“We are doing everything we can, ma’am. We’ve got leads, normal, sane, logical leads—”
“You have leads?”
A man about her age interjected himself into their conversation. He had a shock of blondish brown hair that fell into his eyes and a face that reminded her of a petulant five-year-old.
Voigt rolled his eyes with a loud exhale. “No comment.”
“Look, if you’ve got a suspect, people have a right to know.” He flung his hand out, indicating the world at large and nearly smacking Kristy in the face. “They’re scared out there. There are only three days until Valentine’s Day, and they know he’s planning his next murder.”
“They’re scared because you’re stirring them up.” Voigt stared at the man, whose fierce passion didn’t waver in that withering look. “I have nothing to say to you. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I came to talk to Detective Frank, and he didn’t say a word about having any leads. Imagine that.”
“I’d better not read a damned thing about us having a suspect in that rag of yours.”
The man perked up. “I’m honored you read my articles.”
“Now go away.” Voigt pointed, and the man walked away, glancing back every few seconds. He turned back to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t help you. If you hear voices, there are people who can help.”
She pushed to her feet and turned on her blue heel, muttering, “You knew it would be this way. You shouldn’t be surprised.” But she’d had to take the chance she would get, perhaps, someone enlightened or open-minded. She looked around. Maybe one of these men would help. No, not a one of them looked any more open-minded than Voigt.
The young man who’d butted in was still in the lobby. He eyed her as soon as she entered and opened the door for her. As it turned out, it wasn’t for any chivalrous reason.
“The detective said something about them not being able to watch your place, that you heard the killer.”
She eyed him warily. How much had he heard? She paused outside the lights of the police station, not wanting to continue the conversation while walking farther away from safety. “Who are you?”
He held out his hand. “Dale Soza. Maybe you’ve heard of me?” He looked like he really, really wanted her to have heard of him.
“Sorry, no.” She couldn’t ignore his outstretched hand and gave in by shaking it halfheartedly. Not her style, but she wasn’t sure what this guy was about.
“I write for the New York News. It’s going to be as big as the New York Times someday. I’ve covered the Kiss and Kill Cupid story since the first murder. He obviously didn’t believe you. If you know something that can help this case, try me.”
Oh, great. If she told him anything—if he’d overheard more than he was letting on—she was going to be in the paper as a freak. There would go her career. And her potential new assignment. The thought of not working with Adrian made it all the worse, despite her conflicts.
Dale handed her a business card. “I’m legit, if that’s what you’re worried about. Look me up online. You’ll see all my bylines.”
“No, it’s just that…I don’t really know anything. I thought I overheard something, but I was probably wrong. Excuse me, I have to get going.”
He grabbed at her arm as she began to pull away. “Sorry,” he said, pulling back just as quickly. He walked closer, looking at her, standing too close for comfort. “I know you think I want information because I want to break the big story. And I do, of course. But I want this guy put away.” He fisted his hand. “I want to bring him down. I’ve talked to the victims’ families. I’ve seen their tears. Felt their pain. I’m supposed to be unbiased, uninvolved. But I can’t detach like that. So if you know anything, anything at all that will help, tell me. I’ll believe you.”
“I don’t. Really, I don’t.”
She tuned into his thoughts, wondering if she could believe his earnestness.
I know she knows something. If only I could get her to trust me. I could crack this case. I wonder if she knows she has lipstick on her front teeth.
She couldn’t help herself. She rubbed at her teeth as she said, “I’ve got to get going.” She walked away, relieved he hadn’t followed. For the first time since she’d moved to the city, she felt afraid. Paranoid. She watched all around her. Of course, she knew always to be aware of her surroundings. As a city girl, she’d learned to walk confidently and not look afraid while using her instincts and common sense.