His stomach tightened. Something felt creepy, like he was being watched. But that was stupid—he was inside his apartment.
He looked out the front window. The street was quiet, dark, except for a streetlight on the corner. Cars were parked up and down both sides, which was common for this area. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Don’t be so paranoid,” he said out loud.
He opened the envelope. Written in the same red marker, in the same perfect block letters, was a short message.
LEAVE IT ALONE.
Twenty-One
After having one too many margaritas, Regan tossed her dad her car keys. She’d told him about Lucas’s call and the threatening letter. “I know it’s serious, not only because he called instead of texting me but because he sounded scared.”
“He should call the police.”
“I’ll check on him first, see what’s going on. You’re probably right. It’s not far from here.” She wasn’t drunk but figured her BAC was over the legal limit. She asked the waitress for coffee to go to help clear her head, then over her objection her dad took care of the bill.
Over dinner, she’d told her father about her divorce being final, as well as her decision not to return to the Marshals Service. Neither was unexpected, but both brought about a sense of closure that made her feel simultaneously lighter and sad. And her dad didn’t judge her or question her, just accepted her decision.
She directed her dad to Lucas’s apartment. “You can wait here, if you’d like,” she said.
“I’d like to meet this young man,” her father said.
Before she knocked on the door, Lucas opened it. “I’m probably overreacting, but...it’s just weird.”
“I’m glad you called,” she said. “This is my dad, John Merritt,” she said as they stepped inside. “Is your roommate home?”
“Troy’s at his girlfriend’s. I called him after I talked to you. He said the note wasn’t there when he left at seven.”
“I assume there are no security cameras?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t have a Ring or anything. This is a pretty safe neighborhood, you know—nothing much happens in Flagstaff.”
Of course, having grown up here Regan knew that wasn’t true. There were plenty of car thefts, burglaries, assaults, and rapes. Maybe to Lucas it just seemed that way because it was safer here than where he’d grown up in Phoenix.
“Where’s the letter?” she asked. “I assume you touched it.”
“I didn’t know what it was. It could have been from my landlord.”
Regan slipped on gloves that she’d had in her truck. Not that it would matter: Lucas’s prints were all over it, and if someone didn’t want to be identified, they would also have worn gloves. But it was a good habit to maintain, not touching potential evidence.
The standard white envelope was generic. The Sharpie and painstakingly formed letters helped disguise any distinctive characteristcs. It was difficult to tell if the writing was male or female.
The message brief and to the point.
LEAVE IT ALONE.
The author had put a period after alone, bold and larger than a dot, as if they held the marker down for a length of time. To punctuate the point? Or because they were angry? Thinking about writing more? Considering?
The red ink was ominous. Danger, a threat, blood. The method of delivery—at home, under the mat—sent another message: I know where you live.
The threat was subtle, but Regan was certain it was meant to coerce Lucas to end the podcast.
Regan asked Lucas for a plastic baggie, then slipped the letter and envelope inside so it could still be read. She handed it to her dad. “What do you think?”
“The police won’t do anything. It’s not a clear threat, but you should contact Detective Young and let him know about it.”
Lucas glanced at Regan. “How’d your conversation go?”
She should have called him after, but that’s when she’d received the divorce papers and she wasn’t in the mood to discuss the podcast. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’ll take you to breakfast.”
“Okay,” he said.
She took the baggie back from her dad. “May I keep this?” she asked Lucas.
“Sure.” He glanced at John, then said to Regan, “I updated my website tonight. When I was at the studio, about an hour before I got home.”
“Do you think that’s relevant to this message?” she asked.
Lucas pulled out his phone and showed her what he posted.
To the person who contacted me after Tuesday’s episode: we need to talk. Pick the time and place, and let me know. * Lucas
“It’s a good idea, but I wish you’d have talked to me about it first.” A dozen thoughts were running through her head simultaneously. Who saw the update? Is the killer tracking the podcast or website? Were they concerned about this letter and what it might contain? Would they pretend to be the letter writer in an effort to get close to Lucas, find out what else he knew?
“Why?”
“I’m concerned about your safety.”
“Because of this? Or because someone followed us last night?”
“You were followed?” John asked.
“I couldn’t get the plates, but yes, someone followed us off campus. I lost them, but they could have followed Lucas earlier, know where he lives.” She said to Lucas, “I don’t know if this threat is just to scare you or if it’s serious. But clearly, whatever you’re doing has someone concerned. Maybe it’s innocuous—someone at the sorority who is mad about the podcast. Maybe it’s dangerous, someone who knows more about the murder—or the killer himself.”
“Do you think whoever wrote the letter sent this threat? After knowing I want to talk to them?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I’m in the dark,” John said. “What are you talking about? What letter?”
“Do you have it here?” she asked Lucas.
He went to his bedroom, and she said to her dad, “Someone left an anonymous letter at the studio for Lucas.”
Lucas handed the letter to John. A moment later he said, “She knows something. You’re right, it doesn’t seem to be the same person who sent this latest message.”
“Lucas, how do you normally get to and from the campus?” asked Regan.
“The bus.”
“Do you have a car?”