Page 11 of Guarded By a Monster

“You’re going to come in hot with judgment when she’s the victim?”

I wanted to cheer for Kendal, but it would hurt my head.

The man cleared his throat, and I risked raising one eyelid to get a look at him. He had starched his uniform to within an inch of its life, and his shiny badge made me groan and shut my eye.

“Apologies, Ms. Massey. I’m Officer Phillips of Damruck P.D. I’m here to take your statement, if you’re feeling up to it.”

I spun a finger in a circle. “Fine.”

“Can you walk me through what happened tonight?”

“I was unlocking my front door when I felt something behind me. When I turned around, a man said, “Bitch,” and hit me on the side of the head.” I took a deep breath. “After that, everything gets hazy.”

“What were you doing before unlocking your door?”

“Walking up to the door?”

I heard his eye roll. “Before that?”

“After work, I went to Big Muddy’s for a burger and fries.”

“The one on Mudflats Boulevard?”

“That’s the one.”

“And then what?”

“Then I drove home. Gathered my things, got out and walked to the door.”

He was quiet, so I peeked at him. He scratched furiously at a tiny notebook. Why did cops use such small notebooks? They weren’t stiff enough to provide a suitable writing surface and if anyone needed to write in odd places where a good, stiff-backed notebook would be handy, it was cops. Plus, it was so small you could probably only fit one or two words on a line. Unless your handwriting was very cramped.

“How is your handwriting?”

Both Officer Phillips and Kendal looked at me, then at each other.

“Do you want to grade my penmanship?” Officer Phillips studied the tiny notebook for a minute before turning it around for me to see.

The words swam on the page, but I could see that his handwriting was, indeed, cramped. At least it was neat. “B-plus. But actually, I wondered why you don’t carry larger, sturdier notebooks that would let you write more and provide a portable writing surface.”

He stared at the small pad of paper. “You have a point.” He shrugged. “These fit in our pockets, though.” He cleared his throat and hovered his pen over the paper. “Back to last night’s events. Did you see anyone following you? Notice anything unusual when you got to your house?”

“No. Everything seemed normal until the man appeared behind me and whacked me in the head.”

“Can you describe the man? Height, weight, skin color? What was he wearing?”

The man’s face flashed in my mind, and I winced. “Average height. Slender, but strong. Caucasian. Brown eyes. He had on a black sweatshirt and dark jeans.” I tapped my finger on the bed. “There was something else…” Images flashed through my mind like slides in a projector. They came to a screeching halt on one where my field of vision was mostly filled with concrete steps, but a swath of bright orange stood out. “Orange shoes. He was wearing bright orange shoes. The canvas ones.”

Phillips nodded. “You have an excellent memory. That’s very helpful. Can you think of any reason someone would want to hurt you?”

“Well, I did witness a murder two days ago. The detectives said I wasn’t in any danger from it, though.”

“That’s probably true, but it’s certainly an angle we’ll need to explore.”

There was that word again. Probably. It was probably a robbery gone bad. I was probably safe. The attack last night probably wasn’t connected. My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat.

“Are we done, Officer Phillips? I’d like to rest now.”

“Of course. If you think of anything else….” He slipped his card onto the tray table, nodded to both of us, and left.

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