The next day when the big correction story ran, Tommy was dispatched to the police department to get some photos of a robbery suspect who had held up three banks in a three-mile radius in three days.
Wondering what was up with the threes, Tommy pulled her Jeep into a visitor parking spot. As she got out, she saw a traffic cop she knew and gave a hearty wave. He looked down and away. That was odd. She swore he saw her. Tommy shrugged. Maybe the sun was in his eyes or he was lost in thought.
As she opened the glass door to the lobby, another officer she vaguely knew was coming out with some cronies. She smiled and said hello. He gave her a blank look and kept walking, but as the door closed, she thought she heard some sniggers coming from the group as it went down the steps.
Inside, she gave a big smile to the catty receptionist who was always snotty to her. “Hi! I’m here to pick up some photographs.”
The woman smirked and mumbled something.
“Sorry,” Tommy said leaning over with a glint in her eyes. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I said, I’m surprised you walked in here without a bullet proof vest.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Tommy said. But she knew. She knew perfectly well. It had to have been her story. That explained the traffic cop avoiding her in the parking lot and the sniggers from the other cops leaving the station.
“Here’s your mug shots,” the secretary said, sliding an envelope across the desk without looking up.
Tommy paused for a moment and then decided it wasn’t worth the energy.
In the parking lot, she saw something white fluttering underneath a windshield wiper on her car. As she got closer, she thought maybe Kelly had seen her car in the parking lot and left her a note. He sometimes did things like that: hinting at how much fun they would have together later. She loved his romantic side.
But when she unfolded the paper, fear coursed through her.
“Don’t stick your nose into police business unless you want it cut off.” It was written in red. In a way it was so childish, she wanted to laugh, but deep down inside, she knew there was nothing funny about the threat.
She immediately stalked back into the station and asked for a detective to take a police report. The secretary rolled her eyes, but picked up her phone.
Twenty minutes later, Sgt. Matt Laughlin met Tommy in a small room off the lobby without windows. His gray walrus moustache had something stuck in it that made Tommy gag a little. Was it egg? She looked away so she didn’t vomit. She remembered his snide remark at the murder scene, calling her and Parker bottom feeders. Whatever. She’d dealt with plenty of journalist-hating-cops in her time.
He actually yawned as she told what she had found and showed him the note. Tommy tried not to stare at the piece of egg stuck in his moustache. He took the note from her without looking at it.
Tommy gestured to his clipboard. “Aren’t you going to take notes? Isn’t there a surveillance camera in the parking lot so you can see who left this on my car? This is a threat. You don’t seem to be taking it seriously.”
She could feel the vein throbbing in her temple. Heat flared up her neck as her anger grew.
He grunted, leaned over, and very slowly scribbled something unreadable on the police report form.
“Is that all?” he asked.
Tommy started to speak, but realized it was no use and stood.
Sgt. Laughlin led her out to the lobby. She watched him return behind the secretary’s desk toward the investigative bureau. She leaned over, pretending to re-tie the strap on her espadrille sandals. When she stood up, she could still see him. She watched him wad up the threatening note and toss it into a trash bin. He looked back and their eyes met. His mouth worked on something, chewing on his inner lip, his moustache bobbing.
He held her gaze until someone came up to him and said something. He turned and Tommy slipped out the front door, heart pounding.