The Last Time I Saw You. Liv Constantine

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       7

      Kate tapped on her husband’s office door, which was slightly ajar. “Simon, the detective needs to speak with us.”

      Simon looked up from his computer and ran a hand through his hair as she walked in with the detective. “What is it? Have they arrested someone?”

      “No, sir,” Anderson replied from behind Kate. “But a box has been delivered.”

      “From where?” Simon’s tone was impatient. “What’s in it?”

      Anderson entered the study as Kate eyed the package with dread. She put a hand on her belly, the all-too-familiar churning in her stomach making her dizzy. She wanted to run from the room before they even opened it.

      “Please,” Simon said. “Sit down.”

      Anderson set the box squarely on Simon’s desk, and Kate noticed that its packing tape had been sliced through. “I’ve already seen what’s inside. But I want you both to take a look.”

      “Yes, of course,” Simon said, rising out of his seat.

      “Just look, don’t touch it, please,” the detective instructed.

      As he removed the top, Kate let out a gasp, stepping back in revulsion, her hand over her mouth. Three small black birds in a row—pierced by a metal skewer, all with their throats slit.

      “What kind of sick bastard is doing this?” Simon roared, pushing the box toward Detective Anderson.

      “These birds were most likely purchased from a pet store, just as the mice were,” Anderson said. “They’re parakeets, but they’ve been spray-painted black.”

      Kate felt the blood pulsing in her neck and shrank back. Her whole body shook as terror turned to rage, exploding inside her. She looked at Anderson. “Why didn’t you warn us? To deliberately shock us? To see what our reactions would be?” Something else suddenly dawned on her. “Do you think we’re hiding something from you?”

      There was no regret in Anderson’s eyes, only suspicion. “It’s procedure,” he said evenly. “Do you have any idea who might be doing this?”

      “Of course not.”

      He replaced the box lid, took a plastic sleeve from his folder, and handed it to Kate. “This was on top of the birds.” Inside the plastic was a sheet of plain white paper, with the same typeface as the other note.

       Sing a song of sixpence

       a pocket full of rye

       3 little blackbirds

       simply had to die

       When the box is opened

       The birds no longer sing

       Wasn't that a pretty gift

       For someone to bring?

      “These morbid nursery rhymes,” Kate whispered. She handed it to Simon, the words reverberating in her mind in a singsong. She doubled over, a wave of dizziness making her lean on the desk in front of her.

      Detective Anderson took the note back and put it in his bag. “The killer obviously wants to taunt you. Based on my experience, I would say this is most likely someone you know, though maybe not someone you know well. Someone on the periphery of your life.”

      “Why do you think that?” Kate asked.

      “We know it wasn’t a robbery. No valuables were taken. Your father verified that the only thing missing was the bracelet your mother always wore. If someone had broken in to rob the house, they would have taken much more.”

      Kate considered this. “So you think someone deliberately targeted her to …”

      Before he could answer, Simon interrupted. “Where are you with the investigation? Are you closing in on any suspects?”

      “We’re looking at everyone right now.”

      Simon sighed loudly. “I’d appreciate a little more detail. For instance, a short list of suspects. People’s alibis. That sort of thing.” He, Kate, and Harrison, as well as their household employees, had provided detailed alibis to the police in the days immediately following the murder.

      “Mr. English. We’re not in the habit of sharing the details of our investigation, because it can compromise our work. I assure you, we’re being very thorough.”

      A silence hung in the room until Detective Anderson finally broke it. “Again, if there’s anything else you can tell me, now’s the time.”

      Kate turned to Simon for some kind of assurance, but his face, white and stricken, told her he was as filled with panic as she was.

      “Were you able to trace the text my wife received?” he asked.

      Anderson shook his head. “No, we need to do it in real time. But if they send another one, we’ll be able to. I’ve also contacted the FBI behavioral unit. I’m going to fill out the paperwork to see if they can take a look at some of this. It could be a long wait, but we’ll see.”

      Together, they walked to the front door. Detective Anderson pursed his lips again, shaking his head. “I know you’re frightened. We’re doing everything possible to protect you and your family, but please, be on guard too. Are you sure you can’t think of anything out of the ordinary that’s happened recently? Any hang-up calls? Any strangers who’ve approached you for directions or asked you for something seemingly insignificant? Anything odd at the hospital, Dr. English, or your firm, Mr. English?”

      Kate thought about it for a minute but came up blank. She shook her head.

      “I can’t think of anything either,” Simon said.

      “Well, please get in touch if you do. Anything. I’d rather have extraneous information than miss something crucial.”

      “Of course,” Kate and Simon said in unison. Suddenly drained, she leaned against him.

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