Cheryl Bradshaw - Sinnerman

Maddie called me the night before with some privileged information she’d been given about the victim. The girl had gone to the park the night before to study, like she often did during the week. Her mother told the police that there was a specific bench she liked to sit on so they dusted it for prints, but I knew Sinnerman’s wouldn’t be among them. I sat on the bench and scanned the area and wondered if he watched her and for how long. I envisioned him hunkered down somewhere while he watched and waited, and I searched around to see if I could find the most likely spot. Some nine or so yards away, the leaves on a lofty oak tree sprawled out in all directions across a pale blue sky. It was the only one of its kind in the immediate area and the perfect place to disguise oneself.

I approached the tree and crouched down and scanned the ground that surrounded me. There were no footprints, but there was a patch of dirt that appeared to have been smoothed over by something, like it didn’t belong with the sediment around it. In my stooped position, I had a clear view of the bench. I stayed there for a few minutes and absorbed the scene and then withdrew my phone from my pocket and took a picture of it. I didn’t know why; it just seemed like it was the right thing to do. I tilted the lens downward and zoomed in and snapped a photo of the disheveled patch of the dirt. The more I looked at it, the more I noticed something odd. The dirt around it was undisturbed and looked like it had been for quite some time.

I brushed the rough patch of dirt back and forth with my hand. It was loose, and in no time, I’d dug a good three inches at least. I extracted the mound of dirt into my hand and stared down into the miniature hole I’d formed. I felt like a kid in grade school who had nothing better to do to pass the time at recess. I tilted my hand to the side and watched the dirt tumble back into the hole and with it, a little piece of debris about the size of a nickel dropped into the hole as well. It was dirty and crumpled and had been folded at least five times to get it to its current size. I scooped it out of the hole and opened it.

I ALWAYS KNEW YOU WERE BETTER THAN THEM.

THAT IS WHAT I LIKE ABOUT YOU.

YOU DON’T THINK LIKE A COP.

YOURS ALWAYS, SINNERMAN

P.S. YOU’RE GETTING WARMER.

Did he mean them—the guys on the case, or them—the women. Or both?

“Excuse me,” a voice said, “are you a cop?”

I stood up and came face to face with a woman dressed in a pair of fluorescent yellow shorts and a tank top that was cut so low I caught more than a glimpse of what a little breast enhancement can do for a person. On her eyes she donned a pair of hot pink sunglasses which hid a fraction of her face from me.

“Something like that,” I said.

“I feel just awful about what happened to that poor young woman yesterday,” she said.

And yet, here she was parading herself around like a nosy tourist.

Taye Diggs approached from the right. I tried to indicate that I didn’t need him, but he charged forward anyway. I made a fist with my right hand and concealed the note I’d found within my palm. This one was mine.

I looked at the woman.

“Is there something I can do for you?” I said.

“Actually, there is,” she said. “After I got home last night, I got to thinking about everything, and I thought I might be able to help.”

“How’s that?” I said.

“I might be able to give you a description.”

I looked at Taye and tried to restrain the urge I felt to give him a high five. We both stared back at her, speechless.

“Were you at the park last night?” I said.

She nodded.

“Around what time?”

“Oh, I got here about a quarter to eight and then went around the track a couple times and then went home. You see, I don’t usually come out to the park. I like to get my workouts in at home, but a couple days ago my treadmill broke. I bought another one, but my husband has been too busy to set it up for me, and I’m too small to lift it.”

I wondered how long she would go on with her personal life story if I didn’t stop her.

“Did you see anyone or anything suspicious while you were here?” I said.

She nodded again.

“I saw a strange man.”

“Where?” I said.

“When I was running.”

“On the track?” I said.

“That’s right. He ran beside me for a minute.”

This was the first time in Sinnerman’s history that there was an actual sighting—if it turned out to be true. Could he have slipped up?

“He talked to you?” I said.

“Not in so many words,” she said. “But he did say hello and mentioned something about the weather we were having that day and how summer was his favorite season of the year. He was going on and on about the arts festival—you know the one where people display their paintings on Main Street?”

“Yeah—that was a couple months ago. Anything else?”

“When he finished, I looked over to respond, and he frowned at me and took off.”

It wasn’t hard for me to see why. She wasn’t his type. From behind, he may not have known it, but once he got close, he wouldn’t have chosen her. I was sure of it.

I reached for the card-sized notepad in my back pocket and a pen.

“What did he look like?” I said.

“That’s what I thought was strange. Here this guy was gushing about how warm it was at the festival and he was wearing a charcoal hoodie with the hood over his head. It didn’t make sense to me. I mean, it must have been 80 degrees at the time of day, and he was jogging no less.”

Her eyes shifted from me to a bird that flew by in front of us. I needed to speed things up.

“How tall would you say he was?” I said.

“Well,” she said, “he was taller than me for sure. Not by much though. He only had about three inches on me.”

“So around 5‘10?”

“That’d be about right.”

“What about hair color, eye color?” I said.

“He wore dark glasses that made him look like a beetle, and I don’t mean the car. And his hair was perfect.”

“How so?” I said.

“Well, he had that hood on so it was hard to tell for sure, but at one point while he was talking to me he lifted it a bit and stuck his hand inside and smoothed it out, like a piece had strayed and it bugged him. From what I could see, it was a brownish color, and he had it parted to one side—I’d say twenty-five percent to the left and the rest to the right.”

“Was it thick, thin, receding?” I said.

“Thick.”

“Long or short?”

“Short.”

“Eyes?” I said.

“He never took the glasses off.”

“Oops, that’s right,” I said. “Bad habit. Do you know where he went after you talked to him?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t pay him any attention after he gave me the brush off. I left.”

Taye Diggs took out his cell phone and dialed.

“I’m going to need you to do something for me,” I said to the woman.

“Alright.”

“Head down to the police station. They’ll take your official statement,” I said. “And I’m sure they’ll want to get a sketch of the guy while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

I took her name, address and phone number down and then sent her on her way. What a day it had been already, and it was just getting started.

CHAPTER 18

When I arrived back to my car, a silver Aston Martin idled behind it, which blocked me from backing out. The window tint was so dark on the driver’s side, I couldn’t have seen in even if I had a flashlight. Taye Diggs opened my car door and took his hand and shoved me inside and drew his gun with the other.