Someone Is Watching (32 page)

“Here’s what I
do
know,” I tell the two men. “Jason Harkness fits the general description of the man who raped me. He was in the area the night it happened. His grandmother’s apartment overlooks the exact spot where I was attacked, so he had both access and opportunity. Furthermore, he’s a damaged, angry young man whom I’m guessing was probably abused or, at the very least, neglected during his formative years, making him a pretty good candidate to commit future acts of violence. Have you even checked to see if he has a record?”

“First thing I did when we got here,” Castillo answers, indicating the cell phone in his hand.

“And?”

“Just waiting for someone to get back to me.”

There is a moment of silence for which I sense we are all profoundly grateful. It gives us a chance to remember that we are not adversaries, that we are, in fact, on the same side, and that we all want the same thing: to find the man who did this to me and put him behind bars.

Actually, I want more than that. I want to scratch out his eyes and rip out his throat, then castrate him and beat him to a bloody pulp before flinging his battered, mutilated corpse to the sharks that swim through my nightmares. That’s what I want. But I’ll settle for finding him and putting him behind bars.

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I really didn’t mean to step on anyone’s toes.…”

“It’s not a question of stepping on toes,” Castillo says. “It’s a matter of using your head. You’re way too close to this, Bailey. I understand your wanting to help, but you can’t. What you’re liable to do is get yourself killed.”

“I think you’re being a touch dramatic.”

“Think about it, Bailey. What if Jason Harkness
is
the man who raped you? And what if you’d gone to his grandmother’s apartment and she hadn’t been home? But he
was
home. Have you thought about what could have happened then?”

I have to admit that I hadn’t even considered this possibility. Considering it now sends shivers up and down my spine.

“You’re shooting from the hip, Bailey. Firing off blindly in all directions at once. A few days ago you were convinced it was Paul Giller who raped you.…”

“I never said I was convinced,” I argue, although my heart is no longer in it.

“Okay,” the detective says. “I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by rehashing everything again.”

I nod my head in agreement. “So what now?”

“You let us do our job. You get on with your life,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

What do you think I’m trying to do?
I want to ask him, but I decide it would be more prudent to remain silent. There’s nothing to be gained by challenging him. “There’s someone else you should probably check on,” I say instead, pulling Colin Lesser’s business card out of my pocket and handing it to the detective.

He glances at the card, then back at me. “Who’s this?”

“Someone I met this afternoon.”

“I take it your meeting had nothing to do with the fact that he’s a chiropractor.”

I do my best to downplay the absurdity of our meeting.

“He was jogging; you were standing in the bushes where you were raped,” Castillo reiterates, refusing to let me off the hook so easily. He massages the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward off a budding migraine.

“I just thought it might be worth your taking a look.…”

“Of course. We’ll do a background check on the man.” He pockets Colin’s card. “We should probably get going,” he says to his partner.

The phone rings, and I jump.

“Why don’t you get that,” Castillo says. “We can show ourselves out.”

They are approaching the door as I reach the kitchen and pick up the phone. It’s Finn from the concierge desk. “I know the cops are there,” he begins, “and I thought I should give you a heads up. Your brother, Heath, is on his way up. He’s pretty wasted.…”

A wave of panic sweeps over me as I realize that Heath is already on one side of my door, the cops on the other. “Bailey?” I hear him call out, proceeding to knock loudly and repeatedly. “Bailey? I know you’re still pissed, and I’m here to apologize and beg forgiveness.”

The fact that my brother is either drunk or stoned or, very likely, both is not missed by either of the two officers. “For what?” Castillo asks me as I approach. “Anything we should be aware of?”

I shake my head. I haven’t said anything to the police about the incident at my parents’ house. What would be the point?

I pull open the door. Heath all but falls inside, his breath reeking of alcohol, his head buried inside the cloud of smoke emanating from the joint in his hand.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Detective Castillo states, taking several steps back as Heath tumbles toward him.

“Uh-oh.” Heath dissolves in a fit of giggles at the sight of the two police officers.

“Heath, for God’s sake …”

“Suppose you hand that over.” Castillo lifts the lit joint from between Heath’s fingers and pinches it out.

