Chasing Darkness (26 page)

“Oh,
sorry,” the man whispered. “Are you hiding?”

Whitney
looked over her shoulder again and then stared at him without answering.

“Are
you hiding?” he repeated, still whispering.

Whitney
tossed her head back and pushed her lips out like her mom did when she was
talking to some men. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she said.

“Very
smart,” he said.

“Whitney,”
her mother called.

Whitney
jumped behind the man.

“Whitney
Anne,” her mother called again, louder.

Whitney
ran as fast as she could to the neighbor’s hedge and ducked behind it.

She
could see the man watching her, but then he turned his back and she saw her
mom.

“I’m
sorry. I was just looking for my daughter.”

The
man smiled and looked down the street in her direction.

Whitney
gasped and covered her mouth, but then the man shook his head. “I haven’t seen
any little girls, I’m afraid. I’m just looking for my cocker spaniel, Murphy.”
He smiled. “I’ll keep an eye out for your daughter if you’ll do the same for my
Murphy.”

Whitney’s
mom smiled at him and pushed her hair up on one side with her hand like she did
with the man at the grocery store. Whitney pushed her hair up, too, wondering
if that was what men liked. It just looked goofy to her.

When
her mother had gone, Whitney fell over in a fit of silent giggles. When she
looked up, the man was smiling down at her.

“Why
did you tell my mom you hadn’t seen me?”

He
shrugged. “Because I thought you were hiding from her.”

“I
was, but you’re a dult.”

“A
dult?” he repeated.

“Yeah,
like a grown-up.”

“So,
I’m supposed to tell her where you are?”

Whitney
shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Because
dults aren’t fun.”

She
shook her head. “No.”

He
frowned. “That’s too bad. I’m fun.”

She
put her hands on her hips. “You can’t be.”

“Because
I’m a grown-up?”

“Yep.”

“Well,
I guess I thought you were grown-up, too.”

“How
come?”

“Because
you look so grown-up in that lipstick.”

Whitney
remembered the lipstick and kissed the back of her hand. She had to figure out
a way to get rid of it before she saw her mom.

Just
then, the man handed her a hankie. “You can wipe it on that.”

She
looked at the white hankie and thought about how mad her mom would be if she
got red lipstick on something that white. She looked up at him, but he just
nodded.

She
wiped her mouth on the hankie and then looked at it. It was bright red, all
right. She tried to hide that part when she handed it back to him.

“That’s
okay. I can wash it.”

Whitney
didn’t want to tell him that she thought lipstick stained. That’s what her mom
told her last time she got some on something.

“See,
I’m not like most grown-ups.”

“How
come?”

“ ’Cause
I like kid stuff more,” he said.

Whitney
frowned. If he could stay a kid, maybe she could too. “What kind of kid stuff?”

The
man looked both ways and then pulled a plastic bag from his pocket. “How about
this?”

Whitney
peered at the little plastic bag. “What’s that?”

“Candy.”

She
looked a little closer.

“What
kind?”

He
smiled. “Cherry.”

“All
cherry?”

He
nodded.

“How
come?”

“ ’Cause
cherry’s my favorite.”

Whitney
licked her lips. She wasn’t allowed to have candy. Only at Halloween and
Easter, and sometimes when she found the candy her mom hid. She didn’t know
that Whitney knew about it.

“Do
you like cherry, too?”

She
nodded.

He
handed her the bag. “Why don’t you take it?”

She
started to reach out and stopped herself. “All of it?”

He
put it in her hand. “Sure. I’ve got lots more.”

Whitney
pulled the sack toward her. There had to be like a hundred pieces of candy. She
even saw some jellybeans.

“Do
you have a favorite kind of candy?”

She
nodded.

“What
is it?”

“Jellybeans
and taffy,” she said quickly.

“I
think there’s some jellybeans in there, but I’ll bring taffy next time.”

She
nodded.

“Whitney,”
her mother called again.

“You’d
better go inside.”

She
nodded and turned away. Then she remembered her manners. “Thank you for the
candy, mister.”

