When I’m finished, I feel exhausted, like I’ve just run a three-mile sprint. But I also feel somewhat lighter now that I’ve actually let a member of the Albany Police Department in on the threat. And that’s what Skinner is to me. A real threat. To me and my son. To Robyn and little Molly, too.
“I can see your concern,” Detective Miller says, after a time. He sits up straight, looks me in the eye. “Let me guess, you waited until now to come to us because you didn’t want to be thought of as a nut-case who was seeing murderers inside the corn.”
“That’s exactly what she was afraid of,” Sam concurs.
“Truth is, Rebecca,” Miller goes on, “I’ve been trying to get a fix on Hanover, or Skinner, for a while now. After he disappeared from Mid-Hudson Psychiatric in November of 2015 or, from that va