“Hey …”

“Bailey, I think your brother could use a glass of water,” he suggests.

“Or even better, a nice tall gin and tonic,” Heath calls after me as I hurry back into the kitchen.

“Suppose we go into the living room,” I hear Officer Dube say.

“And who exactly is doing this supposing?” Heath asks. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

“This is Officer Dube,” Castillo is saying as I return with Heath’s water.

“You’re kidding me, right?” comes Heath’s instant reply, followed by another round of giggles. “Officer Doobie? Is he kidding me, Bailey?”

“Shut up, Heath,” I tell him, following the men into the living room and pushing the glass into my brother’s hands. We stand in a loose square in front of the sofas. Nobody sits down.

Detective Castillo is glaring at Heath. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“What am I doing?” Heath repeats. “I’m here to support my baby sister during her time of need.”

“You think this sort of behavior is helping her?”

“More than you are, I bet.” He takes a long sip from his glass. “Love your shirt, by the way. There’s just something about those bold Hawaiian prints that screams competence.”

“Please, Heath. Be quiet.”

“Tell me you didn’t drive here,” Officer Dube says.

“Okay,” Heath replies with a smirk. “Have it your way. I didn’t drive here.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Or what? You’ll haul my smart ass off to jail?”

Detective Castillo drops Heath’s joint into the same pocket as he put Colin Lesser’s business card. “You have any more of these on you?”

“You looking to score?”

“Heath …”

“Regrettably, no, I have no more doobies, Officer Doobie,” Heath says. “Oh, no, wait. That’s Officer Doobie over there, isn’t it?” He turns away, singing, “Doobie, doobie, do …”

“Heath …”

“You’re welcome to search me, if you’d like.” He plops down on the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him and cradling
the back of his head in the palms of his hands, as if relaxing in a hammock on the beach.

“Please don’t arrest him,” I say, wanting to kick Heath’s feet out from under him.

Detective Castillo nods. “Just don’t let him leave here until he sobers up.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

Detective Castillo’s cell phone rings, and he answers it before it can ring a second time. “Castillo,” he says. I watch his face as he listens. “Really? Okay, thanks. That’s very interesting.” He’s looking at me as he disconnects. “Apparently Jason Harkness does indeed have a record.”

“What for?”

“Don’t know. The record’s sealed.”

“What do you mean it’s sealed?”

“Just that. Apparently whatever offense he committed happened when he was a juvenile, and his record was sealed.”

“Can you get it unsealed?”

“Come on, Bailey,” Heath says. “Even I know better than that. Once a record’s sealed, it’s sealed.”

“Your brother’s right,” Castillo says. “Unless, of course, someone at the District Attorney’s Office happens to hear about this and pulls a few strings.”

Can I ask Gene to do this? Would he even consider it? And in the unlikely possibility my half-brother were to agree to peek into Jason Harkness’s juvenile files, what would he ask for in return? “I’m sorry. I can’t ask him.…”

“I’m not asking you to. Don’t worry. I’m sure someone will bring it to his attention. Not that we’d be able to use any evidence obtained in those records in court. It would be inadmissible,” he reminds me.

“It would still be helpful,” I counter. “If there’s a conviction for any kind of assault in those files, it would give us leverage. We might be able to use it to extract a confession.…”

“
We
won’t be doing anything,” Castillo says, emphasizing the pronoun. “I thought I had made that clear.”

“Of course. It was just a figure of speech.”

“Who’s Jason Harkness?” Heath asks. “Is he a suspect?”

“I’ll let your sister explain,” Castillo says, as he and Officer Dube step into the hall. “Get your act together,” he advises Heath.

“Get your act together,” Heath mimics after they’re gone and the door is safely closed. “Who the hell does he think he is?”

“He’s a police detective, you idiot.”

“Well, he’s not a very good one.” Heath kicks off his shoes, and half a dozen hand-rolled cigarettes immediately scatter across the marble floor. He is instantly on his hands and knees, scooping them up.

“What is the matter with you?” I ask. “Are you
trying
to get arrested?”

He dismisses my concern with a shake of his hand. “They never look in your shoes.”

“You deliberately tried to provoke them.…”

“In my defense, I didn’t know they’d be here.”

“How is that any kind of defense?”

“I was caught off guard. You know I always go on the offensive when I’m surprised.”

“Well, you were offensive all right.”

“Whoa! Welcome back, little sister. Nice to see you’re finally starting to get your mojo back. I’ve missed you.”

His comment momentarily takes my breath away. I sink to the sofa across from him. Is he right?

“Look. I just came by to tell you I’m really sorry about the other day. You were right. I shouldn’t have disobeyed a court order. I shouldn’t have brought those people into our father’s house. My behavior was unacceptable, not to mention reckless and maybe even stupid. I did a bad thing and I apologize. How’s that for sounding like a grown-up?”

“Not half-bad.”

“Good. I think this calls for a celebration.” Heath holds up one of his newly recaptured joints. “A smoke of the old peace pipe?”

“Put those damn things away.”

“Not until you have a puff. Come on, Bailey. It won’t kill you to relax a little.” He pulls a tattered book of matches from the side pocket of his tight leather pants and lights a joint, inhaling deeply. He tucks the others in his pocket, along with the matchbook. Then he holds the cigarette out for me to take.

I haven’t smoked weed since I broke things off with Travis, and even before that, I was an infrequent user who never particularly enjoyed getting high. I take the joint from his hand, intending to do as Detective Castillo did earlier and extinguish it between my fingers. But instead of butting it out, I find myself lifting it to my lips and taking a drag. I feel the smoke fill my throat and settle deep into my lungs.

“Atta girl, Bailey,” Heath says proudly, reaching across the coffee table to take a toke of his own.

We spend the next fifteen minutes passing the joint back and forth, smoking it down until it literally disintegrates in my hands. I am very pleasantly stoned, and wondering when exactly that happened. I didn’t feel anything for most of those fifteen minutes, convinced my long layoff had left me immune to the drug’s supposed charms, and yet here I am, feeling quite mellow and even a bit serene.

The phone rings, and for the first time since my attack, I don’t jump. Instead my head turns lazily toward the sound.

“Who is it?” Heath asks. “Don’t answer it,” he advises in his next breath.

But I’m already on my feet, the ringing pulling me like a magnet. “Hello?”

“Bailey?”

“Claire?”

“Were you sleeping? Did I wake you up?”

“No. What time is it?”

“Just after six. You sound funny. Are you feeling okay?”

I try to pull myself together. Claire would definitely not approve of my getting stoned. “I’m fine.”

“Are you having a panic attack?”

“No. I’m just a little tired.”

“So how’d it go this afternoon?” she asks.

Have the police already contacted her?
I wonder.

“With Elizabeth Gordon,” she qualifies, as if sensing my confusion. “You went, didn’t you?”

I breathe a sigh of relief, although the relief is tinged with guilt. I don’t like lying to Claire. I don’t like keeping things from her. “Yes. Yes, of course I went.”

“And? How’d it go?”

“It went well.”

“You think she’s helping?”

“I do. I really do.”

“Doobie, doobie, do,” I hear Heath sing out from the other room, and I can’t help myself—I laugh.

“Bailey, Bailey, what’s going on? Is someone there?”

“No, of course not. Nobody’s here. Nothing’s going on.” I force a cough from my lungs. “I think I might be coming down with something.”

“Shit. I knew you sounded a bit off.”

A bit off,
I repeat silently, trying to remember where I’ve heard something like that before.

“You want me to bring over some chicken soup when I’m finished work?”

“No, that’s all right. I was actually thinking of getting into bed early.”

“That’s probably a good idea. You sure you don’t want me to drop by?”

“What I want is for you to go home to Jade and stop worrying about me.”

“Okay. But feel free to call me if you start to feel worse. Don’t worry about the time. I’ll probably be up.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her.

“Feel better,” she says.

I hang up the phone, feeling the pleasant buzz I’d been experiencing
already starting to dissipate. I return to the living room and stand in the doorway, watching as Heath lights up another joint and extends it lazily toward me. I shake my head and continue down the hall toward the bedroom. I crawl into my unmade bed and pull the covers up over my head to block out the evening sun.