“Can I help you?” she quickly asked.

I pulled out the wallet I carried with my badge inside and flipped it open. I held it up to show her.

“I was hoping to speak to whoever was in charge of the Coastal Killer case three years ago.”

11. Lenny

11

LENNY

I shifted uncomfortably, standing slightly behind Agent Beck. The woman at the front desk encouraged us to take a seat while she went to find if one of the deputies in charge was in.

We found two seats off to the side and sat down. Beck seemed quieter, more anxious than usual. Maybe I was projecting my own anxiety onto him.

The woman disappeared behind a locked metal door, the only one in and out of the rest of the building. While we waited, a few more people trailed in. I heard a couple murmuring about a car break in. I tried to focus on them instead of obsessively worrying about the chance someone could recognize me.

I tapped my foot, unable to stop myself.

“Agent Beck,” the woman called out, reappearing from the door. “Come with me.”

He stood and made his way towards the door while I remain seated. Beck froze and turned back to me.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

It hadn’t crossed my mind I’d even be able to join. I quickly stood and trailed behind him, unwilling to wait alone in the lobby.

The backside of the station was far different. There were a few desks and cubicles spread across a middle space. Larger offices lined the space, and I read the plaques outside each door as we passed, realizing they were for deputies who worked their way up the chain.

The woman led us to a room with a single door and window. By the time I made it inside, I realized the window was one way glass, so we couldn’t see back out of the room. She motioned for us to sit at the two chairs pulled up to the table.

Why did I suddenly feel like I was the one being interrogated? We came to find more information on the case, but I couldn’t help that anxiety snaking its way through me, the voice telling me over and over that they know what I did. It was unforgivable; I barely could forgive myself for it.

I’d been weak, and I let someone else control me.

“You alright?” Beck asked softly, his eyes studying me.

I hated that he did that, knew everything about me with a single glance. At the same time, it made my cheeks warm.

“I’m fine,” I said weakly.

Someone quickly knocked on the door and entered. An older gentleman with a round belly stepped inside. His face looked aged by the job.

“I’m Sheriff Graham,” he said. “How can I help you?” His beady eyes glanced over us both and settled on Beck.