Midnight Caller by Diane Burke Page B

calls.”
    Erin blinked hard. “It wasn’t me. I filed my report a week ago.”
    “I know,” he assured her. “But I found out today that one of our murder victims also got harassing calls.”
    Erin’s eyes widened. “You think…?”
    “It’s too soon for me to think anything, right now. But it’d be foolish to ignore the coincidence. I wanted to see if you’re still being harassed.”
    “No.”
    He sensed she wasn’t being a hundred percent truthful.
    She sipped her coffee, holding the cup with both hands, but it didn’t hide her trembling.
    “Erin?” His fingers cupped her chin. “You can trust me. You can come to me if you have a problem, any problem.”
    Erin shivered and a small groan escaped her lips.
    He sat quietly. He could wait. He was an expert in interrogation. He’d sit here and wait all night if that’s what it took.
    “The calls kept coming.” Her voice softened to a little more than a whisper. “Even after I let the answering machine screen the numbers I didn’t recognize. So I changed to a private number and they stopped.”
    “Okay.” Tony’s eyes never left her face. “So why do I feel there’s more you’re not telling me?”
    Obviously, this was difficult for her. He knew Erin was a very private person, kept tight rein on her feelings, maintained an outward appearance of always being in complete control. But now she squirmed beneath his scrutiny. Her mouth twisted into a grim line. Tony continued to sit quietly, not rushing her, letting her tell things in her own time.
    “Two nights ago, I found a dead rose under my windshield wiper when I left work. There was a note attached.”
    “Did you keep the note?”
    “No.” She stood and moved about the kitchen, idly straightening canisters, fidgeting with salt and pepper shakers, wiping counters. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess. I just wanted to forget about it.” She threw him a warning glance over her shoulder. “I still do.”
    “Did you report it?”
    “Yes, I drove straight to the Ormond Beach police station before I went home.”
    “Why didn’t you call the sheriff’s department?”
    “Because I already filed a report about the phone calls with the Ormond police. I figured they were the ones I should tell about the dead rose and note, too. But it was just a waste of time. They typed a report and added it to my file. That’s about it.”
    “Why didn’t you call me?”
    She blushed, ducked her head and shrugged.
    Tony crossed the room and gently turned her to face him. “Tell me about the note.”
    “What’s to tell? Someone likes getting their kicks trying to scare people. I probably should have looked around. I’m sure there were similar notes on dozens of cars, like the flyers tucked beneath your windshield wipers at the mall.” She looked at him, her eyes wary, frightened, begging him to assure her it was nothing.
    “Humor me. What did it say?”
    In an empty tone of voice, almost resigned, she said, “Death knows this rose to be as black as your heart is to thee.”
    “Death? That’s what he calls himself?”
    She nodded.
    Tony noted her uneasiness, the trembling of her hands, the quiver of her lips.
    He pulled her into his embrace, keeping his voice tender, his touch comforting. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” He surprised both of them by brushing his lips across the top of her head. Immediately he loosened his hold and stepped back.
    “I want you to make a formal complaint with the sheriff’s office, too.”
    Erin shook her head. “I’ve already filed a report. Why do I need to file another one?”
    “Sometimes communication fails between the local police departments and the sheriff’s department. Prank calls and dead roses could easily be in a category not considered important enough to pass along,” he said. “But I want you to report the rose and the telephone calls to the sheriff’s department. This could be more serious than you think.” He knew the