Alright, let me get this off my chest for starters. I’m not crazy. Seriously, you’ll think I am, but it’s not true. Not that your even one to judge me. You see, after my dad died, I didn’t take it so well. I started drinking. I got sloppy at work. I drove my wife away. When it really started to cave in on me, I um, started to hear him speak to me. I know how it sounds. Voices from the great beyond. Believe me. I get it. But that doesn’t change the fact I still hear him. I’m not a quack. Okay? I’m really glad we got that straight.
Another important thing you should know about me: I hate cops. But, of course, you probably hate cops too. Who doesn’t? But then, looking back, they do pay me pretty well. Ahem. I’m not a cop. I just work with them as a consultant. There’s a difference.
Still hung up on the ‘voices’ thing, eh? You’re not one to be judging me.
Oh wait, did I order already? Never mind, they know what I want. Always been a creature of habit, right? And by the way, after I tell you this story, you have to leave me be. Deal? The reporters were bad enough back then, and then you show up.
So, this all happened over fifteen years ago, back when things were good for everyone. I had a good career going with those donut pushers, had lots of good cases. I consulted for the police, the Feds and the CIA from here in downtown Fremont, sometimes in South Cape, and even a few all the way down in Greenville. There’s the one-armed wife killer of Melton or the Mountainview City serial killer. I could blab to you about any one of them. But you didn’t come all this way for that. No, I know what you came to hear. I’m getting to it.