‘Dead pigeons,’ Hawkins finished for her, running his finger across the graph.
‘Yes. Two of them,’ Pip said.
‘What’s this severity scale here?’ He glanced up from the column.
‘It’s a rating, of how severe each possible incident is,’ she said plainly.
‘Yes, I understand that. Where did you get it from?’
‘I made it up,’ Pip said, her feet heavy through the bottoms of her shoes, sinking into the floor. ‘I’ve researched and there isn’t a lot of official information about stalking, probably as it isn’t seen as a policing priority despite it often being a gateway to more violent crimes. I wanted a method of cataloguing the potential incidents to see if there’s a progression of threat and implied violence. So, I made one up. I can explain to you how I did it; there’s a three-point difference between online and offline behaviour and –’
Hawkins waved his hand to cut her off, the pages fluttering in his grip. ‘But how do you know these are all connected?’ he asked. ‘The person online asking you that question and these… other incidents?’
‘Well, of course I don’t know for sure. But the thing that made me consider it was the kill two birds with one stone message, the day the second pigeon was left on my drive. Without a head,’ she added.
Hawkins’ throat made a sound, a new and different click. ‘It’s a very common expression,’ he said.
‘But the two dead pigeons?’ Pip said, straightening up. She knew, she already knew where this was going, where it was always destined to go. The look in Hawkins’ eyes against the look in hers. He wasn’t sure and she wasn’t either, but Pip could feel something shifting inside her, changing, heat sliding around under her skin, starting by her neck, claiming her one vertebra at a time.
Hawkins sighed, attempted a smile. ‘You know, I have a cat, and sometimes I come home to two dead things in one day. Often without heads. One left in my bed just last week.’
Pip felt defensive, tightening a fist behind her back.
‘We don’t have a cat.’ She hardened her voice, sharpened it at the edges, readying to cut him with it.
‘No, but one of your neighbours probably does. I can’t really open an investigation because of two dead pigeons.’
Was he wrong? That’s exactly what she’d told herself too.
‘What about the chalk figures? Twice now, getting closer to the house.’
Hawkins flicked through the pages.
‘Do you have a photograph of them?’ He looked up at her.
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘They disappeared before I could.’
‘Disappeared?’ His eyes narrowed.
And the worst thing was, she knew exactly how this all sounded. How unhinged she must seem. But that’s what she had wanted too, preferred to think of herself as broken, seeing danger where there wasn’t. And yet a fire was starting in her head, lighting up behind her eyes.
‘Washed away before I had a chance,’ she said. ‘But I do have a photo of something that might be a direct threat.’ Pip controlled her voice. ‘Written on the pavement on my running route. Dead Girl Walking.’
‘Well, yes, I understand your concern.’ Hawkins shuffled the pages. ‘But that message wasn’t left at your house, it was on a public street. You can’t know that you were its intended target.’
That’s exactly what Pip had first told herself. But that’s not what she said now.
‘But I do know. I know it was left for me.’ She didn’t before, but standing across from Hawkins now, listening to him say the same things she’d said to herself, it pushed her the other way, splintering off to the same side as instinct. She knew now, with bone-deep certainty, that all these things were connected. That she had a stalker and more than that, this person meant her harm. This was personal. This was someone who hated her, someone close by.
‘And, of course, these online messages from trolls are very unfortunate,’ Hawkins said. ‘But this is the kind of thing that happens when you make yourself a public figure.’
‘Make myself a public figure?’ Pip took a step back, to keep the fire away from Hawkins. ‘I didn’t make myself a public figure, Hawkins, that happened because I had to do your job for you. You would’ve been happy to let Sal Singh carry the guilt for killing Andie Bell forever. That’s why everything has happened the way it has. And this person clearly isn’t just someone who’s listened to the podcast, an online troll. They’re close by. They know where I live. This is more than that.’ It was. It was.