“You’re
welcome, Whitney.”

She
started to leave, then said, “What’s your name, anyway?”

He
gave her a big smile and reached for her hand.

Whitney
gave it to him, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it
just like a prince. She giggled, even though she knew that wasn’t what she was
supposed to do.

“My
name is Gerry,” he said. “I hope to see you again soon, Princess Cherry.”

“Princess
Cherry?” she asked.

He
nodded, smiling. “ ’Cause you get all the cherry candy.” He paused. “If
you want it.”

She
nodded.

“Very
nice to meet you,” he said.

“You
too.”

“Now,
you’d better get inside before your mom catches you.”

She
pulled the candy to her chest and turned around.

“And
hide that candy. That’s our secret, okay?”

“Okay,
Mr. Gerry.” Whitney waved and ran up the stairs toward the house. Stopping
along the path, she tucked the candy under the small bush with the mirror and
the lipstick, then ran around and up the back steps.

Mr.
Gerry was the neatest dult she’d ever met. She hoped he came back with more
candy soon.

Sam
drove to Martinez and followed the directions to the auto shop where her car
was being worked on. It was just after four and the mechanic was almost off
duty, so she did her best to hurry. Traffic on 680 was packed, and Sam wondered
how people lived this far out and commuted to the city. Martinez was flat and
industrial, and she was glad that she didn’t need to visit often. The police
station and Hall of Justice were the city’s proudest buildings—the only ones
with a solid chance of surviving against the city’s vandals.

Sam
found the street, took a right, and turned into the driveway where she saw
three black-and-whites parked. Good business, fixing cop cars. Contra Costa
County had spent three million dollars on new cops and cars just last year, and
at least they were keeping the cars in good shape. She glanced up at the name
on the mechanic’s sign: Epifani Brothers Auto Body. The Epifani brothers were
doing well. It probably helped to have some friends in law enforcement.

Sam
stepped out of the car and met a man with graying at the temples and a thick
mustache as he came out of the entrance.

“Agent
Chase?”

She
nodded. “Ken?”

“That’s
me. I was hoping it’d be you. I was getting ready to close up.” He waved her
in. “The Caprice is out back.”

“Have
you had a chance to look at it yet?”

“Oh,
yeah. The front’s all banged out and the lights are replaced. I’m waiting for
the right color paint to finish it. I can have it done by tomorrow. I’ve got a
pickup in Walnut Creek, if you want my guy to drop it at your house.”

She
shook her head. “I’ve got someone to drive it back to the city for me.” She wasn’t
eager to drive the car again. It could sit in the garage at the D.O.J. for a
few weeks. “You look at the brakes?”

Ken
whistled long and low and nodded. “That’s some fancy handiwork.”

Sam
ignored the tight sensation in her throat and said, “So someone cut the
brakes?”

“It’s
not nearly that easy in these new cars. But someone definitely got to ’em. Come
back here and I’ll show you how it works.”

Understand
it. Working through a problem had always been Sam’s response to fear. But these
days it crept up her neck and gripped her back and shoulders despite her
attempts to shake it off. Someone wanted her dead.

Pushing
the thought aside, she followed Ken into the garage and to the back, where the
Caprice was parked. He lifted the hood and locked it open. Then he walked away.
Less than thirty seconds later, he came back carrying two flat wood crates with
wheels. He sat on one and pushed the other toward her. “You want to get under
and look at it or are you afraid to get dirty?”

“No
fear here,” she answered easily. She sat down and leaned back on the crate,
feeling the wood rough against her shoulder blades as she adjusted her
position.

Ken
rolled under the car so she could see only his feet.

She
followed, thankful she wasn’t a mechanic. She wasn’t great with small spaces.

Ken
turned on a flashlight, and Sam stared up at the underside of her car. He
reached up and pointed to a black hose that ran from the frame of the car to
the front left wheel. “This is the brake line. You’ve got one on each side.” He
turned his light to shine directly on it. “You see the small punctures?”

“Yeah.
Someone did that?” Seeing the evidence of his handiwork made the fingers of
dread tighter around her neck. Who hated her this much?

