“Unfortunately, he died of a heart attack the next day.”
Steve’s head snapped up. “Was he old?”
“Maybe fifty. And in pretty good shape.”
“That’s a damn unfortunate coincidence.” And probably a devastating blow for Rosalyn, to have found someone who wanted to help, then died.
“I thought so too until I got an anonymous email the next day about a drug that caused heart attacks.”
“What?”
“The Watcher killed Detective Johnson. He’s killed everyone I’ve told about him. I’m afraid you’ll be next.”
Chapter Seven (#ubeb5ecb4-10a4-5a9a-b1b9-6c74460d357d)
Steve didn’t believe her.
He wasn’t overt in his disbelief, didn’t mock her or anything like that. But she could tell he didn’t think the Watcher was actually a credible threat. He thought Detective Johnson, a fifty-year-old policeman, had died of a heart attack.
It certainly happened all the time. Police work was stressful.
Her sister was also dead, but she’d been a drug addict. That happened all the time too.
She didn’t tell him about Shawn, the mechanic, who’d also died after she’d told him about the Watcher. Because she could already tell Steve thought she was exaggerating.
She’d recognized the placating look. The attempt to figure out how to convince her of reason without offending her. He didn’t want to add to her stress, but he also didn’t think there was anything sinister to her story.
Вы ознакомились с фрагментом книги.
Приобретайте полный текст книги у нашего партнера: