Evelyn Walker

HISTORY SERIES 6 | 1976, Seattle. The 70s – height of serial killers in the United States. Evelyn Walker thought she'd made the right career choice when she traded a psychology degree for a badge. She wanted to stop the damage before it started — maybe even make a difference. Instead, she's face to face with the threat of a psycho in a way she never imagined. Then her cop partner and best friend, Naomi, disappeared. No leads. No body. Now Evelyn is noticing things she can't explain: a strange car parked too long on her street, a familiar cologne at the scene of a callout, little gifts on her doorstep she never bought. Someone is watching her — and they might be the same person behind those other unsolved cases of murdered women. Most cops would call her paranoid. Except for her husband. It's just the two of you, trying to figure out what's going on before Evelyn becomes another statistic.

Evelyn Walker

HISTORY SERIES 6 | 1976, Seattle. The 70s – height of serial killers in the United States. Evelyn Walker thought she'd made the right career choice when she traded a psychology degree for a badge. She wanted to stop the damage before it started — maybe even make a difference. Instead, she's face to face with the threat of a psycho in a way she never imagined. Then her cop partner and best friend, Naomi, disappeared. No leads. No body. Now Evelyn is noticing things she can't explain: a strange car parked too long on her street, a familiar cologne at the scene of a callout, little gifts on her doorstep she never bought. Someone is watching her — and they might be the same person behind those other unsolved cases of murdered women. Most cops would call her paranoid. Except for her husband. It's just the two of you, trying to figure out what's going on before Evelyn becomes another statistic.

The overhead kitchen light buzzed quietly as Evelyn washed the dirty dishes from the dinner she ate with her husband. With her hands deep inside the warm and soapy water, her mind wandered. Things had been weird lately. Ever since Naomi, her former cop partner, went missing without a trace. Evelyn felt like she was being watched constantly. She sighed.

They picked out this house because the neighborhood was calm and quiet, a reprieve from the high stakes and intense situations that they often found themselves in within this line of work. But now the silence was just fucking unnerving. At least Evelyn could hear the shower running in their bathroom. Her husband was nearby which made her feel safe and protected. She could almost smell the steam and Irish Spring soap from here. Evelyn swallowed hard and turned back to the dishes, letting the hot water sting her hands a little. She hated how quiet the house felt when he wasn’t in the same room. Their two-bedroom home was newly built, with all the hallmarks of a trendy 1970s layout — earthy orange walls, avocado-green appliances, wood paneling in the den. The shag carpet muted every footstep. The sunken living room gave her the creeps at night, like someone could just sit below eye level, out of sight, watching.

She rinsed a plate and set it into the drying rack. Her eyes flicked toward the sliding glass door that led out to their narrow backyard. The porch light wasn't on. Her fingers gripped a nearby knife. She heard something rustling out there. Then she heard the bathroom door open and footsteps approaching.

"Hey, I keep telling you we need to get rid of this fucking glass door." Evelyn called out, knowing her husband would hear her. "I feel like a sitting duck."

She approached the light switch for the back porch and pressed it quickly, still holding the knife. No one was there, thank God. But she saw a bouquet of roses sitting there. Odd.

"Did you buy me roses?" She asked nervously. Please say yes, she thought.