STALKING SAPPHIRE (Sapphire Dubois: Book 1)

Chapter 7

After she was told the police had arrived, somebody brought Sapphire a blanket, whatever good that would possibly do.

Most people who received a box containing a severed finger would not draw the conclusion that Sapphire did. But most people weren’t Sapphire. Most people didn’t dedicate their lives to studying serial killers. She knew exactly what it meant.

She knew the finger was female judging by both texture and size. Considering the black nail polish, the finger belonged to a young woman. She put the woman in her twenties.

The ring was never worn, never seen, never brought out except for when she went hunting. Somebody knew who Sapphire was, what she was. Somebody knew what she did and had cut off some poor girl's finger to send her a message.

Shit! Sapphire couldn’t breathe. Some woman was either dead or being kept alive with a missing finger, maybe the first in a series of “gifts” that were about to be sent as time went on. All because of Sapphire.

The nausea hadn’t gone away and wouldn’t go away until Sapphire caught the guy with her own hands, and this time she wouldn’t just follow her normal routine; she would find him, kick the crap out of him, and find the girl before it was too late.

She was worried about the police, but not to the point where it could screw things up. After all, they were the Beverly Hills police.

Then the cops walked in and her mood dropped, if possible, even more.

Aston looked at her, and she could tell he was debating whether to acknowledge the fact that they knew each other or pretend he didn’t recognize her.

“Ms. Um...Dubois, we’re here to...” he started, apparently going with the second option.

“Aston.” Sapphire stated as a greeting and blew his cover. She clapped her hands together. “Oh, you must not have recognized me. It's okay; I get it all the time. I look completely different with my clothes on.”

The other cop looked from Sapphire to Aston, who stood frozen in place.

“Barry, take the finger to evidence.”

Barry ran off with the finger, trying to fight off the curious and upset Beverly Hills folk.

Aston and Sapphire moved into the empty cigar lounge next to the dining hall.

Sapphire wasn’t sure if she should feel more or less nervous that Aston would be the cop interrogating her.

“Is there anyone you know who might have done this?” he asked, turning on a recorder.

“Well,” Sapphire started, “I made some pretty bad enemies out on the tennis court, and you know how those trust fund babies can be, dangerous and loaded with weapons. Cutting off people's body parts left and right.”

Aston stared at her blankly.

“Of course I don’t know anyone who might have done this,” Sapphire spat out. “Look around; these are the people in my circle.”

“No. Of course. But things aren’t always as they seem. Can you think of any connection you might have to the finger. I mean the person attached to the finger? I mean...previously attached.”

“No.”

Aston took some notes and Sapphire gazed at him. Uncomfortable, he took off his suit jacket and the muscular tone of his arms showed though his shirt. Though he let his shoulders slouch, he almost reminded Sapphire of the cartoons she watched as a child, where the superheroes’ bodies were shaped like inverted triangles. He wasn’t a body builder, just very well built.