Above all else, I knew that it would not be productive to jump to conclusions. But my mind instantly began racing, analyzing every possible explanation.
If Bailey had fled across the country to escape an evil ex-boyfriend, she might have taken a few things around the house with her. So her ex might also have these envelopes, and could be working with the alleged arsonists. Perhaps he wanted to stop the owners from continuing with these arsons, for fear that Bailey would be hurt.
There could be a chance that Bailey’s ex was involved with these criminals, and dropped by her apartment to check on her. Perhaps she stole the evidence and gave it to the police.
Of course, the envelopes could be a complete coincidence, because I was obviously not a paper expert of any kind.
Yet there was something else tickling around the edges of my brain. Like a sneeze that was just starting to gather energy.
Bailey had a lot more security than the average shop owner in a relatively safe neighborhood. She might know exactly how far our cameras reached, and could have been the one to throw the envelope. She had been hiding in an alley with a weak explanation that didn’t quite sit right with me.
“Hey, Clarkson,” I asked when he next walked by. “That anonymous evidence that just showed up. What’s the address of the office of these alleged criminals?”
He looked at me strangely. “Trying to work my case, Hill?”
I chuckled, trying to appear casual. “No, I just figured since I’m often cruising around the neighborhood I might as well keep an extra eye out.”
He nodded. “Can’t hurt. It’s at 810 Berkeley, near the corner of Dundas.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I really want to get this bastard caught before he kills somebody.”
Detective Clarkson nodded. “That’s for sure.”
With trembling hands, I called up a map to double check. The alley where I had run into Bailey was half a block south of that building.
My stomach churned. There was no way that she could be involved in something like this. I just couldn’t even allow that thought to formulate. She was such a wonderful, good person.
In fact, she was so considerate of everyone around her… The idea that she might break into a building to steal evidence to help out? It was still just too outrageous.
Sure, she knew about security systems, apparently. Perhaps locks as well. I recall being slightly surprised at one of the unusual deadbolts on the door of her apartment, from an obscure German company. Some people used systems from other countries, so any local burglars would be unfamiliar with them.
Bailey was a baker. She was a culinary wizard, a magician of flavors and textures and all sorts of food. The odds of my would-be girlfriend being a cat burglar of any kind would be ridiculous.
Sipping my coffee, I stared into space. The night I had met her in the rain, she tripped, but instead of stumbling forward on her hands, she tucked into a forward roll so that she could spring up onto her feet immediately. Perhaps she used to be a gymnast.
Her fear of needles could simply be natural. But it could also go one or two other ways. Either she had many needles as a child and became phobic, or she had absolutely zero needles as a child and became phobic.
I didn’t know a single thing about her childhood. Replaying every conversation we’d ever had over in my mind, I tried to remember. I recalled myself mentioning a favorite TV show from when I was little, some favorite childhood foods, a normal amount of little things. But Bailey hadn’t mentioned anything about her childhood or her parents. The only time she mentioned anything was that her grandmother taught her to bake. If we talked about movies, she only mentioned things from the past five years. The same with books. Television shows. Pretty much everything.
My stomach lurched again as I realized how little I knew the woman I absolutely adored.
Finishing up the rest of my work for the day, I thought maybe I should simply drop in on Bailey and have a casual chat. I didn’t want to interrogate her, because I knew my paranoid mind was being completely insane.
I just needed to hold her, and ask her one tiny question about her childhood. Anything. Just to make me feel that she didn’t appear out of thin air.
As I trudged over to Bailey’s apartment feeling like a complete asshole, I wondered if having to see bad people up close so often was making me jaded. Bailey was seeing people at their best every day. I was seeing people at their very worst. Did this make us too incompatible? What kind of life did I have if I was actually suspicious have a gorgeous lovely girl like her?
Shaking my head, I started to cross the street, knowing that I was being completely insane. Perhaps I should just tell her the truth, so that she could have a good laugh with me. Strange envelopes were not a good reason to poke holes in what was becoming, I hoped, a wonderful relationship.
I looked up to see Bailey as she disappeared through her apartment door, followed closely by a tall man. His chin was tucked into a scarf, and there was a hat low over his eyes. But as he turned his head to dart through her doorway, I saw a distinct half-moon scar on his cheekbone in line with his ear.
Her body language stated that Bailey was relatively relaxed, as was he. She had said that I was the only person she’d had in her apartment. So either she was lying, or this was his first visit. We had never discussed exclusivity, but I didn’t get the impression that they were together in that way. For one thing, there was no way he would be walking behind her without checking out Bailey’s perfect curvy ass. And he hadn’t been, at all.
My gut reaction was to race over there to make sure that she was okay. Or at least call her. Text her. But I knew that would come across as overbearing and overprotective. Since I still didn’t know what kind of situation her ex-boyfriend had put her through, I could not go charging in like a jealous freak.
Darting back into the station before she could see me out the window, I went back to my desk. I didn’t have access to all of the search databases, so I called in a favor from Kevin, one of our best investigators. I sketched out the scar, and described the man as best I could.
Then I forced myself to go home, eat dinner, and go to sleep quickly before my mind could run around on the hamster wheel of stress any further.