He had first known Kate as a victim/witness advocate for the county, a job she left when she and the profiler started their family. She came back to the same field, but in the private sector, working part time for the Chrysalis Center as a liaison with law enforcement and the county attorney’s office.
“Seeing how there’s no end to human depravity, poverty, and cruelty, we’re doing a booming business,” she said, taking a seat. “We’re up to our ears in victims of the sex trade, homeless teenagers who’ve aged out of the foster care system, young women trying to transition out of rehab to make a life.
“It’s rewarding,” she confessed. “I wish I could give them more hours than I do.”
“So what brings you here?”
“One of our social workers got this note in her personal mail yesterday,” she said, handing him a plastic bag with a note inside. “She doesn’t have any idea where it came from, but she’s working with a client who came out of a sex trafficking situation. The pimp is a very bad guy called Drago. He’s at large. Meanwhile, the girl has ratted out her eldest brother for molesting her, and it turns out the family is part of some scary religious cult.”
“Has anybody else at the center been threatened?”
“Grace Underhill gets threatened on a semiregular basis because she’s the face of the place, but she hasn’t gotten anything similar to this or anything specific to the Hope Anders case.”
Kovac turned the note over. “There’s nothing on here that refers to anyone in particular. What makes you think it’s to do with the girl?”
Kate shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just the only answer we could come up with for why anybody would target Evi. She’s the sweetest thing on the planet. She lives a quiet life. There’s no reason anyone should want to threaten her—except that she’s working with this girl who’s going to eventually end up testifying against several bad people in court.”
Kovac glanced at the note again.
I KNOW WHO YOU ARE
I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE
“It’s not much, as threats go,” he said.
“I realize that. Which is why I’m coming to you.”
“You didn’t just miss me?”
“Of course I miss you,” she said. “How many Sundays have I invited you over for football? And do you ever come? No.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Yeah, well, there’s that whole having-to-interact-with-people-who-aren’t-cops thing . . .”
“So what do you want me to do about this?” he asked, handing the note back to her. “There’s been no crime.”
“You know everybody worth knowing in the department. Can you reach out to someone and get a few extra patrols past her house? Let them know there’s a potential stalker situation. Evi’s husband is a firefighter. He’s gone for twenty-four hours at a time. She’s home alone at night with her five-year-old daughter.”
Kovac looked at the address. A neat, unremarkable neighborhood full of houses built in the 1940s and ’50s. A mix of blue-collar workers and young professionals starting families.
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll make a phone call. No problem. Anything for you, Red.”
“Thank you, Sam,” she said, standing. She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best.”
“Yeah, that’s what all the ladies say,” he said sardonically as he saw her to the door.
Giving up on the idea of sleep, he headed back to his desk to make that phone call.
18
“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Charlie said.
“Why? Are you afraid I’m going to take something?” Diana asked. “Mommy would have given her jewelry to me, not to you.”
“I don’t care about the stupid jewelry,” he said, shoveling scrambled eggs onto two plates on the breakfast bar. He pushed one of the plates toward her. “Here, eat this. There probably isn’t any jewelry left to go through anyway. It was a robbery.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“It’s just . . .” How to put it into words that wouldn’t set her off? A conversation with Diana was like traversing a minefield. “I just . . . I don’t want them to misconstrue something you might say.”
“And what do you think I might say, Charlie?” she asked, sitting up straighter, setting her fork aside.
He cringed inwardly. He could see the storm building in her eyes. “I don’t know. They’re cops. You know they can twist what you say. It’s just better to stand back and let them do their jobs.”
“Do you think I did it?” she asked, her voice clipped, angry.
“Diana . . .”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Do you?” she asked again, sliding off her stool. “Look at me!”
“No!”
“Do you think I killed our parents?” She picked up the plate and flung it at him, eggs spraying everywhere. “Fuck you, Charlie! You hated them, too! Daddy treated you like shit, too!”
This was exactly why he didn’t want her going to the house with the detectives, not without him. Kovac was right: He had spent his whole life running interference for her. Her temper was volatile at the best of times, but now she was emotional and tired, and probably off her medication. She might say anything just to say it, just to be difficult.
“They’re going to start asking questions about insurance,” he said, “and who inherits what, and—”