Cheryl Bradshaw: Sinnerman

“Nick’s not in here,” he said.

“Nice to see you too,” I said. “I’m not here for him.”

Coop and I had a history, and most of it wasn’t good. Earlier that year he’d come to my rescue and I thought we’d reached a turning point in our relationship, but it didn’t take long for things to get back to the usual snarky attitude we had for each other. He didn’t respect my line of work and therefore had little use for me. And no matter how hard I tried to be civilized, I never managed to get my foot in the door long enough to maintain a decent relationship with him either.

“What do you want?”

“I think you know,” I said.

He shook his head back and forth.

“I can’t talk about the case and you know it, and even if I could, I wouldn’t talk to you about it,” he said. “Besides, you’re the big shot PI. Aren’t you supposed to be able to figure this stuff out on your own?”

Back when the killings first started, Coop was lead detective on the case, and I imagine he still lost sleep over the fact that he never caught the elusive Sinnerman. The guy was the only one I’d ever heard of who’d slipped through Coop’s elongated fingers. And even though he pretended not to care a stitch about me, I was sure he felt he’d let me down. My sister’s killer was still out there, and he could have stopped him, and not only had he failed in his mind, now he had to deal with an even harsher reality: women were dying again. I never held it against him—the whole of the blame resided with one individual, Sinnerman himself, and there wasn’t anything anyone could have done. If there was one thing I knew about Coop it was that there wasn’t a detective on the planet who worked harder than he did.

“Has he made contact with you yet?” I said.

“What makes you think he will?”

“Because he did before. You were the only one he communicated with a few years ago. And I figured since he chose you the first time, there’s no reason he wouldn’t do it again.”

“Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t. What’s it to you?”

I started to wonder what the hell I was thinking trying to communicate to him at all.

The sound of papers shuffled behind me.

I circled around and saw Nick who had inhabited the space that surrounded the copy machine in the corner of the room. He had a stack of papers in his hand, like he needed to make some copies, but he didn’t—he just stood there. “What are you two talking about?” he said.

“Nothing,” Coop and I both said in unison.

“If that’s true, there’s no need to stop just because I’m here.”

The interesting thing about his comment was that I had a hunch Nick saw me enter the room and found a reason to come in after me so he would know what I was up to.

Coop stood up from his chair. “She was just leaving,” he said.

Coop had the height of a basketball player and was the size of a pro wrestler, which wasn’t bad for someone old enough to be my father.

“I wasn’t finished with my questions,” I said.

“I was,” Coop said, and he exited the room.

“What did you think you were going to get out of him by coming here?” Nick said.

“Has Sinnerman communicated with him yet?”

“I’m not talking to you about that,” Nick said.

“So we’re just going to act like none of this is happening, is that it?”

“If it keeps you safe, yes. The less you know, the better.”

“There isn’t a thing you can do to keep me away from this,” I said.

Nick wadded up the papers and threw them across the room. They collided with the wall and single sheets fluttered through the air. I wasn’t sure what he was going for, but I assumed it was dramatic effect.

“If you want to nose around I can’t stop you,” he said, “but you won’t get any information out of me—not now, not ever. I meant what I said last night. I don’t want you involved in this, and if that means you’re mad at me, I guess that’s how it is. And don’t bother going to anyone else around here because they won’t talk to you either.”

I wasn’t mad, I was disappointed. It had only been a few months since we moved in together as a couple after he insisted we take our relationship to the next level or it was over, and we were doing fine until he decided to get involved with the cases I took. No case was simple enough that Nick didn’t discourage me from taking it, and the constant bickering about what I was doing and where I was going all the time had taken its toll on me. For us to work I needed him to support me and not micromanage my every move. I was beginning to think that wasn’t possible.

Nick seemed aware that I was in deep contemplation, and he walked over and slung his arm around my back and rested his hand on the edge of my shoulder.

“This is for the best, Sloane,” he said. “It really is. You might not see that now, but you will, and then you’ll thank me for it.”

I doubted that.

I shrugged him off and walked out and exited the police station. Halfway to my car I picked up my cell phone and pressed number two on my speed dial.

“Maddie, it’s me. Can you break for lunch? I need you.”

She popped a bubble into the phone and laughed.

“Sure thing,” she said. “Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”

I reached my car and my eyes flashed on a piece of pastel pink paper that was creased in half under my windshield wiper. I leaned over the hood and grabbed it. My first instinct was that it was an advert of some sort and someone thought this was a good way to hock their wares. I was about to crunch it up in my hand when I noticed it wasn’t what I thought at all.

“Hold on a second Maddie,” I said.

“Alright, but make it quick. The little girl’s room is calling my name.”

I situated my keys and my phone on top of my car and slid the note open. A series of words in all caps was scrawled in a diagonal pattern across the page in red pen that slanted upward from left to right on three lines: HELLO SLOANE MONROE

SINNERMAN HERE

LET’S PLAY

My stomach lurched, and I felt like I’d eaten a bowl full of rocks for breakfast followed by a large glass of milk that had gone sour. I dropped to my knees and squatted next to my car while I pivoted around and canvassed the area, but I saw no one. No cars out of place and no people, anywhere.

I took my phone in my hand.

“Maddie, are you still there?” I said, in a whisper.

“Sure am. You gonna tell me what’s going on, or what?”

“I need to call you back.”

CHAPTER 7

I folded the note and tucked it inside my bag and wondered if Sinnerman was off somewhere not far away with his eyes held fast on me at that very moment. If he was, I didn’t want him to sense the twisted knot that wrenched my insides. I slung my bag over my shoulder and fought off the urge to race back to the police station. Just put one foot in front of the other and take it slow, I told myself, and breathe. You can do this.

Rose raised an eyebrow when she saw that I’d returned.

“You’re not back for another round with Coop again, I hope,” she said.

I shook my head.

“Is the chief around?”

She spun her chair to the right and leaned over and stretched her neck out like an ostrich and stared down the hall.

“I can just make out the top of his head,” she said. “Looks like he’s in his office. Do you want me to!—”

I shook my head.

“That’s okay; I’ll let him know I’m here.”

Nick was seated at his desk engrossed in some sort of silly war game on his computer when I went by, and he didn’t notice that I’d returned, which was fine by me. I entered through the open door of the chief’s office and tried to be discreet while I sealed it shut behind me. The chief had his cell phone fastened to his ear, and his eyes were honed in on something out his office window. He swung around and caught site of me and made a swift motion with his finger to keep me quiet while he finished his call. I moved to the chair in front of his desk and sat and waited.