“Yep.
On both sides. Basically, the brakes work okay for a day or two, depending on
how much you use them. Each time you brake, some of the fluid leaks out and the
hose weakens. Eventually, the brake fluid’s gone. That’s what happened to you.”

Ken
moved over and showed her the punctures in the brake line on the right side.

“That’s
someone who knew what they were doing.”

“How
long would they have needed access to the car to do this?” she asked.

“Five
minutes at least, with good light. You got to think about who had that kind of
access to your car.”

Sam
pictured the front of her house. It would have been tough for someone to work
out there without being seen, but late enough at night anything was possible.

“How
long would it have lasted, working like that?”

“As
I said, about a day or two, depending on how you use the brakes. Freeway miles,
you could go a while, but one hard brake and you’d be done.”

Sam
thanked Ken for his help and slid out from under the car, thankful to be on her
feet again. As she headed home, she considered who had had access to her car a
day or two before she’d had the accident. She’d driven in Nick’s car for most
of the week. In a hurry to get to Eva Larson’s scene, she’d taken her Blazer
because the Caprice was in the garage. She frowned. The Caprice hadn’t been
parked in front of the house. It had been in her garage at home that whole
week. How the hell had someone gotten to it?

The
only other possibility was when she’d been at work. She thought about Williams,
the blackout, and the missing file. He had certainly had access to the car at
work. But wanting her dead seemed so extreme. Was it even possible?

Or
was there someone else out there who hated her enough to want to kill her?

Nick
pulled to the curb at his sister’s house and shut off the engine. The sour
taste of apprehension filled his gut. He hadn’t brought a woman to meet his
family since Sheila.

Sam
sat beside him, her white-knuckled hands clutching a bright bouquet of flowers.
He could only imagine how nervous she was. It had been a rough day for
her—Derek’s outburst, finding out about the damage to her brakes, and spending
the morning at funeral services for Becky Larson. Sam had identified a man from
one of her old cases there, a pedophile named Gerry Hecht, and the police were
busy trying to track him down now.

Nick
just hoped he and Sam could enjoy the evening without thinking about the case,
but he knew it would be tough. This was one of the most consuming he’d ever
worked. And every time he looked at Sam, he thought about his conversation with
Cintrello.

Nick
had no choice but to keep his trap shut. It wasn’t going to do Sam any good if
he was kicked off the force. But damn, he hated the fact that she didn’t know
what was going on. Keeping tabs on her while they checked her out. How
ridiculous was that? He just hoped they cleared her fast.

The
flashlight was no problem. Someone had taken it from her car and planted it in
Eva Larson’s home. But who? And how? And why, for God’s sake? The more time
passed, the more anxious he felt about how and when they would tell her about
the evidence, until he just wished they’d do it so he wouldn’t have to suffer.
Selfish bastard, he thought to himself, patting his hands over his hair to make
sure it wasn’t going crazy. He exhaled, feeling his chest deflate.

“You
got someone to take the car back to the garage?” Sam asked out of the blue.

He
looked at her and grinned. “I already told you I did. Are you stalling?”

She
looked at the house and back at him. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Maybe
this was a bad idea.”

She
shook her head. “No, I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

“You
grip those flowers any tighter and you’re going to kill them before we get to
the front door.”

Her
face broke into a smile and he felt some of her tension slip away with it. She
slapped the flowers against his shoulder. “Just no work talk, okay?”

Nick
couldn’t meet her eye, unwilling to see the trust she’d placed in him, knowing
how he’d let her down. The whole thing could blow over and she might never
know. He prayed that would be the case.

“Okay?”
she prompted, touching his arm.

He
nodded. “Okay.”

“We
don’t have to think about Rob or Derek. It’ll just be a mellow evening.” She
paused. “With your entire family.”

Nick
looked over at her and the two of them burst out laughing. “Oh, God. You make
it sound like torture. Let’s go before you change your mind.” He stepped out of
the car and caught the motion of the front curtains. Their arrival had already
been announced, no doubt.