Because you’re seriously into him.
I don’t even get to process that thought further because the library doors open, bringing in two policemen.
Both in plain clothes.
How do I know they’re police?
Because I have spent enough time around the police to recognize them when I see them.
I watch them approach.
The taller of the two men is in his early thirties, I would say. Red hair, cut short. Smart suit. Clean-cut look to him. Handsome too. The other guy is older. Late forties, early fifties. Dark hair, peppered with gray, which looks like it hasn’t seen scissors in a while. Overgrown stubble on his face. Wrinkled suit.
They’re a stark contrast.
I straighten up as they come closer, trying to relax but failing.
As much as I respect the police and the job they do, I really don’t like seeing them. Especially not when a woman was discovered murdered yesterday.
God, what if they’re here to see me? My past might have brought them here.
But why would it? People don’t know who I am.
But they’re the police. Their job is to know who people are.
But why would they want to see me over the woman who was murdered yesterday? Because you’re linked to a serial killer.
And two other women have been murdered since I moved here.
Fuck.
The hairs on the nape of my neck rise. I swallow past my nerves.
“Officers,” I greet them with a forced smile.
The older of the two smiles back at me, and it’s not a smile that puts me at ease.
“I’m Detective Sparks,” he tells me. “This is Detective Peters.” He gestures to his partner. “We’re hoping you can help us.”
I swallow again. “With?”
Detective Sparks leans an arm on the desk. “We’re looking for someone who works here.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My hands come together in front of me, fingers gripping together to stop them from trembling. “Wh-who?”
“A … Mr. Michael King.”
They’re here for Mike?
Relief seeps through me, relaxing me a touch. But not much. If the police are here for Mike, then it’s not for a good reason.
“Um, Mike’s not here. He didn’t show up for work today,” I tell them both.
“Have you heard from him at all today?” Detective Peters asks, speaking for the first time.
“No. He didn’t call in. Our manager, Margaret, tried calling his cell, but he didn’t answer.”
“Is your manager still here?” Detective Sparks asks.
“Yes.”
“Could you get her for us, please?” Detective Sparks says.
“Um, sure. One minute.”
I leave the main desk and walk through the back to Margaret’s office.
Her door’s open, like it always is.
I stop in the doorway. “Margaret, the police are here.”
Her surprised eyes lift to mine over her computer screen.
“The police?” She pushes her seat back, rising to stand.
“Yeah. They’re asking about Mike. I told them that he didn’t show up today and that you called him but got no answer. They asked me to come get you.”
“Oh gosh. Yes, I’m coming now.” She rounds the desk.
I step back out of the doorway, allowing her through, and then I follow her back to the main desk, where Detective Sparks and Detective Peters are still waiting.
“Officers …” Margaret says, holding her hand out to shake theirs.
I stand just off to the side. Not too far away that I can’t hear their conversation, but enough that I’m no longer a part of it.
After their brief introductions are done, Margaret says, “You’re looking for Mike?”
“Yes,” Detective Sparks says. “We need to speak to him urgently. We’re told he’s not answering his cell?”
“That’s correct. I called this morning when he didn’t turn up for his shift. It’s not like Mike. In the two years he’s worked here, he’s always been on time. Never had a day off. So, it seemed odd that he hadn’t called. I left him a voice mail, asking him to call me back, but I still haven’t heard anything. I was going to go to his house later to check on him.”
“Speaking of his home, can I confirm his address with you?” Detective Peters says to Margaret.
“Of course.”
He hands Margaret a slip of paper.
“Yes, that’s Mike’s address,” she says, reading it before handing it back.
The detectives share a look that I can’t decipher.
“Can I ask what this is concerning? Is Mike okay?”
“It’s a police matter,” Detective Sparks answers curtly. “But the moment you hear from Mike, I want you to call the station immediately.” He takes a card from his pocket and places it on the desktop. “This is a central number, but ask for either myself or Detective Peters, and you’ll be put straight through to us.”
Margaret picks up the card, holding it to her chest. “Okay.”
“The moment you hear from him,” he emphasizes as though Margaret didn’t get the importance the first time.
“Thanks for your time,” Detective Peters says.
They both turn to leave, but then Detective Sparks stops and turns back. His eyes finding mine.
“I didn’t catch your name, Miss …” He steps back toward me.
Something in his tone makes my stomach turn over.
I swallow down. “Hayes. Audrey Hayes.”
He nods, as though he expected me to say that name all along. “A question, Miss Hayes … how did you know we were police officers?”
My eyes go to Detective Peters, who is standing where he stopped, and then back to Detective Sparks. I notice how dark and scarily intense his eyes are. “I’m sorry?” I respond, a little confused.
He smiles that awful smile again, a bemused look on his face. “When we first arrived, you greeted us by saying officers. Neither of us is uniformed or wearing badges.” He shrugs. “Curious, I’m just wondering how you knew we were police.”
He’s trying to put the question off as nothing. Just mere curiosity. But I know better.
I swallow again. It’s a nervous tell, but I can’t stop myself from doing it.
I shrug and smile the best I can. “A lucky guess.”
Detective Sparks stares at me a moment. “Most people would say it’s unlucky when we come calling.” He taps his fingers on the wooden desktop with finality. “Have a good day, Miss Hayes.”
And then they’re
