I walked with false bravado toward the note. My hand trembled violently as I reached for the piece of stark white paper folded under the knife—and just before I pulled it out, common sense overtook me. I needed to call the police. If I removed the knife or tampered with anything, it might ruin the chances of figuring out who did this to me.
I stood up on legs almost as shaky as my hands and reached into the purse still hanging from my shoulder to pull out my cell phone. It took me three tries to dial 911 successfully. My finger kept bouncing and catching the two or the eight.
A woman’s brisk voice answered. “Hello, 911, how may I help you?”
“I’ve been robbed or I don’t know. Someone’s been in my apartment. My name is Alyson Road in Oakland.” I backed up toward the threshold where the door met the hall, putting some much-needed space between the scene and myself.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” she asked quickly, her businesslike tone turning concerned. “Are you inside your apartment? Is anyone inside with you?”
“No. Yes. N-no, I don’t know.”
“You may be in shock. You need to leave and go outside in case the intruder is still hiding somewhere inside. I’m dispatching police and an ambulance to 1121 South Hughes Street. Is that where you are, ma’am?”
“Yes. Apartment 3B.”
As I hurried down the steps to the vestibule of the building, a party buzzed loudly on the floor below me. They were having a great time while I was being robbed or assaulted, I wasn’t sure which, and for some irrational reason it made me angry. I, on the other hand, was doing my best to juggle the phone and the puppy and not fall down the steps and break my neck.
“I’ll stay on the phone with you until help arrives,” the dispatcher said in a soothing voice.
I whispered okay into the phone; it was all I could muster. The anger had been fleeting; tears were building. Screams were crawling up my throat, and my heart was at war inside my chest.
I slipped around the side of the apartment building and leaned against the cold stone. “I’m here,” I said for my own benefit as I cuddled Mav closer.
“Me too,” the operator assured me.
Sirens ripped through the night, blue and red lights swirling on the street like a laser show. A moment later, two uniformed cops approached me with caution.
“Miss, are you Alyson Road?”
I nodded.
“Dispatch said you’ve had a break-in. We’re here to help,” the dark-haired one said. The guy with blond hair trailed a few paces behind, surveying the area with his hand on the gun at his hip.
I nodded again.
“Are you okay?”
Another nod.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
I nodded again, and the ridiculous notion that I must look like a bobble-head doll came to me. Stifling a manic laugh that tried to bubble up my throat, I pressed my lips together, unable to respond.
“We’re here now,” the policeman said. “It’s safe to talk. My partner, Officer Simms, is going to go upstairs and take a look at your place.”
“It’s apartment 3B,” I finally said. “There’s a note. On my briefcase. S-s-stuck there with a knife.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m going to go look,” Simms assured me.
“I’m Officer Petrisky,” the first one said. “Can you tell me when you arrived here tonight?”
“Just about fifteen minutes ago.”
“And you were out?”
I went back to nodding.
“Was your dog home?”
This time I shook my head. “He was with me. We were having dinner at a friend’s place.” I didn’t have time to consider what or who Jake was to me.
“Who would that be?”
“Um,” I said, then hesitated. “Jake Wrigley.”
“Is that your boyfriend?”
The question unsettled me, so I said, “I’m with the public defender’s office.”
“Do you want us to call someone?”
One more head shake.
“So is this Jake a boyfriend?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you have plans in advance? When did you know you would be out tonight?”
“I’m not sure why that’s important.”
But I did; I knew how this worked. They were going to question Jake. In their eyes he was either my alibi, a suspect, or both.
“Petrisky?” Simms called from the doorway.
“Yeah?”
“Look at this.” The blond cop walked outside, waving something in his gloved hand.
Petrisky turned to me. “The note. Did you read it, ma’am?”
“It’s Alyson, not ma’am.”
“Did you see it?”
Shaking my head for the millionth time, I said, “I know better than to tamper with evidence.”
Simms held it out for me to see.
FiX thE CaSe.
The note was handwritten in black marker in uneven block letters, some capitals, others lowercase, apparently in an attempt to disguise their handwriting.
Simms barked into some walkie-talkie like cell phone. “Yeah, I need you to run a guy over to a Jake Wrigley’s place for me. Apparently he had dinner with the victim tonight at his place. She took her dog too.”
“Jake had nothing to do with this.” I tried not to beg, but I knew what they would find if they dug deeply enough.
“Just doing my job, Ms. Road.”
“You got the knife? You’re going to run prints?” I asked.
“Yes, and a guy’s coming to photograph the scene. You won’t be able to clean up your place until we dust for fingerprints and finish our investigation. Do you have somewhere to stay?”
I looked at the ground. Of course I didn’t have anywhere to stay. After paying for my mom’s nursing home and the extra care for her, I had no savings I could dip into for a hotel. And I had a dog. Panic rose in my throat as I mentally sorted through my options, which were nil.
“I’ll figure something out,” I said with as much confidence as I could.
I’d set Maverick down on the ground when the police arrived, and he was now pulling me toward the grass, his nose to the ground. I let him lead me a bit, and he stopped to pee. Distracted, I didn’t even tell him he was a good boy. I was staring at the outside of my building, wondering why the hell no one came out to check out what was going on, and then I remembered I lived in a college building. Everyone was more than likely drinking and doing drugs; no one was about to come out and chat with the cops.
“May I go up and get some fresh clothes?”
Simms offered to escort me back to my own home and watched while I sifted through my bras and panties, filling a small bag with everything I needed.
With tears burning my eyes, I called a cab and told the officers I was going to the Holiday Inn for a few nights. Instead, I went to the nursing home and curled up in the chair next to my mom’s bed. I’d sneaked Mav inside the building in the duffel bag, and held him tightly in my arms as I cried myself to sleep.
I woke early the next morning to the feel of my phone vibrating inside my pocket and Maverick licking my hand. Mom was still asleep, her gray hair splayed over the pillow, and dawn had barely lightened the sky. I unfolded myself from the chair, standing up and stretching out my sore muscles, then tucked my dog back in the bag before heading outside.
“Go potty, little guy,” I said as I placed the puppy on the ground, then checked my phone.
Three missed calls and sixteen unread texts, most of the messages from Jake. The calls were from the police.
The texts pretty much all read the same except for the last one.
UNKNOWN NUMBER : Work your magic on the big dogs or I’ll snatch your dog.
My chest tightened and my head throbbed at the prospect of being threatened further. The message could refer to any number of cases, but in my heart, I knew which one it was. It was something to do with Cameron.