passed of cancer." He was talking about Lillian, of course.
"Yes. Thank you."
"Well, let's get to it, shall we? What can I do for you, Miss … okay if I call you Naomi?"
"Of course. I think you probably already know why I'm here, Sergeant Nelson. I want you to reopen the case." She looked at him squarely across the desk as she said it, then took another sip of her coffee. She could tell by looking at his face that he was already thinking of a way to let her down easy. He sighed and removed the glasses, slipped them into his shirt pocket. His eyes were hazel, intelligent, probing.
"You mentioned on the phone you received an anonymous phone call from a man you believe is one of the two men who abducted Mary Rose."
"That's right. I bought the tape with me."
"What makes you so sure it wasn't just some crackpot?" he said, smiling a smile that was both indulgent and sympathetic. "You must have expected when you made your phone number and email public, you'd get your share of those."
She retrieved the tape from her purse and slid it across the desk to him. "Please. Play it for yourself, Sergeant. Then tell me what you think."
At least he wasn't going to turn her away without a hearing. Not a stupid man, he knew she wouldn't be above going to the newspaper again if he blatantly refused to help her. He would listen. But she was hoping hearing the tape would garner a more genuine interest in her cause.
She appreciated his use of Mary Rose's full name, rather than dismissing her as merely 'the victim'. It gave her the dignity she deserved, rendered her as a human being worthy of respect and consideration. And justice, she hoped.
"Fair enough," he said, sliding the small black recorder on his desk toward him. He snapped in the tape and closed the lid. "Long time ago," he mumbled, and she heard the warning beneath the words. A cold, cold case. Don't expect too much. He pushed the button, turned up the volume.
At once, the whispered voice filled the room.
"Naomi Waters," came the near-whispered words, fearful, chilling even now, in this well-lit office with a policeman sitting across from her. "I'm sorry, girl … I tried to stop him. I just wanted to tell you that. I … I couldn't do nothin'."
The country music played in the background. Something she'd heard many times she still couldn't put a name to. It didn't matter. Beneath the music, the tape recorder whirred on. The man spoke again. "You don't know him. You oughta leave it alone, honest to God. He's bad news. You wanna watch your back...."
The music went on for a couple more seconds before the message clicked off.
"Well?" Naomi said. "You can hear the fear in his voice. He's terrified that someone—"
"You asked me to tell you what I think," he cut in. She fell silent. Nodded. "Okay," she said.
The sergeant replayed the tape, frowned as he listened, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.
"I know he's one of the two men," she insisted when it was over. "I know it. Maybe you could run the message on TV and radio. Someone might recognize his voice."
He gave a short humph to her suggestion, and she wasn't sure if it was in agreement or dismissal. He slid his glasses back on his face and leaned back in his chair.
"First, with all due respect, you don't know anything, Naomi. You think you know. Your caller sounds like he's 'been into his cups', as me grandma used to say. But let's not jump the gun either way. I repeat, this could just be some nutcase who read your story and decided to have a little fun," he said, pretty much echoing Eric Grant's assessment. "There's no end of whackos out there, and I'm in a position to know that. As to the men who actually grabbed Mary Rose, I wouldn't be surprised if they're long dead."
Well, that would wrap it all up nicely, wouldn't it? she thought, anger building in her. She put a lid on it and spoke calmly.
"But you don't know that they are. No, I know I think they're alive, Sergeant Nelson. With everything
"Yes. Thank you."
"Well, let's get to it, shall we? What can I do for you, Miss … okay if I call you Naomi?"
"Of course. I think you probably already know why I'm here, Sergeant Nelson. I want you to reopen the case." She looked at him squarely across the desk as she said it, then took another sip of her coffee. She could tell by looking at his face that he was already thinking of a way to let her down easy. He sighed and removed the glasses, slipped them into his shirt pocket. His eyes were hazel, intelligent, probing.
"You mentioned on the phone you received an anonymous phone call from a man you believe is one of the two men who abducted Mary Rose."
"That's right. I bought the tape with me."
"What makes you so sure it wasn't just some crackpot?" he said, smiling a smile that was both indulgent and sympathetic. "You must have expected when you made your phone number and email public, you'd get your share of those."
She retrieved the tape from her purse and slid it across the desk to him. "Please. Play it for yourself, Sergeant. Then tell me what you think."
At least he wasn't going to turn her away without a hearing. Not a stupid man, he knew she wouldn't be above going to the newspaper again if he blatantly refused to help her. He would listen. But she was hoping hearing the tape would garner a more genuine interest in her cause.
She appreciated his use of Mary Rose's full name, rather than dismissing her as merely 'the victim'. It gave her the dignity she deserved, rendered her as a human being worthy of respect and consideration. And justice, she hoped.
"Fair enough," he said, sliding the small black recorder on his desk toward him. He snapped in the tape and closed the lid. "Long time ago," he mumbled, and she heard the warning beneath the words. A cold, cold case. Don't expect too much. He pushed the button, turned up the volume.
At once, the whispered voice filled the room.
"Naomi Waters," came the near-whispered words, fearful, chilling even now, in this well-lit office with a policeman sitting across from her. "I'm sorry, girl … I tried to stop him. I just wanted to tell you that. I … I couldn't do nothin'."
The country music played in the background. Something she'd heard many times she still couldn't put a name to. It didn't matter. Beneath the music, the tape recorder whirred on. The man spoke again. "You don't know him. You oughta leave it alone, honest to God. He's bad news. You wanna watch your back...."
The music went on for a couple more seconds before the message clicked off.
"Well?" Naomi said. "You can hear the fear in his voice. He's terrified that someone—"
"You asked me to tell you what I think," he cut in. She fell silent. Nodded. "Okay," she said.
The sergeant replayed the tape, frowned as he listened, rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.
"I know he's one of the two men," she insisted when it was over. "I know it. Maybe you could run the message on TV and radio. Someone might recognize his voice."
He gave a short humph to her suggestion, and she wasn't sure if it was in agreement or dismissal. He slid his glasses back on his face and leaned back in his chair.
"First, with all due respect, you don't know anything, Naomi. You think you know. Your caller sounds like he's 'been into his cups', as me grandma used to say. But let's not jump the gun either way. I repeat, this could just be some nutcase who read your story and decided to have a little fun," he said, pretty much echoing Eric Grant's assessment. "There's no end of whackos out there, and I'm in a position to know that. As to the men who actually grabbed Mary Rose, I wouldn't be surprised if they're long dead."
Well, that would wrap it all up nicely, wouldn't it? she thought, anger building in her. She put a lid on it and spoke calmly.
"But you don't know that they are. No, I know I think they're alive, Sergeant Nelson. With everything
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