“Well, Ms. Price, from my understandin’, there’s been no further contact.”
“Well, Officer Niles, your understanding is wrong. Texting me, following me, sending mail to my mother—all of that’s contact. Just because I haven’t responded doesn’t mean it is not. I have already explained in detail.” She waved her hand at his computer. “I also submitted the greeting card that he sent my mother as proof of him potentially disturbing her peace with a veiled threat, while simultaneously letting me know that he is aware of what I do, and when I do it. Hence, the Italian restaurant menu I frequent often with my colleagues being enclosed.”
“I took the liberty to look up Mr. Whitefield’s criminal history.”
“Then you already know that this man’s felonious history is extensive. Theft. Burglaries. Stalking. Domestic Violence. To name a few. Y’all got papers on him that not only extend to his dealings with me, but several other women seeking assistance, one of which was underage at the time of the offenses. He beat her so badly, I found out after I left that she was in a coma.”
Officer Niles cocked his head to the side and offered a faint smile.
“Ms. Price, that’s awful, it really is, but to get back to your situation, sending an unsigned card that has no evidence of a threat in it, along with a restaurant menu, does not constitute stalking.”
“It’s unwanted contact.”
“You have no way of proving it’s him though from this alone. I want to help you, I do, but—”
“What about all the text messages I emailed you? I even had my cellphone provider turn over official records, so you could be sure it wasn’t me fabricating the information with one of those text message apps.”
“Yes, you did. You took the extra steps, but the problem is, those aren’t real phone numbers the texts are originating from, Ms. Price. I checked before callin’ you in here. They’re throw-away numbers. You know, like from a burner phone.”
“And you don’t find that suspicious? By the way, Verizon told me it’s not a burner phone, but they could not provide the phone number they originated from. Those numbers are being generated from an app he’s using. One phone. Several numbers. What upstanding citizen disguises his phone number, sends messages that read, “Call me back, bitch, or you’ll wish you were dead,’ from an untraceable number, and means no harm?” She shrugged, feeling somewhat in disbelief by how nonchalantly he was treating this, but at the same time, somewhat expecting it. “Is that somethin’ the paperboy, Nancy that runs the soup kitchen, or Jesus would do, Officer Niles? Does this remind you of choir boy behavior?”
“I understand what you’re saying, Ms. Price, but the problem is, we have no way to prove that this is in fact Mr. Whitefield harassing and stalking you again.”
“What will it take for y’all to do something? Do I have to be dead? Let me know so I can give you the obituary details right now in advance, or is that your newspaper department?”
“Oh, come on now, Ms. Price. That’s not fair. I can’t break the law based on a hunch. Now look, I’ve got a daughter of my own. I don’t take what you’re saying lightly at all. Not in the least bit. I would never want something like this to happen to her, or any other woman, and I sympathize with you. If it were up to me, I’d pay this guy a visit, but with no evidence I could be settin’ myself and the entire department up for a lawsuit of epic proportions.”
“Lawsuit? Let me tell you something. Master Whitefield should’ve been an attorney himself, because he knows the system better than anyone I know, and he plays it well. This demonic waste of flesh stayed away from me just long enough so I couldn’t get any legal assistance, but I know that in the state of Kentucky, the classification for stalking in the first degree, which is deliberate trailing and tracking with explicit or implicit threat of physical or sexual contact, injury, or death is serious business, Officer Niles. It could be a Class A misdemeanor, depending on whether it included the use of a deadly weapon. Stalking in the first or second degree is a can of worms, whichever way you want to open it and slice your finger on the jagged edges. It’s code 508.140, and regardless of whether he’s using throw-away numbers or not, he can still be investigated because those numbers are being used on a cellphone that is completely traceable. All cellphones have an address, if you will. The postage service he used is traceable, too. He—”
“Ms. English, I mean, Ms. Price, I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the cream of the crop as far as aptitude. I saw that you also have no criminal record, graduated at the top of your class, have several accolades and degrees, and are mentioned in quite a few scholastic articles.”