Page 36 of He Sees You
Peaked in high school as varsity quarterback, still wears his class ring.
The kind of man who thinks his badge makes up for every inadequacy.
He's put on weight since high school, muscle turned soft, but he still carries himself like he expects people to step aside.
His uniform is too tight, buttons straining slightly.
He wears too much cologne—something aggressive and cheap that's meant to cover the smell of cigarettes and desperation.
"Lockwood." Sterling's voice carries exhaustion poorly disguised as authority. "We need to ask you a few questions."
"Of course. Would you like to come in? I have coffee."
They exchange glances.
Good cops never go inside unless invited.
Better cops never go inside even then.
"Here's fine," Sterling says.
I lean against my truck, the picture of cooperation. "How can I help?"
"Where were you last night between midnight and four AM?"
"Here. Sleeping, mostly. Though I did get up around two—the Schubert was bothering me."
Jake looks confused. Sterling doesn't. "Schubert?"
"The Winterreise. I've been working through it on violin. The sixteenth movement wasn't sitting right. 'Letzte Hoffnung'—Last Hope. Seemed appropriate given the current climate."
"Anyone who can verify that?"
I smile slightly. "The mountains don't take witness statements, Sheriff. Though your daughter might have heard it. The sound carries."
Sterling's jaw tightens at the mention of Celeste.
Beside him, Jake perks up with interest that has nothing to do with the investigation.
"You met her today," Sterling says.
It's not a question.
"We ran into each other at Stella's. My sister is her editor—it would have been rude not to introduce myself."
"Your sister," Jake interjects, trying to sound casual, "she visit often?"
"Rarely. She prefers the city."
"But Celeste came back." Jake's tone shifts, becomes too familiar. "Can't blame her. City's no place for a woman like that. She needs to be somewhere safe. Protected."
The way he says "protected" makes my fingers itch for my knife.
I can see it all over him—the high school fantasies he never outgrew, the way he probably cornered her at parties, mistaking proximity for possibility.
Men like Jake think wanting something enough makes it theirs.
"You knew her in school," I say. Not a question.
