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Chapter 14
Linsey
Friday morning, I went down to the Las Salinas PD with Sabre at my side to make a formal report about Dylan’s harassment. We took a file folder full of evidence that Zen helped us print out. They automatically got Dylan’s parole officer from Billings on the phone, and he listened to what I had to say.
The file was extensive and contained the messages Dylan sent to Noah, the fake missing child poster with its counterfeit police shield and the tip line that leads straight back to him. The most important piece of information was the fact that he was planning to be in Las Salinas and where the meeting is supposed to be.
Today, hopefully, Dylan would be out of my hair and back in police custody where he belongs. I’d be lying if I said I’m not nervous stepping out of my car in front of the Rusty Anchor. I’m not quaking in my shoes or anything, but my anxiety is causing me to be extra cautious. Knowing that Sabre is already inside and has checked that Dylan came alone is reassuring. Sabre is sitting at one of the back tables in case anything pops off and has already alerted the local PD that Dylan is here in violation of his parole. So far, everything seems to be going according to plan.
When I walk through the entrance , Dylan turns from the football game playing on the large TV and waves me over from a corner booth. He’s smiling and acting laid back. Looking at him this morning, no one would suspect what he’s capable of. I approach cautiously. As I get closer, I see he looks older and his complexion is rougher, with a small scar above one eye that fades into his brow line. And he’s wearing new jeans and a new button-up shirt. I can tell by the way they’re creased that they’ve never been worn. There’s some kind of gift wrapped in blue paper sitting on the table in front of him, probably for Noah.
Everything about him seems to be like some kind of carefully crafted persona to give the illusion of a humble, reformed family man.
He gets to his feet when he sees me, and his expression turns emotional. “Linsey, you look well. You look as beautiful as ever.”
Rather than responding, I slide into the booth across from him. I offer up a greeting. My voice is clipped. “Dylan.”
“Thank you for meeting me,” Dylan says after the server drops off menus and coffees. “I know how difficult this must be for you.”
“My goal is just to get through this without it turning into a screaming match.”
He touches the gift and pushes it towards me. “This is for Noah. It’s a model of a Sherman tank, the good kind with metal tracks. I know he’s interested in military history.”
“Really, where did you hear that?”
“I hear things.” He gives a smile which he probably thinks is loving, but in reality sends shivers down my spine. I just hope the police turn up soon so this can be over with.
“Let’s just get down to the conversation at hand, Dylan,” I say.
Holding up one hand in a placating motion, he says, “Let’s start with the poster because I know how it must have looked.”
“If you mean it looked like manipulating a child, then yes. That’s exactly what it looked like.”
“I only shared it on my social media page. I understand the word abducted might have come across too strong, but you have to understand that’s how it feels to me. You took my own flesh and blood away from me.”
“I’m a single parent. Any rights you had to be a father ended the moment you tried to kill me when I was pregnant with my son.”
He conveniently bypasses that bit of information and jumps straight to the subject that would have most easily manipulated the old Linsey into seeing things his way. “Whatever you may think of them, your family never stopped loving you. Your mama still keeps your photograph up on the wall. And your daddy had heart surgery last spring. The first thing he said when he came out of anesthesia was your name. You’d know that if you called home.”
“Stop acting like you were there to witness it. You were in lock-up last spring. Now, here you are just repeating any stupid thing my family tells you like it’s the gospel.”
Shock registers on his face for a split second and then he recovers. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty,” he says.
“Good, because I don’t. We’re not here for you to manipulate me by using old family ties. We’re here to talk about my son.”
“Our son deserves both his parents.”
“My son deserves better than a violent felon for a father.”
“Look, you cost me ten years of my life,” he continues. “I’ve made my peace with that, and I’m prepared to forgive you. I want to know if you’re willing to meet me halfway.”
My cup stops halfway to my mouth. “You’re willing to forgive me? What the hell for? You were beating me to death in full view of the neighbors. If someone hadn’t called the police I’d be dead now. I didn’t press charges because I didn’t need to. It was obvious to everyone who saw, including the police, what you were doing. It was an open and shut case. And now you want to forgive me? You know that sounds batshit crazy when you say it out loud, right?”
Dylan clears his throat and continues pressing his point. “I’m willing to accept supervised visitation at first,” he says, changing the subject.
“If you want supervised visitation or anything else, you’re going to have to do it the hard way, by petitioning the court to order a paternity test, taking the test, waiting for it to come back, and then filing for supervised visitation through the courts. And just so you know, I plan to fight you every step of the way because I don’t think you’re fit to be a parent.”
Dylan opens his mouth, but he doesn’t get to finish because two uniformed officers walk through the door and make a beeline for our table.
