“Cheryl,” she said swiftly.
“Cheryl, the man in this photo is a Mr. Dennis Lowe. He worked for a computer software company and he was married. He was impersonating a police officer, a real one by the name of Alexander Colton. He was doing this because he’s obsessed with a woman named February –”
Nowakowski stopped talking because Cheryl Sheckle’s body jerked violently and she let out a muted cry.
“Fuck, he called her February,” Sully muttered.
“No,” Cheryl whispered.
“He called you that didn’t he?” Nowakowski asked.
She shook her head and whispered again, “No.”
“He didn’t call you that?”
She kept shaking her head. “He said it was because he met me in February. He said it was a nickname.”
Warren shook his head then, “It isn’t a nickname, Cheryl. It’s a real person, her name is February Owens and he’s been obsessed with her since they went to high school together.” Nowakowski didn’t give her a break, didn’t let it settle in, before he added, “She looks like you, Cheryl. You’ve seen her in the tapes, haven’t you?” Nowakowski asked, pushing but still being gentle. “Have you seen her in the tapes? Doesn’t she look like you?”
“He said he was a cop. He said –”
Warren leaned close. “He lied to you, Cheryl.”
She closed her eyes tight, still shaking her head. “He was nice to me. He was nice. Men aren’t…” she opened her eyes and whispered, “He was gentle with me. He said he loved me. He said we were born to be together.”
“Alexander Colton, the man outside, the man you’ve seen in the tapes, he’s February Owens’s boyfriend. They have a history, Lieutenant Colton and Ms. Owens, a long one. They were born to be together, if you believe that kind of thing,” Nowakowski told her.
She started shaking, her arms crossing on her chest, her hands rubbing her upper biceps. “Why –”
“I’m sorry, Cheryl, but he used you to spy on the objects of his fascination. The man he wants to be, Lieutenant Colton, and the woman he wants to have, February Owens,” Nowakowski informed her.
“Why would he do that?” she asked but the pitch of her voice said not only didn’t she want to know, any answer Nowakowski gave her she wouldn’t believe.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why someone would do that,” Nowakowski told her.
She kept rubbing her arms. “I have a kid, a son, he’s good to him. Was teaching him football. Said he was All-State, he played for Purdue.”
“Yes, that’s true. Lieutenant Colton was All-State and he played for Purdue.”
She shook her head, rubbing her arms up and down, her eyes filling with tears, spilling over, the wet tracking down her cheeks.
She looked at the photo and asked, “He’s married?”
Layering of betrayals. Nowakowski didn’t cool it she was going to get crushed underneath.
“He was, Cheryl,” Nowakowski said and Warren turned to look at him, Nowakowski shook his head to Warren before he said to Cheryl, “Now, Cheryl, when was the last time you saw this man?” he tapped the photo, “Mr. Lowe.”
She looked away then back. “Wednesday, not yesterday, last Wednesday.”
Fucking hell, the day he murdered Angie.
“It was my day off,” she continued, “He took me and Ethan to dinner. Said he wouldn’t be back for awhile. Had to go undercover on something. Asked if he could use my car, gave me his Audi. Even had it cleaned for me all the way through. The inside was still wet.”
“Fucking hell. She drove here in his fucking car,” Rodman murmured.
“What kind of car do you drive, Cheryl?” Warren asked.
“Toyota.”
“Model, color?” Warren asked.
“Blue. Ethan likes blue. Um… Corolla.”
“Year?” Warren kept at her and her eyes focused on him.
“Why are you asking me this?”
“Because we need to find him.”
“Why? Because he impersonated a cop?” She flipped her hand out, her betrayal had settled, the anger was sweeping in after it. “He’s obviously a dick but what’s the big deal?”
“Please, Cheryl, just tell us the year of your car.”
“Two thousand five, I think.”
“Is it registered to you?”
“Yeah. Sure. Who else?”
Rodman turned and left the room.
“Has he had any contact with you since dinner that Wednesday?” Warren asked.
“Yeah, sure, of course, he calls me every day.” Her voice was clipped now, her hands no longer rubbing her arms but grasping them. Protective. Anger was now settled and, quicker than Colt would have expected, bitter was moving in. She’d been fucked over before. A lot.
“The DVDs you were giving him, the ones from Ryan?” Warren asked and she stopped gripping her arms, her hands fell into her lap and she stared at him. “Are you still giving them to him?”
She shook her head, this time the shakes came short and fast. “Ryan’s a good kid. He’s a good kid.”
“We’ve talked to Ryan, Cheryl. We know he’s a good kid,” Warren assured her. “Now, have you been sending the DVDs to Mr. Lowe?”
“Yes, yes. Fed Ex. He’d give me the addresses when he called and I’d send them. One a day since the one I handed him on Wednesday.”
“Do you have those addresses?” Warren asked.
“Yes, the receipts, those little slips they tear off one for you. They’re at home.”
“Can we go to your home, Cheryl, get the receipts?”
She nodded. “Sure, but why? Who cares?”
“He’s surveilling a police officer and his girlfriend. Unlawful entry to set up the cameras and –” Warrens started but she cut him off.
“Whatever,” she said, pulling her purse to her she dug in it and yanked out her keys. She was over it, done with Denny Lowe, ready to scrape him off and move on with her life, alone, without help, stripping to keep her kid fed. She tossed the keys on the table and she asked, “Am I gonna get my car back?”