Black Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #2 (Watty Winner)

“Daughter? But I didn't think you had a daughter,” Captain Fred Dobrogost says from behind his desk at the drab offices of the Stevens Point Police Department.

Well, no shit, Sherlock.

Fred acts like I shouldn't be so worried, as if I need a reminder about the head count of my blood relatives. He holds the photo of the mystery woman I received in the mail to his face. Twists and turns it, pantomiming concern. There isn't much to analyze. Her face is concealed behind a thick mane of hair as she digs inside a mailbox in the photo.

“That's the point. I don't have a daughter,” I say and hack into my sleeve. My ankle might be feeling better after the surgery, but my lungs still secrete charcoal specks into my throat. It's a smoother hack, though, now that I switched to brand name cigarettes.

“So why are you here? Just ignore it,” Fred says. The taut skin of his bald head reflects the ceiling lights. His hair parachuted off his scalp after Charlie's death. “You can't expect us to investigate every piece of threatening mail you get. That's all we'd do. We're police, not celebrity bodyguards. Until one of these threats becomes credible, I can't justify putting resources into this.”