On Tuesday, a detective from the police department called and asked me to come down and answer some additional questions about what I had seen when I discovered the victim. Since Anna was working on June’s house that day because of my morning appointment with a client, I had time to stop by in the afternoon. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but I would do it.

The last time I’d been to the station I had severely pissed Marner off by pretending to be writing a book about a fictional homicide. I had questioned another detective, DeAngelo, who had since died from diabetic complications. It felt strange and disheartening that I wouldn’t see him there. The officer who had called me was unknown to me. I did anticipate seeing Detective Debby Smith, the officer who had questioned me at the scene.

As I went through security the metal detector went off. Since I was wearing a shift dress and pumps with a very small handbag, I couldn’t imagine what had triggered it, unless it was my underwire bra. “Is it my bracelet?” I asked the guard.

He glanced at my wrist, where I wore a charm bracelet. “I doubt it. Let me see your shoes.”

“They’re just nude pumps.” I raised a leg.

He was a tall guard, at least six-four, well over two-hundred and fifty pounds, with the biggest, softest beard I had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow and stroked his beard. “I don’t know anything about naked shoes.” He gave me a grin. “Do they have a steel toe?”

“Not exactly.”

“Just go ahead and take them off and go through again.”

Gross. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was walk barefoot on the concrete floor of the police headquarters and courthouse. I hesitated briefly then sighed, letting my shoulders slump. I didn’t exactly have a choice.

“Bailey, hi.” A male voice came from behind me and I turned as I put my shoes on the conveyor belt to go through the scanner.

“Nick. Oh hi, how are you?” I had been a little cool the last few days when Nick Pitrello texted me post-coffee date. I just wasn’t feeling it, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I had met him over a body or if he just wasn’t doing it for me. He seemed nice enough, if oddly generic.

“Police stations make me nervous,” he said. He was wearing gray dress pants and a white shirt, with a plum-colored tie. “I just want to get this over with.”

“So they called you in for questioning too.”

“Yep. I can’t imagine what else I can tell them. I didn’t see anything.” He took his belt off and put it in a bin for scanning.

I walked through the metal detector at the guard’s behest and made it through without beeping. I had no idea why my pumps would have metal inserts, but at least I could say they were taking our safety seriously. Nick went through without a hitch and I waited for him. I figured Marner couldn’t give me crap if I was with Nick. Not that I thought he would. I had a feeling he was so frustrated he didn’t even want to deal with me and the feeling was mutual.

It was Detective Smith who met us at the front desk. “Did you know each other prior to the discovery?” she asked, sharply watching us chatting nervously in the waiting area.

“No. We just bumped into each other downstairs.” I was sure we had told her at the scene that we were total strangers, but she must be trying that police tactic where they keep asking the same questions, trying to get a different response.

“We did meet for coffee Saturday,” Nick said. “After the fact. We kind of felt a connection because of the whole ordeal.”

Now why in the hell did he feel the need to reveal that? But when I looked at Nick I could see he was nervous. He had sweat stains in the armpits of his dress shirt and dew on his forehead. His hand was trembling. Did he think the police suspected him? Was that why he was so freaked out? It seemed a little extreme, given that he hadn’t even seen the body, but I guess people are trained to be fearful of getting in trouble. Heck, maybe he fudged his taxes every year. After all, he was an accountant. Maybe the mere idea of being around law enforcement made him sweat.

“Really.” Detective Smith gave me a long look. “Seems an odd time for coffee.”

Whatever that meant.

She brought us back to the cubicles. “We need to talk to you both separately.”

That was fine by me. I was disappointed that she chose to keep me for her questioning, though. There was something about Detective Smith that made me feel like an idiot. She seemed bemused by me, like she couldn’t take me seriously. “So, coffee with Mr. Pitrello, huh?” she asked, as she gestured for me to sit down in front of her desk. She took a seat behind it and glanced at her cellphone before tossing it aside.

“He asked me to meet him.” I glanced over to see how far away Nick was. He was a good twenty feet across the room, but I still lowered my voice. “I wasn’t sure how to say no. He seemed traumatized by the whole thing.”

“And you weren’t traumatized?”

“I was in shock and exhausted that night. I was barely functioning.”

“So then why were you walking by the river by yourself?”

I should have seen that one coming. “I needed fresh air. I didn’t get it.”

“Why didn’t you just go for a walk in your own neighborhood?”

“I wanted to see the water.” I was not the greatest liar, but in this case, I had no other answer or excuse to give, so I hoped like hell she believed me.

Detective Smith didn’t call me out though. “Do you know a man named Phil Sanders?”

