared directly, intently, into the camera. “Haley, you do what you need to do, honey.”

      The video went black and Quincy stared at Sophia. “That’s it?”

      “Isn’t that enough?” Her lips curled upward with restrained fury. “Just what this case needs. The parents fighting on a public stage, distracting from the real problem.”

      “Maybe it will help us,” Evelyn said. “Where was this posted? And what time did it go up?”

      “On Bill’s social media. The video was posted pretty soon after we left his house today, but it’s already been shared a thousand times.” Sophia shoved her phone back into her pocket. “You’d think her parents don’t want Haley to come home, with all the shit they’ve started pulling. I don’t know where this is coming from. Maybe Bill wasn’t the easiest guy to deal with, and Linda was a bit hysterical, but none of them fucking impeded the investigation before now.”

      “So, what?” Quincy broke in. “Bill made the video three hours ago, and we already have a note from Haley? That’s fast for coercion. It would mean—”

      “If the note is really from her, then someone is holding her nearby, to be able to see the video, tell Haley what to write, then deliver it to the station this quickly,” Sophia finished.

      “And if not, the person who sent this is still nearby, somewhere close, so hopefully it won’t take long to nail his ass,” Quincy said.

      “It could be Bill himself,” Sophia said. “Whether he has her or not. I’m sure he has samples of her handwriting he could copy.”

      “You have cameras, right?” Evelyn asked.

      “We sure as hell do.” Sophia headed for the front desk, even as she barked at another officer who’d come over. “Bag the note. Get it logged into Evidence now.”

      “Someone just got sloppy,” Quincy said, keeping pace with Sophia. “Maybe this will be the break we need.”

      “Wait,” the officer who’d told them about the note called, running after them. She was young, probably not long out of high school herself, and bursting with newbie enthusiasm. “It came in with the mail. I took the stack of mail from the carrier myself.”

      The young officer took a step back as both Quincy and Sophia stopped in their tracks, spinning toward her. Evelyn hurried to catch up, wishing she had a longer stride.

      “The normal carrier?” Sophia demanded. “How did it come so fast, then, if it went through the postal system? Unless Bill’s video was a coincidence. Or he sent the letter himself, before he posted the video.”

      “Why did you get the mail?” Quincy asked.

      “I—” She glanced from one detective to the other. “Sergeant Jett stepped out, so no one was at the desk out front. I was there. I took the stack. Yes, the normal carrier brought it. I dumped the stack on the desk and was going to leave, but I noticed this letter had no postage. I was going to ask the carrier, but she’d left and—”

      “You sure she gave it to you?” Sophia said. “No one dropped it in the pile?”

      “I’m sure.”

      “Shit,” Sophia said. “Okay, we’ll talk to the carrier. Let’s take a ride.”

      Sophia was already racing for the door, but Evelyn snagged her elbow before she could get far. “Hang on. Let’s look at the cameras first.”

      “But if—”

      “How would a piece of mail with no postage get into a mail stack coming into a police station?”

      Sophia frowned back at her, then nodded slowly. “It must have happened nearby. Otherwise, the person couldn’t be sure it would get delivered. It might end up being sent back, since there was no postage.”

      “Except the envelope had the station as the return address, too,” Quincy called out. “It would have ended up here either way.”

      “But not in the stack. They would have asked for the postage, right?” Evelyn asked.

      “I guess so. All right, let’s pull the tapes.” Sophia turned, heading back toward the front desk, where the sergeant who usually sat there was returning. “We need the footage from around the station for the last few minutes, Amber,” Sophia told her.

      Amber stood, frowning as she set down the sandwich she’d just started eating, and gave an exaggerated sigh. “All right. Come on.”

      She moved to the side, letting Sophia behind the desk. As Sophia’s raised an eyebrow, Evelyn joined them in the tight space.

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