I walked slowly through the massive office area, trying to take in the sights and sounds. Part of why I liked being a reporter was learning and seeing. My dream was to get on the crime beat and work closely with the police. As happy as I was to have been promoted to the lifestyle and leisure section a year ago, I’d minored in criminal psychology at university. My drive was to report on the dark underbelly of human nature.
When Officer Banks told me to come by with a full written statement, I’d seen it as a golden opportunity. I’d met a few cops in passing, mostly at the parades and festivals I covered for the newspaper. Rumor had it that there might be a serial killer roaming around the city of Toronto. If I could find one of the officers I knew, perhaps I could get some information about it. Catching a scoop on a freakingserial killerwas exactly the jumpstart my career needed. I could make a name for myself with one story.
My source, a low-level rookie who went to the same gym as me, had let it slip that a few bodies with similar wounds had been found around town. They were all brunette females, and all but one had been found dead outside. The third victim had apparently been in her apartment. The poor rookie had been mortified for letting the info slip, but I’d assured him it was safe with me. Which was true. The deaths had been reported in the paper already, which meant there was nothing new I could add. The connection to a serial killer had yet to be made, but even to me, that’s what it looked like. Though, to be a real story, I needed more proof, something beyond cop rumors. Something on the record, if possible.
My foray to the bathroom turned up nothing. No one in the bullpen looked familiar, so I headed back to the waiting area after relieving myself. Time slid by like cold molasses, and when I checked my watch, my irritation reared its head. Half an hour. What was taking so long? Couldn’t I just hand the paper to the woman at the desk and be on my way?
She was typing away on her keyboard as if nothing was wrong and didn’t look my way when I cleared my throat in agitation. This was all turning into a big waste of time. I hadn’t even picked up a lead for a story. God, I should have just emailed the damn statement and been done with it.
“Ms. Torres?”
The deep, booming voice ripped me from my internal thoughts, and I turned, finding a detective in a navy suit smiling down at me, his hand outstretched. “Detective Vickers.”
I shook his hand. “Yes. I’m Cameron Torres.”
His smile grew warmer, and he nodded. “Fantastic. Sorry to keep you waiting. If you’ll come with me?”
“Sure.” I followed him through the main room to a smaller office at the back. He closed the door and pulled out a chair for me in front of his desk.
The man wasn’t what I’d expected. In my head, I’d anticipated a chubby, balding, and overworked middle-aged man. This detective could have been a model, if not for the shoulder-harness pistol holster. He ran a hand through his blond hair as he moved around his desk.
“Can I get you something? Water? Soda? Anything?”
His eyes pierced me, searching, measuring, weighing. Definitely the eyes of a good cop. Maybe if I made some inroads with him, he could be a source later on for other stories.
“No thanks,” I said with a smile. “I’m good. Thank you, Detective Vickers.”
He waved a hand at me as he sat. “Call me Ollie; everyone does. I hate that formal shi—uh, formalstuff.”
“Um, okay. Ollie,” I said, “I was attacked a few days ago. I think it was a failed mugging or something. Officer Banks told me to bring a full written statement down.” I handed him the paper.
He glanced at the seven long paragraphs and whistled appreciatively. “You know, this is way more than necessary,” he said. “If I’m honest with you, you didn’t need to bring it this soon. You could have waited a couple of days. We don’t like to make victims feel like they’re on a time limit.” He smiled at me apologetically. “I do appreciate this, though.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I write for a living, and this was fairly easy.”
This guy seemed good-natured and open. I decided to try my luck and pressed forward with my suspicions.
“If I may ask, how is the investigation going? Have you made any progress in finding the guy who attacked me?”
“Not as of yet,” Ollie said, setting my statement down and steepling his fingers on top of it. “We’re looking for witnesses, cross-referencing other reports in the area. Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of leads.”
Nodding, I licked my lower lip, doing my best to play the distraught victim. “It just scared me so much. I’m sure you understand.”
His eyes softened. “I’m very sorry this happened to you, Ms. Torres. Rest assured, if that man is still in town, we’ll do everything we can to bring him in.”
I liked that Ollie didn’t explicitly promise to bring the perpetrator in. He knew better than to make a promise he couldn’t keep. Over fifty percent of violent crimes go unpunished, so odds weren’t in our favor. He was cautious and measured in his response.
“Can I ask you something?” I cast my eyes down, pretending to be embarrassed.
Ollie raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Sure. Anything.”
Now was my chance. I’d need to play this perfectly if I wanted it to work.
“Well, someone I know heard about my attack,” I said, lying out of my ass. “And they’d heard a rumor that a serial killer might be at work in the city, and that my attack might be connected. Could that be true?”
Ollie’s eyes went wide for a half second before he schooled his features again. He gave me a placating smile. “Not sure where your friend heard that, Ms. Torres. I assure you that nosuch case is open at this time. Your situation was, most likely, a mugging gone wrong.”
Releasing a relieved sigh, I said, “That’s good to hear. So, there haven’t been any other attacks like that?”