I shook my head. “No.” For some reason when I lie my eyes got really big. Like a tree frog. Giant round orbs in my pale face. It seemed like a really obvious tic, but there was nothing I could do about it. But lying eyes or not, all I could do was stick to my story, because telling somebody like Debby Smith that I saw ghosts was not going to go over well.

“We identified the victim as this man.” She pushed a photo over the desk to me.

It was Phil. Not the troubled spirit who had followed me and made slicing motions across his throat. But him as a young man, sans beard. It looked to be his high school graduation photo, because he was wearing a suit and smiling for the camera, his eyes bright. His whole future ahead of him. I felt sick seeing that image of a kid who was looking forward to the next phase of his life, as all high school seniors do. Did he go to college? The military? Join a trade? Had he been looking forward to the freedom of adulthood and a new crowd of friends to hang out with? Or had he been worried that he would be homesick?

I hadn’t gone away to college until my junior year, having stayed at home and attended community college first. It hadn’t been my choice, but my parents had informed me they weren’t paying for my schooling and I would have to take out student loans for the whole shebang. The thought of starting life eighty grand in debt had made me feel like crawling into a dark room and rocking myself, so I’d taken the practical route, which was what my parents had intended all along. It was a good life lesson in accountability and working hard that I was grateful for now that I didn’t have a ton of student debt like a noose around my neck. But my senior year in high school had been filled with tears and laments that I was “the only person in my whole school” not going away to college.

It was hard to look at Phil’s picture and presume to know anything about what he had been feeling when his image was captured, but he did look happy. That didn’t look forced, and I felt sad for him and for his family.

“He’s very young,” I said, swallowing hard. The room felt hot. I fanned myself with my hand.

“This is an old photo. He’s twenty-five.”

Still younger than me. I had thought he was a little older than that from his ghost. “That’s really sad. What happened to him? Was he really murdered?” It was a stupid question, but I was still hopeful that somehow it was all an accident.

“Yes, he was. So you’ve definitely never seen him?”

“No.” This answer felt more truthful because I hadn’t known or seen Phil when he was alive. “Does he live in the Flats?”

She ignored my question. “Thanks for your help. If you think of anything else, or if you remember ever encountering the victim anywhere, please give me a call.”

I nodded. “Sure. Of course.” I hesitated then added, “I hope you find the guy. No one should get away with doing this to someone else.” I touched the tie on Phil’s suit in the picture. A hot flash rolled over me and my stomach tightened. “Good Lord, it’s hot in here.”

“There a water cooler in the corner if you need to grab a drink. I’ll walk you out.”

“Thanks.” I stood up, a little shaky on my nude pumps. I glanced over and saw Nick was talking to another detective. After filling a little cup with water and chugging it, I left the station and shoved my way out onto the sidewalk, hoping for some air. It was yet another muggy day and there wasn’t much relief from the heat, but I was just glad to be out of there.

Phil Sanders appeared next to me.

“Oh crap!” I said, startled by his appearance. The last time I’d seen him he had been vaguely threatening. I walked to the right and sat down on the low concrete wall in front of the building. I needed to breathe. I didn’t want to talk to Phil here, but I didn’t want him following me home either. “Don’t sneak up on me, please.”

He sat down beside me and lit a cigarette. Oddly enough, I could smell the smoke, but when I reached for the actual stick, to test its veracity, my fingers went straight through it. “And don’t tell me anything about yourself. I have a terrible poker face.”

“If I don’t tell you anything then how can you help me? And if you can’t help me, why are you the only person who can see me?”

“It’s because I found your…remains.” I tried to be tactful. “That must be why I can see you. We have a connection.”

“I think it’s more than that.” Phil took a drag off his cigarette. He crossed his ankles and swung his legs. “I don’t remember what happened that night, you know. It was three months ago. I was in an alley down behind East 4^th looking for food from the dumpsters and someone came up behind me and knocked my head into the container.”

“That sounds awful. I’m sorry that someone did this to you. Truly, Phil, I am. Now I don’t know what you meant by making a throat slicing gesture to me earlier, but I’m not going to help you if you keep doing stuff like that. A girl like me does better with requests than threats.”

“I’m sorry. I just got frustrated. I was trying to jar you into doing something.”

“I get it. I would be frustrated too if I were in your shoes.”

“It sucks.”

So that I didn’t look like a nutter I put my phone up to my ear so we could keep talking. “This is just for cover,” I told him. “But let’s not talk about your death. Let’s talk about your life. I saw your senior picture in there. You looked really happy.” I knew it would make me sad, but I’d rather hear about his life than his mysterious and horrific death.

