everything would be all right, she was in control. “Yes, hello. My name is Joanne Hunter,” Eve said confidently, making a face in Joanne’s direction. “I’d like to speak to somebody about some threatening phone calls I’ve been getting. Thank you.” She pushed the hair out of her face and waited. “Hello. Yes, this is Joanne Hunter. I live at 163 Laurel Drive. I’d like to report some threatening phone calls I’ve been getting. Who am I speaking to, please?” Joanne leaned back in her chair in admiration. She would never have thought to ask for the man’s name. “Sergeant Ein,” Eve repeated, then copied it down on a piece of scrap paper. “Yes, I’ve been getting these calls lately. They started …?” She looked at Joanne for the necessary answer.
Joanne shrugged. “He spoke to me for the first time last Sunday, but I’ve been getting weird calls for a few weeks now, maybe more,” she whispered quickly.
“Yes, I’m still here. I’ve been getting them for a few weeks now,” she said, paraphrasing Joanne’s reply. “Someguy …” Joanne lifted her palms into the air to indicate doubt. “At least I
think
it’s a guy,” Eve corrected, “has been calling at all hours, early in the morning, the middle of the night, that sort of thing, and then on Sunday, he threatened me. Yes, threatened. What exactly did he say?” she repeated.
“He says I’m next,” Joanne whispered.
“Well, when he called last Sunday,” Eve embellished, “he told me to look at page thirteen of the New York
Times.”
Joanne nodded approval. “And I did and there was that article about the woman who was murdered in Saddle Rock Estates, which is just near here. And then he called back later and told me that I’m next.” There was a pause. “Yes, that’s all he said. No, he didn’t come right out and say he was going to kill me … but today I found a piece of newspaper on my car window, and it was the same page thirteen of last Sunday’s
Times.
The same page, so this guy is obviously following me and I’m afraid that if he’s the one who killed that other woman … yes, I know that. Yes, I’m sure there are. Yes, I realize that but … well, I hate to do that. Isn’t there anything else you can do?” There was a long pause. “Yes, I understand. Thank you very much.” She hung up the phone in obvious disgust. “New York’s finest,” she said sarcastically.
“What did he say?”
“What I knew he’d say.”
“Which was?”
“That ‘you’re next’ isn’t exactly the worst threat he’s ever heard, and have I any idea how many phone calls the police have received in the last few weeks from women who are convinced that they’re the Suburban Strangler’s—that’s what they’re calling him—next victim?He said some women have even pointed a finger at their husbands and boyfriends, and that if they had to investigate every crank call people received, they wouldn’t have time for anything else. So, he advises me—or rather, he advises you—to change your phone number because there’s really nothing else he
can
advise you to do, and there’s nothing else that he can physically do unless the guy actually makes a move.”
“At which point I could well be dead.”
“Come on, cheer up. Brian wouldn’t let anything happen to you. That’s one of the benefits of living next door to a cop. I’ll tell Brian about the calls tonight. That’s if he gets home before I’m asleep, which is unlikely given the way his week has been running.”
“What did the policeman say when you told him about the newspaper on the windshield?”
Eve shrugged. “Not much. Said it could be a prank … or a coincidence. Listen, it’s a sad state of affairs, I’ll grant you, but looking at the situation objectively, what can the police do?”
“Couldn’t they put a tracer on my phone?”
“Only if this were the movies. Basically, it’s like the man said—they have to wait for this kook to make a move
Joanne shrugged. “He spoke to me for the first time last Sunday, but I’ve been getting weird calls for a few weeks now, maybe more,” she whispered quickly.
“Yes, I’m still here. I’ve been getting them for a few weeks now,” she said, paraphrasing Joanne’s reply. “Someguy …” Joanne lifted her palms into the air to indicate doubt. “At least I
think
it’s a guy,” Eve corrected, “has been calling at all hours, early in the morning, the middle of the night, that sort of thing, and then on Sunday, he threatened me. Yes, threatened. What exactly did he say?” she repeated.
“He says I’m next,” Joanne whispered.
“Well, when he called last Sunday,” Eve embellished, “he told me to look at page thirteen of the New York
Times.”
Joanne nodded approval. “And I did and there was that article about the woman who was murdered in Saddle Rock Estates, which is just near here. And then he called back later and told me that I’m next.” There was a pause. “Yes, that’s all he said. No, he didn’t come right out and say he was going to kill me … but today I found a piece of newspaper on my car window, and it was the same page thirteen of last Sunday’s
Times.
The same page, so this guy is obviously following me and I’m afraid that if he’s the one who killed that other woman … yes, I know that. Yes, I’m sure there are. Yes, I realize that but … well, I hate to do that. Isn’t there anything else you can do?” There was a long pause. “Yes, I understand. Thank you very much.” She hung up the phone in obvious disgust. “New York’s finest,” she said sarcastically.
“What did he say?”
“What I knew he’d say.”
“Which was?”
“That ‘you’re next’ isn’t exactly the worst threat he’s ever heard, and have I any idea how many phone calls the police have received in the last few weeks from women who are convinced that they’re the Suburban Strangler’s—that’s what they’re calling him—next victim?He said some women have even pointed a finger at their husbands and boyfriends, and that if they had to investigate every crank call people received, they wouldn’t have time for anything else. So, he advises me—or rather, he advises you—to change your phone number because there’s really nothing else he
can
advise you to do, and there’s nothing else that he can physically do unless the guy actually makes a move.”
“At which point I could well be dead.”
“Come on, cheer up. Brian wouldn’t let anything happen to you. That’s one of the benefits of living next door to a cop. I’ll tell Brian about the calls tonight. That’s if he gets home before I’m asleep, which is unlikely given the way his week has been running.”
“What did the policeman say when you told him about the newspaper on the windshield?”
Eve shrugged. “Not much. Said it could be a prank … or a coincidence. Listen, it’s a sad state of affairs, I’ll grant you, but looking at the situation objectively, what can the police do?”
“Couldn’t they put a tracer on my phone?”
“Only if this were the movies. Basically, it’s like the man said—they have to wait for this kook to make a move
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