Page 77 of Someone Just Followed You

But no; there’s nothing from Maple. Just a new voicemail from Provo police department.

This is Detective Nicholls. Mrs. Clark, my colleague Detective Martinez has spoken with your husband about an individual called Blake who we believe could be central to our investigation. I appreciate this is a difficult time for you, especially as you’re also dealing with, um, domestic tension. But it is vital that we speak to you about this, so please call me asap.

Panic twists my insides. I don’t want to call her. To explain, again. Hear judgment and damnation in her voice. How is it that when lonely cat ladies are duped by Nigerian fraudsters pretending to love them, everyone feels sorry for them, but when I get deceived, I’m the one at fault?

I had such big dreams. It was supposed to be Mom and Maple forever. Now Maple’s gone, and I’m being canceled. And all that’s left is a YouTube channel that nobody’s watching. Nobody except pervs and pedos and podcasters hunting for ever more content to hang me with.

The doorbell rings, and I just know who it will be. I imagine her, leaning against our front door, peering through the glass side panels, her hair neatly tied back and gun holstered. I wonder for a moment if I should hide upstairs. Or escape through the backyard.

But I’m Kirsten Clark. I don’t run away.

I grab my emergency lipstick from the cutlery drawer, touch it up in the fridge’s reflection, and go to greet Detective Nicholls.

Chapter 90

Kirsten

@JuliaCartwrighttherapy, TikTok

Listen up, guys. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children gets nearly forty million reports on their tipline every year. It’s a sad fact that we can’t stop the predators, which is why we need to stop the moms

‘Thank you,’ Detective Nicholls says in a clipped voice as I gesture toward the kitchen.

‘Sorry I didn’t get back to you,’ I say as we lower onto the barstools, not quite facing each other. ‘I guess this morning has been a lot.’ Honesty sounds strange after years applying positive spin, but I’m too exhausted to try anything else. And as I watch her face soften, I decide telling the truth has its uses. Occasionally.

‘I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now,’ she says. ‘But we are doing everything we can to find Maple.’

‘And I appreciate that, I really do.’

She smiles, but her face tightens again, like the goodwill is already used up. ‘Mrs. Clark, could you tell me about Blake?’

I sigh. ‘Blake runs a modeling agency in New York. At least that’s what he or she said. You know, I always assumed it was a woman, like Blake Lively, that’s why my guard was down, I suppose. But maybe I was wrong. Anyway, Blake noticed Maple from a digital advertising campaign she starred in a few weeks ago and was keen to sign her.’

‘I understand this person asked to correspond through Telegram,’ the detective says. ‘And provided no details about their modeling agency, even after you requested them. And that he, because we believe it is a he, requested photos of Maple, both professional shots and family pictures – which you sent. And he also tried to organize a private meeting with her. We have alerted colleagues in Las Vegas about this development, but there’s not much for them to work with yet.’

I swallow. ‘Look, I know it sounds bad. But Maple had just started out on her modeling career. It all added up.’

‘Even his choice of communication channel?’

I decide to remain silent.

‘I have a form I’d like you to sign, Mrs. Clark,’ the detective continues. ‘So that I can take your phone for analysis.’

‘What?’ My eyelashes reach my eyebrows. ‘No.’

‘And I’d like you to know that I’ve escalated Maple’s case to the FBI. Sexual exploitation and the luring of a minor is a federal offence.’

‘How do you even know she’s been exploited?!’ I blurt out, my pitch reaching an unattractive high note. ‘Blake might be an innocent modeling agent!’

‘That’s possible,’ she says in a voice that doesn’t agree. ‘Having your phone will give us his IP address and other relevant metadata, which will help us determine that.’

‘But I need my phone!’ I know how I sound, like I don’t care about finding Maple. But the thought of being without my phone, of strangers in suits trawling through my content, is too much.

‘Then I’ll get a warrant from the magistrate,’ she continues. ‘This is inevitable, Mrs. Clark, and the sooner we can look into Blake’s digital footprint, the faster this investigation will progress. Isn’t that what you want?’

‘No! I mean, yes! But you’re not taking my phone.’

Detective Nicholls’ expression sours, but then her own phone rings, distracting her. She accepts the call and I watch her nod a few times, then say goodbye.