“My life?” He seemed surprised. “I mean, it was normal. Until it wasn’t. I grew up in Bay Village. My mom is a grade school teacher. My dad works in finance. I played soccer, but I did have a hard time making friends. My mom worried a lot about that, but for the most part I didn’t mind. I was big time into entomology. Bugs.” He gave me a smile. “Until I discovered girls. Then it was bugs and girls.”

Not my cup of tea, but I didn’t think it was that unusual for a kid to be into creepy-crawlies. “Hopefully not at the same time.”

“Not normally, but then I met this girl in college and she was as hot for tarantulas as me. We had a thing, you know, all intense and deep. But then she left me two years ago and things just went downhill.”

“Breakups are hard.”

“I wasn’t doing drugs or drinking or anything. I just…couldn’t get up. I stayed in bed for days and days. That went on for months.” He finished his cigarette and dropped it on the ground. “It was bad. I lost my job. My apartment. My parents let me back into the house briefly, then got tough love on me. By the time I felt human again I was sleeping under a bridge and dumpster diving.”

“Which made you a perfect target for a killer in theory.” I spoke into my phone but looked at him. “I imagine your parents have been frantically searching for you.”

“They have. I’ve been watching them. They can’t see me though. It sucks.”

It was really awful to have a conscience. My compassion was overflowing for both Phil and Hannah. No human being should have their life snuffed out so casually. Dang it. I was going to have to start poking around without looking like I was poking around, which was a huge feat for a novice like me. “They’ve identified you,” I told him. “So that’s good. They can trace your final steps. There is probably surveillance footage.”

“Not in that alley. That’s why I hung out there.”

“Well, hopefully a clue will turn up.”

“I looked at their case files behind that one detective’s back. You know, while she was making notes and going through photos and the coroner’s report. This isn’t the first dismembered body they’ve had. They found a foot forty days ago from someone else. A woman.”

A shiver ran up my spine despite the blazing sun. “Coincidence?” I asked hopefully.

“They don’t think so. They think they have a killer who is copycatting the Torso Murders.”

Now that was a sobering thought. “No,” I protested. “Really?”

“It’s too early to conclude anything but they’re investigating that angle. The lady detective was online doing research about the case.”

It seemed like maybe I needed to do the same. “Phil, I need to go. I think I know someone who might be able to help.”

Mark the hoarder, and his massive collection of Cleveland murder facts. I “hung up” my phone and put it in my purse.

Nick Pitrello came out just then and waved. “Hey, I thought you left. That was crazy, huh?” he asked.

“It wasn’t too bad. They didn’t really ask me anything much.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “I feel like they were grilling me. They asked about my hobbies, like if I go hunting or own a jigsaw.” He frowned. “It must be because I’m a man. I wonder if they’re assuming a woman wouldn’t deconstruct a body like that.”

“I have no idea.” I didn’t feel like talking to Nick.

Obviously Phil had a similar opinion. “Don’t go out with him again,” he said, his voice edgy. “I don’t trust this guy.”

As I stood up and started to walk away, I stared down at the cigarette butt that Phil had dropped on the pavement. Nick sidestepped it without comment, like he could see it and didn’t want to step on trash.

Interesting. Was the cigarette real or did Nick see ghost detritus?

Nick Pitrello could be the killer. That would definitely explain his nervousness at being questioned. He looked so mild and vanilla. But people had said the same about Ted Bundy.

“Do you own a jigsaw?” I asked, aiming for flippant so he couldn’t see that I was suddenly nervous myself.

After a startled pause, he laughed. “Nope. I live in a condo and I’m not handy. I pay people to do any work around my place that needs to be done.”

Fair enough.

Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that Phil had. I didn’t trust Nick either.

Since I would be back at Mark’s and his mother’s house the next day, I decided to wait to talk to him then and take the night off. But Ryan was waiting for me when I got home, feet on my coffee table. I just gave him a wave and went into my kitchen. I pulled some chicken strips out of the fridge and started assembling a lettuce wrap with it.

“Can we talk about your bizarre eating habits?” he called to me from the living room. “You’re either inhaling a pint of ice cream or you’re eating food meant for rabbits. I don’t get it.”

“Rabbits don’t eat chicken.” I sprinkled a little bit of ginger dressing over the meat. “Now can we talk about why Phil Sanders is following me? Or why Hannah showed herself to me? I’m concerned this is going to keep happening.”

“Oh, it is,” he said without hesitation. “You’re the rainbow connection, Bai.”

“The rainbow connection?” I walked into the living room with my plate and a glass of water. “One, I don’t want it. Two, there is no way that’s what it’s really called.”

“That is true. I call it that. I think the technical term is ‘Spiritual Medium’ but that sounds like something my grandmother would say. I think it’s more fun to have a rainbow connection, ya know? Unless you’re me, obviously. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t want that either.” I sat down on the couch. “I don’t want to be seeing dead people all the time.”

