“How soon after did the calls start?”
I leaned back in my chair. “Not until we were back at work in the fall. That first week, he stopped by my room as class let out, like he’d been waiting just outside. He asked if I wanted to go out for a drink again, and I could tell right then he had the wrong idea, so I declined. A few weekends later, he showed up at my house drunk, and I sent him away. Then came the calls. The emails. Always late at night. Usually weekends. Sometimes more. I just figured he was drinking, figured he was drunk and it was a habit.”
“Wait, he showed up at your house?” A piece of information I had withheld, a piece I could see Kyle turning over in his head, sliding it into place.
“Only the once,” I said. “After that, he implied a few times that he knew I was sitting home alone. But I assumed it was just because he thought I lived alone.” I met his eyes across the table. “You assumed the same thing, didn’t you?”
Kyle tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Did he ever try anything? Get physical?”
“No, never,” I said. “I even found myself alone in the copy room with him once, and I told him point-blank to back off. And he did. Made a big show of raising his hands in the air and backing out of the room, smiling like the whole thing was a big joke.” I shrugged. “That’s the thing—it was only words.”
“What words?” he asked.
I laughed, then stopped, realizing he was serious. “The usual type.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the usual type.” He was looking at the table, sparing either him or me the embarrassment.
I cleared my throat. “The things he would like to do to me.”
“Can you elaborate?”
I laughed deep in my throat, and Kyle looked up. I wouldn’t repeat them even if I wanted to. I was glad I’d deleted the emails, which somehow felt worse, existing in print: That blue sweater from yesterday is my new favorite; I think you could teach me a few things—
“I’m sure you can imagine,” I said. I could not have my name tied to an official statement. I would not get pulled into an investigation where my own name might raise some flags, where I’d have to start all over again.
I felt Kyle’s knee bouncing under the table, knew he wanted to press, but he let it go. “And you didn’t notice things getting worse? Maybe because you’d recently started seeing someone?”
I held myself perfectly still. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”
“He might think so, though. If someone was paying you extra attention.”
“No, there’s nothing like that,” I said.
The tops of his cheeks turned red. “Even I could tell, Leah.”
“What?”
“Down at the school. The way Mitch Sheldon acted when we gave him your name to call down to the office. I could tell. And the way he called after you when you left. The way he asked us what was going on afterward.”
The air in the room had changed, and I found myself holding my breath. This Kyle Donovan was something dangerous. He saw everything. Everything underneath.
I raised one shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. I’d had a feeling that Mitch was interested in more. Always friendly, willing to help those first few weeks when I felt lost in the classroom, but he was also my boss. There weren’t a lot of women our age, unattached, at school. There was me, and there was Kate, but Kate was in the middle of a divorce, the tan line around her finger still fading when we met. It was a least common denominator, nothing more. “It wasn’t anything real.”
“If Cobb saw the same things I did, he could’ve assumed.”
I drummed my fingers on the table. Tried to think of a way to put it nicely. “It was one-sided,” I said. “It wasn’t reciprocated.”
“Any reason?” he asked.
“Well, he’s my boss. And not my type.”
He nodded. “No passion, then,” he said.
I tilted my head, met his eye. Pretty sure this wasn’t a standard part of police-witness interviewing procedure.
“None,” I admitted, and the word hung in the air, filling up the room. Truth was, I liked the way Kyle saw the parts lingering underneath, even as it set me on edge. I liked that he was smart, didn’t hide it and didn’t flaunt it. I liked that he saw something in me that made him say something like that, deliberate or not.
He flipped the notepad shut, slicing through the tension. “Right,” he said. “That’s all I’ve got. Unless you have something else?”
I tried to think. Wanted him to stay. “Break Mountain Inn,” I said. “I think Emmy might’ve been working there.” I pulled out my phone, scrolled through to the picture, showed him the contact information. “I went asking around at a few motels. The guy here said he was new. Said there was a no-show he was filling in for. Maybe he’s Emmy’s replacement?”
He frowned at the photo. “Leah, we’ve got it covered.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You can help by giving us information.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” I said, pointing at the screen.
He copied down the details, jaw set, but I wasn’t sure if he was just placating me.
“If you think of anything else, you let me know, Leah.” He got up to leave and looked around the house once more. He paused at the sliding doors. Fidgeted with the lock, ran his hand up the seams.
“A better door won’t make a difference,” I said. All those cases I’d reported on. It made no difference. If someone wanted in, they got in. The majority of crimes happened with someone already on the inside, anyway. Everything else was smoke and mirrors.
“Bethany Jarvitz lived all alone. Had no family. Wasn’t from here. Nobody would’ve reported her missing,” he said. As if he were pointing out the similarities in our living arrangements. But then I thought, Maybe he’s talking about Emmy instead. How I had failed her. How long would it have been before I noticed she’d gone missing, otherwise?
“Will she be okay?” I asked. “Is she getting any better?”
His mouth flattened to a thin line. “The doctors say she suffered a massive subdural hematoma.” He shook his head. “Between you and me, they’re not sure whether she’ll wake up at all.”
I felt the air drain from the room, picturing Emmy in the hospital instead, in her place.
“I’m just saying,” he said. “That I’m glad you called it in. I’m glad you called me.”
* * *
HIS WORDS LINGERED AS he drove off, and my fingers itched. I bit the skin at the side of my thumb. Don’t do it.
But she looked like me. Her name was Bethany Jarvitz, and she lived all alone; Davis Cobb was the suspect, and she looked like me.