Canton shrugged. “I believe the only word that fits is different. So how long do we have you in our alternate reality?”

Caitlin went for another dumpling, tried to get a few chews in before she spoke.

“For the duration.” She pointed to her laptop. “I’ve started a project.”

“Fantastic.” He stood. “I have a class in fifteen minutes, so I must let you return to your tunnel. Of course, this means you’re expected at my office hours on Wednesday. Think you can find it?”

“I can find anything.” She reached for her wallet. “If I were to give you forty bucks—”

He waved the cash away. “I’ll make the arrangements, but save your money. Your company will be payment enough.” He left with a smile and a hat tip.

Caitlin felt herself relax. She’d have more of Canton’s weed in two days. She looked back to her laptop, made a note, then reached for her phone. Detective Greenwood had said he’d help with anything. Time to test the man.

Chapter 12

CHAPTER

12

THE WATCH COMMANDER asked Caitlin to wait in the otherwise empty lobby of the Bloomington Police Department. A sturdy woman, near retirement age, in a well-fitted suit appeared seconds later.

“Miss Bergman, would you come with me?”

Caitlin recognized her from the department’s website. “Sure thing, Chief Renton.”

“Call me Abigail. Detective Greenwood’s busy at the moment, so I wanted to take the opportunity to introduce myself.”

They passed into the chief’s office. Caitlin took one of the chairs in front of the large desk. Rather than taking the desk chair, the chief sat next to her.

“Is this okay? I find the distance created by that desk to be far too impersonal.”

“Your office.” Caitlin angled her chair to face the woman’s not-quite-welcoming smile. Could a smile be nervous?

“I hope you find the modern BPD to be much better than your last interaction with the department. Twenty years ago, this was a small-town shop. Today I’ve got twelve detectives and one hundred officers, all trained by the state, with additional certifications by the FBI and specialties in search and rescue, SWAT—even anti-terrorism. Almost thirty percent of my staff is female.”

“Impressive, Abigail. Sounds like the right woman’s in charge.”

Renton relaxed a notch. “Better days all around. How can we help you today?”

“Not sure if Greenwood told you, but I asked if I might get a copy of the files.”

“Yes, of course. I have them here.” She went to her desk, handed Caitlin a sealed document folder.

Caitlin glanced at the description, saw her own name. “Nice, even customized for me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Caitlin looked again, saw the date: 1997. She held her own sexual assault file. Caitlin felt the weight of the private history in her hands. Light. About what she expected.

“This will be very helpful, but I was asking for the Chapman files.”