“Tough luck, babe. You’re in it to win it.”

The casual attitude annoyed me. “I’m not in anything. This isn’t what I want. Can you get me a meeting with someone in charge?” I realized that sounded completely ludicrous, but everything had been unbelievable since Ryan had shown up in my kitchen.

“Dude, if I had that kind of pull, trust me, I’d be scheduling a meeting to get my ass to the next level, but I’m just a new hire. Nobody is interested in answering my questions.”

I knew the feeling. “Did you know that another body part was found in the river a few months ago? A foot?”

“How would I know that?” He sounded cranky as he eyed me, hands propped behind his head. “I’ve been dead for ten months.”

“Do you think it’s a serial killer?”

“Honestly, I could care less. I am worried about you though. I think you need to watch your back. It’s not cool that the victim is following you around. It’s also weird that I was in the same car and I couldn’t see him.”

At that moment I heard a noise I couldn’t quite place coming from the back of my house. “What was that?” I asked. “In the kitchen. Did you hear that?”

Ryan looked at me blankly. “I didn’t hear anything. What did it sound like?”

“Like someone was on my back deck.” It wasn’t a deck so much as a covered landing for the back door, but it was wood. It creaked when it was stepped on and I had heard it distinctly. A large man would make that sound, or a package being dropped. My heart was racing. “What do I do?”

“Look out the window. Is the back door locked?”

“Of course.” I was raised by a paranoid mother who was raised by her paranoid mother. We believed in break-ins and rapists and the concept of not taking a chance when there were crazies in the world. My mother had channeled that energy into fighting crime. I had just become OCD about checking my locks.

Standing up, I set my plate down on the coffee table and tiptoed through my kitchen barefoot.

“Why are you tiptoeing?” Ryan asked. “If someone is trying to break in you want them to hear you in here. They’ll get scared and take off.”

“Sure, if they’re just a burglar,” I whispered. “What if they’re here to kill me?”

“Who would want to kill you?”

“I don’t know! The guy responsible for killing Phil? I did find his body, or part of it, anyway.”

“How would the killer know that? And why would he care that you found the body? He clearly dumped it in a visible spot. He knew it would be found.”

“You’re making me feel paranoid.”

“You are.” Ryan gestured to my back door. “If I could swing this mother open right now I would. But I’m going to suggest you just look out the window.”

I did. I didn’t see anything on my back step or in my tiny yard. The neighbor’s yard was quiet as well. So I did the ultimate Too Stupid to Live move. I took a deep breath and flung the door wide open. Without having my cellphone on me. Or wearing shoes for ease of running or rendering a swift kick. Or carrying a weapon to defend myself, like a knife from the kitchen block or a vase. Nope. I just opened the door and let myself be as vulnerable as a kitten with cancer.

Only there wasn’t a person on my stoop. There was a dead…something. I didn’t see it for a second, scanning at eye level. But then I glanced down and saw a mangled mass of blood and muscle and I screamed, slamming the door shut again and locking it. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.” My stomach did a somersault and I covered my mouth with my hand.

“What is it? I couldn’t see anything,” Ryan said.

“It’s a body part. It’s a freaking body part!” I gagged, visions of the ham-like thigh back in my head. Now a part had been delivered right to my damn door. “I told you it’s the killer! Oh my God, I’m going to die,” I wailed.

Ryan disappeared through the door. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress and waited for him to return. I couldn’t remember where I’d left my phone. I needed to call 9-1-1.

“It’s not a body part,” he said when he returned a second later. “It’s a dead squirrel. A neighborhood cat must have brought you a gift.”

Confusion cut through my panic. “A squirrel? Are you sure?”

“Yep. One hundred percent.”

I didn’t notice any fur. I was suspicious, but I did trust Ryan. So I opened the door again, more cautiously this time. The bloody lump wasn’t exactly distinguishable, but it did have a telltale tail. It arched out from the mass, mostly untouched. “Gross.” I slammed the door shut. I would deal with that later. With any luck, either the same cat or a different one would come by and snag the little guy so I didn’t have to deal with him. A shiver ran up my spine.

“You’re just going to leave it there?”

“Yes.” I glanced around the kitchen. “Where did I leave my phone?”

“Why, are you calling animal control? They don’t do squirrels, sorry.”

“I’m not calling animal control. I just feel better when I have access to help.” My heart rate was still faster than could possibly be healthy. I took a few deep breaths. “That scared the crap out of me.”

“Babe, you need to chill.”

“I need to not have dead people in my life.”

Ryan stuck his forefinger out at me and burped. “Sucks to be you.”

“Charming.” I went and got my plate and dumped my dinner in the garbage. I was no longer hungry.