I laugh—really laugh—for the first time in weeks. “Deal.”
My phone vibrates, and I struggle to dig it out.
Mills
I’m with the detective at the stalker’s apartment. We should talk.
Can it wait? Ren’s in surgery again.
Mills
Yeah, I’ll pick you up later today when she’s out.
* * *
It’s raining when Mills comes to the hospital. Harder than I’ve ever seen it rain in Los Angeles. It reminds me of storms on the East Coast when we’d be filming out there in Atlanta or Miami. It smells comforting yet unfamiliar, and I can hear Dr. Clay in the back of my mind. I stand under the downpour for a moment and let it wash over me before I climb into the car.
“You okay?” Mills asks as we drive down to the police station, handing me a towel.
“Yeah. Sometimes, it just fucking rains.”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
When we get to the station, two detectives greet Mills and me before taking us to a room in the back. I’m nervous because I’ve only ever filmed in police station sets, not actually been in one like this. Not even when Cassie died.
“Have a seat, Mr. Cooper. Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m bouncy enough as it is. Mills said you needed me to identify some things?”
“Have you had any keys or locks redone at your house in the last four years?”
“No. I had more keys made…oh, and I did add a lock on the pool house since my brother moved in.”
“Can I see your keys, Mr. Cooper?”
I dig them out of my pocket and hand them over, watching him take a bag with a key in it out of a cardboard box and hold them up next to each other and sighs.
“This key.” He puts the bag down and taps on it with one beefy finger. “We recovered it from Julie Horowitz’s apartment.”
“That isn’t an alias?”
“No, but she had about a dozen IDs in different names, including Cassidy Landon’s. We also found clothes that are not her size. They were all kept in a lockbox under her bed, along with the jewelry and a stack of photocopies of a marriage license you applied for four years ago.”
He spreads a dozen or more photos in front of me, showing the inside of someone’s apartment. My brain tries to put together a puzzle, but the concussion slows me down. He lays out more photos of clothes, necklaces, and other personal items.
“Do you recognize?—”
“These.” I point to a necklace and a dress. I flip through the others, growing more frantic with each of them. All of them are Cassie's belongings. “I gave her these after she moved in with me. This ring she got from her mother. The dress, fuck, I got her that in…Paris.”
Next, he hands me photos of Cassie and I. “Ms. Horowitz admitted to selling a copy of the key to a known paparazzi. The one who took the nude images in your home. We found evidence that she snuck in, planted surveillance equipment, and took things that belonged to Cassie.”
“Why?”
“Her diary entries hint that she’s been obsessed with you since before Cassie’s death,” another detective explains. “Based on what we found, her obsession may have begun with Cassie in high school before shifting to you.”
“Coop, she’s been in your house. Numerous times.” Mills explains.
“The dogs?”
