“There’s nobody, Detective. Just Paul Adamson.”
“It’s just, usually these things have one of two causes. One is financial, and the other is personal—revenge. We’re seeing a lot of revenge porn these days, you know—exes posting nude pictures online after a breakup.”
“That’s not what this is!”
“Now calm down, Ms. Ross. I’m very sympathetic. You’re not the first person who’s come in here with this kind of complaint.” He lifts his hands in resignation. “We’re seeing a lot more of this online harassment. Most of it is harmless, people playing pranks.”
“This isn’t harmless!” I yell. “I just lost my damn job, and my whole neighborhood is turning against me. It’s destroying my marriage, Detective.” I close my laptop and put it back into my bag. In a calmer voice, I add, “Detective, this is ruining my life, and I don’t feel safe. I’ve even thought, why don’t we just move? But wherever I go, unless I change my identity and basically go into hiding, this person can find me and do it all over again.”
“There’s a saying in law enforcement: if they call first, they aren’t coming.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that the truly dangerous folks don’t announce they are coming to harm you. This type, the type to make fake social media accounts, they get off on just harassing you.”
“Just harassing? There’s nothing just about this.”
He looks at the iPad on his desk. “Tell you what, let me take a peek at this Paul Adamson fellow, and I’ll be in touch. Unfortunately, there’s no federal law, or Maryland law, that makes it illegal to set up an imposter social media account. I’ll tell you what I say to the high school students during my cyberbullying presentation.” He hoists up his pants and leans in to deliver his pearls of wisdom. “Three words, Ms. Ross. Shut. It. Off. Shut off the computer, the phone, the iPad. Shut the damn router off. Go outside for a bit. Take a bike ride, garden, do something, Ms. Ross. There’s more to life than what’s on these little screens—”
A knock at the door distracts him, and Detective Khoury stands up and answers it. I can’t see whom he is talking to, but he glances back at me, shaking his head. “I’ll be back in a jiff. Can I get you a coffee or soda?”
“No, thank you.” A jiff. How long does a jiff last? Suddenly, my anger melts into paranoia. Coming here was a bad idea. I am gathering my things when the door opens and Detectives Katz and Lopez enter.
I stand frozen. This was a mistake, thinking I could come in here and file a complaint and not be questioned about Rob Avery.
“Mind if we have a few minutes of your time, Ms. Ross?” Detective Lopez asks, slipping into the seat across from me. She is wearing a light blue oxford with a dried coffee stain down the front. This is not the kind of woman who lets little inconveniences stop her.
“Actually, I have to be home,” I say.
“This will only take a minute,” Detective Katz says, and beams a warm smile. “We understand someone has been harassing you online?”
I slide back into my seat, harboring a tiny shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, she will take my concerns seriously. “Yes. That’s right.”
“Tell us,” Detective Katz says.
“I already told you about this, the fake Tinder account?” I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Remember?”
“Tell us again.”
I launch into what has happened once more, detailing the fake Tinder and Facebook accounts, and finishing with the hacked photos at work. I am careful not to mention I have my laptop with me. I decide if they ask, I will turn it over, but I’m not going to offer it up.
“When would you say you became aware of the online harassment?”
I think back. “I guess I knew for sure a week ago, maybe Wednesday? When my sister found the fake Tinder page.”
“So after Rob Avery’s murder.” Detective Katz does not meet my eye when he says this.
“Yes.”
A small smile dances at the corners of his mouth. It seems like I’ve walked into a trap, but I don’t know exactly to what I’ve confessed.
Detective Lopez leans her elbows on the table, her biceps clearly definable beneath the sleeves of her shirt. “Let me tell you what I think is going on, Ms. Ross. I think you and Rob Avery had an affair—”
“No.”
“I think something happened—maybe he wanted to go public, maybe he threatened to tell your husband?”
I shake my head and open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand before I have a chance. “You were both at Daisy Gordon’s party. People saw you flirting, tongues started wagging. You had an argument. Made you realize the clock was ticking on your little secret. So you went home, got up early, walked down the alley behind your house to his. He let you in—why wouldn’t he?”
My throat is tight, and I can barely choke out an answer. “No. Wrong. That’s not what happened.”
She continues in a soothing monotone as if I hadn’t spoken. “You fought. Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt him. Maybe it was an accident. Didn’t have your story fully fleshed out when we first interviewed you, but once you realized you were on our radar for Avery’s death, you concocted this whole backstory. Explains the texting, the pictures you two traded.”
“I’m not going to sit here and listen to this.” But I don’t make a move. I’m not sure what my rights are. “I want to call my lawyer.”
Detective Katz frowns, gives me puppy-dog eyes. “I know you’re freaking out, Allie. Can I call you Allie? You’re a good person who got yourself into a jam. But all this lying, it’s not going to help you in
