her closely. “Did you go to the local police?”
“Yes, I talked to them in Mobile, but I had thrown a lot of the letters away, so they didn’t believe it was anyone wishing to do me harm.”
It was easy to be frustrated with the Mobile police for doing nothing to help Rosalyn, but the truth was, funds were always limited in local departments. If the notes weren’t threatening Rosalyn in any way, it would be easy to not give them or her much attention.
She stood up and began walking back and forth.
“It got so bad that after about a month I chose to just leave town. I had a pretty big savings account, so I quit my job and decided to go somewhere different. Anywhere different. I didn’t have a moving truck, didn’t grab a bunch of suitcases—I just got in my car one morning and left.”
She stopped walking for a minute.
“I ended up in Dallas. Thought it would be a cool town to vacation in while I was losing my annoying little follower. Thought I had done it too, until the second night. Another note under my door mentioning the crème brûlée I had eaten at dinner.”
She wasn’t looking at him, but he could hear the fear in her voice.
“I left just minutes later. Drove all around to make sure no one was following me. Ended up in Shreveport. I went straight to the police station.”
It wasn’t the best of plans, since nothing had happened in their jurisdiction, but Steve didn’t tell Rosalyn that. She would’ve been better off going to the Dallas police.
But a note that mentioned a dessert probably wouldn’t have been taken seriously there either.
“Nobody wanted to listen to me, but this one detective, Johnson, offered to meet me after he got off his shift. I told him everything, and he helped me. Or he tried.”
“What did he do?”
She began rubbing her hands on her legs, a nervous gesture he didn’t think she was aware of.
“I showed him what notes I had kept. He told me to keep them all, and any I got from now on, in a box. And he gave me a notebook and showed me how to keep track of everything that the Watcher did.”
He reached over and grabbed her hands so she would stop the rubbing. “The Watcher?”
“Yeah, that’s what I call him. I’ve kept everything since Detective Johnson showed me what to do.”
“And did he do anything with it? Did it go any further?”
“Unfortunately, he died of a heart attack the next day.”
Steve’s head snapped up. “Was he old?”
“Maybe fifty. And in pretty good shape.”
“That’s a damn unfortunate coincidence.” And probably a devastating blow for Rosalyn, to have found someone who wanted to help, then died.
“I thought so too until I got an anonymous email the next day about a drug that caused heart attacks.”
“What?”
“The Watcher killed Detective Johnson. He’s killed everyone I’ve told about him. I’m afraid you’ll be next.”
Steve didn’t believe her.
He wasn’t overt in his disbelief, didn’t mock her or anything like that. But she could tell he didn’t think the Watcher was actually a credible threat. He thought Detective Johnson, a fifty-year-old policeman, had died of a heart attack.
It certainly happened all the time. Police work was stressful.
Her sister was also dead, but she’d been a drug addict. That happened all the time too.
She didn’t tell him about Shawn, the mechanic, who’d also died after she’d told him about the Watcher. Because she could already tell Steve thought she was exaggerating.
She’d recognized the placating look. The attempt to figure out how to convince her of reason without offending her. He didn’t want to add to her stress, but he also didn’t think there was anything sinister to her story.
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