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Viv shrugged. “I thought about applying for a job in Westlake’s scheduling department to get access to the book, but it would take too long and it would be too risky. They might put me in another department. Plus I’d actually have to work there all day when I have other things to do. So I can’t get full access to the books on my own, and there are only so many times I can phone them, pretending I’m you.”
“You did what?”
“It isn’t important.”
“It’s important,” Alma said. “Vivian, it’s illegal to impersonate a police officer.”
Viv wanted to scream. “Simon Hess killed Victoria Lee, and her boyfriend was put away for it. And you’re going to put me in jail?”
Alma held up a hand. “Back up here,” she said. The firmness was back in her voice, as if she was getting control of the situation. “I took a look at the Betty Graham file after the last time we talked. And one of your premises here is actually wrong. Since Betty was last seen letting a salesman into her house, there was a thorough investigation done into every company that employs door-to-door salesmen. They couldn’t find any company that had a salesman in the area.”
Viv felt her pulse pound. She was so frustrated, so angry. She didn’t know that. She didn’t know anything, because she didn’t have the access to what she needed to put all the pieces together. She was just a twenty-year-old motel clerk. If only she could see everything she needed.
But she thought it over and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Vivian, please. I’m trying to work with you here. But with no salesman in Betty’s neighborhood that day, it means that whoever killed her came to her door pretending to be a salesman. Which puts you back to square one.”
“No, it doesn’t. Did they look at the month before the murder? Two months before? The woman in the scheduling department told me that sometimes the salesmen go back for follow-up visits on their own, and those visits aren’t recorded in the schedule book. He could have seen her earlier and gone back.”
Alma looked shocked again. “They said that?”
“Even if he didn’t sell her locks,” Viv continued, “Betty was a teacher. Simon Hess has a daughter who is about ten. Maybe his daughter goes to Betty’s school—but I can’t access the school records. You can. He lives ten minutes away from Betty’s house. He could have seen her in the market, the park. Anywhere.” She pointed to the book. “You have his name. You can find the connection. I can’t.”
Alma frowned. She still wasn’t sold; Viv could tell. She had no idea what else to do, what else to say.
“This is all based on the idea that this man, Simon Hess, checks into the motel where Betty’s body was dumped,” Alma said. “That doesn’t make him Betty’s killer, especially if he isn’t the salesman who came to her house.” She gestured to the notebook, the motel photos from Marnie, other papers Viv had brought. “You’ve done amazing work here, Vivian. You could be an investigator. But I’m just the night duty officer, and you’re just a motel clerk. If I am going to the higher-ups with a killer this dangerous, like Fell has never seen, I need something so concrete it can’t be argued.”
Viv swallowed. She looked at the desk, at the papers and photos scattered there, her eyes burning.
“This is compelling,” Alma admitted in her kinder voice. “But it’s also full of holes. Big ones. Any case I take up the ladder has to be airtight. Completely airtight. I’m already no one on this force. Not a single one of these guys will take me seriously. It’ll be an uphill battle before I even open my mouth, and if I fail, I’ll probably lose my job. They’re just looking for a reason.”
It was a refusal. A kind one, but still a refusal. Viv would weep if she could summon any tears. She would scream if she could find her voice.
“You’re saying the risk is too great,” she said.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re young, Viv, but I think you’re getting the idea. I’m the night duty officer in a small town—and I’ve worked for years just to get this far. I’ve fought tooth and nail. I’ve taken insults and abuse, and I’ll take more. I’ll take it for my whole career. I do it because being a cop is who I am, no matter who tries to tell me differently. But this . . .” She gestured to the papers. “I could lose everything with this. At least, the way it is now. I need more. I need physical evidence. I need eyewitnesses, confessions. No cop could take any of this to court, which means no cop is going to risk his career on it. Including me.”
Viv was numb. It was like Marnie, telling her the risk was too great. I quit. She’d promised Marnie she’d go to the police, get help, stop putting herself in danger. But Alma wasn’t going to help her, either. No one was.
She was in this alone.
“He’s going to kill her,” she said, her voice a murmur.
“You saw a man looking at a girl, that’s all,” Alma said. “It doesn’t mean anything. Men don’t go to jail for looking at girls. And you have nothing else you can prove. You saw a car you thought was his, driving away from the high school. You didn’t see who was in it—and even if you had, you still have nothing.”
“Okay.” Viv leaned forward and gathered up her notebook and papers, her maps and photos. “I appreciate you taking the time. I have to go to work now.”
“I’ve upset you,” Alma said.
She couldn’t take that. She couldn’t take Alma’s kindness, her pity that was big-sisterly, almost motherly. It meant nothing if the traveling salesman still walked free, if Tracy died. “He comes to the motel and he checks in under a fake name,” Viv said. “He has no reason to do that because he lives in town, but he does. And every time he does it, Betty Graham wakes up and goes crazy.”
Alma was silent.
“That’s how I know,” Viv said, standing up. “I’ve worked there every night for months, and that’s how I know he killed Betty. Because she tells me every time he’s there. Her body got dumped at the Sun Down, and she never left. You know that’s true as much as I do, except you don’t want to admit it.”
“Honey,” Alma said, “I think it’s time you considered seeing a doctor.”
Viv kicked her chair back and walked to the door. “That’s a lie and you know it,” she said, meeting Alma’s eyes. “You’ve seen her. So have I. The difference is that I listen when she tells me what she has to say.”
She left and closed the door behind her. Her only hope was the letter she’d sent. It was the only way Tracy Waters was going to stay alive.
