I hung up the phone. I got up from off the sofa and started to pace the room. Lisa had said that she’d read about the accident in the local newspaper. How had the accident been reported? I wondered. How much had been written? Was it a big story, or just a few lines on page four or five? Needing to know what had been reported about the accident I pulled on my trainers, threw on a coat, and left my apartment.
With the collar up about my throat, and head bent forward, I made my way through the small town towards the local supermarket. The streets were quiet and what few people did pass by, I wondered if they were looking at me. Most of them knew me to be Sergeant Richard Hart’s daughter. Most knew me as the pisshead who had come good with the help and support of her loving father. Who could blame the young girl for getting into trouble, what, with her mother running off with a man half her age and all? I knew that’s what they thought. I had heard the gossip and the rumours. I was the problem child who had been saved by my loving father. I had just been putting those things behind me – proving my worth in town by becoming a cop, when the accident happens. And now that it was in the local paper, new rumours, new lines of gossip would be created – true or untrue. What the people of the town didn’t know, they simply made up. That was the problem of living in such a small place – everyone knew you and your business.
I reached the supermarket, and as quickly as I could, I took a copy of the local newspaper, placed the money on the counter, and left the store without as much as a ‘Hello’ or ‘Goodbye’. Feeling like a criminal, and with the paper tucked under my arm, I walked as quickly as I could back to my apartment. It was now dusk, the sky turning dark overhead, making the waves that rushed the shore look more like ripples of black tar than seawater.
I turned into my street and with my head still hung low, and the collar of my coat brushing against my cheeks, I hurried towards my apartment. I was no more than a few yards away, and fishing my keys from my pocket, when I looked up to discover someone bent over against my front door. Stopping dead in my tracks, I watched from a safe distance as whoever it was opened the letterbox and peered into my apartment. In the dim light of dusk, it was hard to tell who the figure was or even if they were male or female. With their back to me, all I could see for sure was that they were dressed all in black.
Chapter Twelve
Slowly, I took my police badge from the back of my jeans. The figure stood at my front door, and I watched as they slipped one of their hands into the letterbox. Wearing the black clothes, whoever they were, reminded me of the family I had killed out on the road. Was it someone related to them? I wondered, my heart skipping a beat. Had they read the article in the newspaper? Lisa had said my name had been printed in the paper. Did this person know what had really happened? Impossible, there were no witnesses. Perhaps they had come to speak with me – find out about how their relatives had died. Maybe they had come to have some kind of confrontation.
With my police badge curled in my fist, I crept up behind the figure as it withdrew its hand from my letterbox, and crouched down to peer through the narrow opening and into my apartment.
Taking a deep breath and standing behind the figure dressed all in black, I said, “Can I help you?”
The figure jumped up and then wheeled around to face me.
“Gee, you scared me half to death,” the young man said, his eyes wide and dark.
“What do you think you are doing?” I snapped, staring at him. He was about my age, maybe a year or two older, but no more. He was clean-shaven with a nice face. He wasn’t what you would call handsome or even good-looking, but there was something. His nose looked as if perhaps it had been broken once or twice, but it gave him a kind of rugged look. His hair was black, cut short and as dark as his eyes. He was tall, perhaps six foot or more, and his build was lean.
“I was trying to post this through your letterbox, but it looks kind of expensive and I didn’t want to break it,” the stranger said, holding out his hand.
I looked down to see that he was holding out my iPod. “Where did you find that?” I asked with a frown, taking it from him.
“You left it at the station,” he said.
“At the station?”
“You know, the police station, where you work,” he said, with a smile.
Eyeing him, I said, “So if I left it at the police station, how come you have it?”
As if reading the confusion on my face, he said, “I’m sorry, let me explain. I’m Vincent – the new recruit. We haven’t met yet. I only arrived yesterday. Fresh out of the box as some might say.” As he spoke, he unzipped his black coat to reveal his uniform underneath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”