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"About the girls?" he asked.
"The girls? What girls?"
"The three missing girls. You've been working on it," he reminded me.
"What? Oh, no. Yeah. I think that's all I am doing on that case now. It's up to the cops. I have something big right now, but I can't talk about it yet. So I will let you know when I come up for air, okay?" I asked, barely waiting for him to grudgingly agree before hanging up, and turning off my phone.
Yogurt and I stayed in that hotel room for three days, only leaving to take her for quick potty trips and leg-stretching around the stretch of green lawn at the back of the building.
The room was littered with coffee cups and take-away food, and I was pretty sure I was smelling rather ripe by the time I decided I got as much as I was going to be able to get.
"I think we need to find a cop who won't try to fit us for a tin hat," I told Yogurt, giving her a head rub as I climbed out of bed to take a shower and wash the last several days off of me.
She'd been moping.
And, sure, I knew she was upset about the new surroundings, the noises of other people coming and going. But I was also pretty sure she'd started to get used to having Finn around. There was no denying that he had a soft and understanding way with her, was a sort of calm presence where I was a bit more chaotic. She just didn't understand that under all that soft and calm was a monster. And there was no way for me to communicate that to her. So I did the best I could. I gave her extra scratches, and positively spoiled her with treats.
She would forget him soon enough, I was sure.
Me, on the other hand, well, that was a different story, wasn't it?
I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, shucking off my clothes, and even as I did so, I couldn't help but practically feel his hands on me again, running over my hips, squeezing my breasts, sinking into my ass. He'd touched me everywhere. He knew every curve of my body. He knew how to make it hum and cry out in ecstasy.
And for what?
As some sick stroke to his ego?
He could fuck the only person in the world who was onto him?
Anger made my jaw tighten. Or maybe it was grief disguised as anger. I wasn't going to let myself analyze that until I was in a better headspace about it all.
So I took myself into the shower, turning up the hot water until it scalded, before scrubbing at every inch of my skin like I could wipe away his handprints, the way they'd made me feel. I scrubbed and scrubbed until every inch of me was red and painful before realizing what I was doing, and climbing back out of the shower.
It was going to be okay.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
But eventually.
Eventually, it would be okay.
But before it could even start to get there, I needed to bring my file into the police station, and tell them everything I knew.
Then, then I could maybe start moving on.
Chapter Thirteen
Poppy
My stomach was in knots as I made my way up the front steps of the NBPD.
It wasn't like I'd never been inside before. Both voluntarily and not. For helping in the pursuit of justice, and for making it more difficult.
I knew a lot of the people inside. And they knew me. Which was why it was so strange to be nervous. But, I guess, in the past, I'd been very creditable because of my background and because I was helping with high-profile cases.
Bringing in an unknown case with the words "serial killer" attached to it was going to make me sound like a lunatic. And it was important to me that they took me seriously.
"Poppy, right?" Detective Lloyd asked, stopping short at seeing me standing there, trying to get up my nerve to talk to the receptionist.
"I, ah, yeah. Hey, Detective."
"Do you have another tip for us?" he asked, snapping closed the file he had in his hand to give me his full attention.
"Yes, but, well, it's complicated."
"Luckily, I can usually suss out complicated," he said, holding out an arm, leading me back toward his desk. "Alright, what do you have for me."
"Okay, I want to preface this," I said. "I'm not crazy. I know this sounds crazy, but I'm not crazy."
"That's never a great way to start, but okay," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"I think there is a serial killer in Navesink Bank." There. I said it.
And to my surprise, Lloyd didn't laugh, didn't look at me like I was an idiot. His brow arched as he leaned forward, resting his arms on his desk to create a little intimacy as he said in a low voice, "Poppy, I think there are likely several of them."
