Stalker (34 page)

“What?”

“Doing the watch, helping the kids in the day,” Cindy said. “You must have been working pretty hard. Did you ever sleep?”

“Yeah, sure. During the day when the kids were in school, I slept then. It was tough, though. Eventually, my wife quit the job for something less…demanding. I went back to days as soon as I could.”

“That must have been a relief.”

“It was. But that’s off the original point. I just wanted to tell you that the breakup was nothing personal. He’s a good guy and a good partner.”

She smiled and stood. “You’re right.”

Bederman smiled back—a big, toothy smile. Cindy could tell that he liked being right. Slowly, he stood up, then ambled his way out. She was thrilled to lock the door behind him.

“He hasn’t gotten back from Oxnard yet,” Rina said. “I’ll tell him you called. He’ll be very grateful. You know how he worries.”

“I know.” Cindy shifted the phone to her other ear. “So you don’t have any idea when he’s coming home?”

“No, but it’s probably going to be late. It’s going very well. And when it goes well, it means long hours.” Rina paused. “Cindy, you sound like you need something. Are you in trouble?”

“Not at all—”

“But you’re bothered by something specific,” Rina said. “Why don’t you just call him on his cell? I know he wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, it’s not important enough to interrupt his business. I know they’ve all been waiting a long time for a break in the jackings. I just wanted to go over some ideas, but it’ll keep.”

“Honey, you’re welcome to come over and wait. After what we have both gone through, we could use a little company.”

Cindy felt her face go hot. She had been so wrapped up in her affairs, she had completely forgotten about Rina’s woes. Quickly, she asked, “How are you doing? How is Hannah doing? Do you want me to come over there and help out with her?”

“Hannah’s asleep,
boruch Hashem
. Whether or not she stays asleep is a different story.”

Cindy sighed. “How about if I swing by in an hour—around ten. Would that be too late?”

“Not at all. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

“Cindy?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, please. And bring your gun.”

Cindy stopped before she closed her apartment door. From the passageway, she could see the street. She looked over each car, and decided she recognized them all. The VW Bug belonged to the girl with the long dark hair who played salsa music. The Taurus belonged to the couple who argued over money and lived in an apartment across the street. The Mitsubishi four-wheel drive was owned by Greig, a set designer for the Ahmanson.

She shut the door and bolted it. Gun in hand, she descended the stairway, speed-walked to her car, got in, then locked up with the simple click of a button. She started the motor, checked her gas gauge—full—and backed out of her space, checking the rearview and side mirrors. She threw the gear into drive and zoomed away.

The streets were quiet, which made it easy for her to spot any tail. Nothing jumped out. She got on the freeway and pressed the pedal to the metal until she was going at a good, fast clip. Twenty minutes into her drive, the engine started to whine. Moments later it began to sputter and her car started decelerating even though her gas gauge still read full. Heart beating wildly, she depressed the gas pedal, but that didn’t do anything. The car was definitely slowing.
If
she didn’t get over to the right soon, she’d be stuck in the middle lane of the freeway with cars, trucks, semis, and other heavy vehicles whizzing by her in every direction, not to mention the possibility of a fatal rear-end collision. It was dark, and travelers didn’t expect lanes being blocked by stalled cars.

Think
!

Trying to keep a grip on her runaway panic, she managed to maneuver her Saturn onto the right shoulder. A moment later, it coughed and died. All she could hear was her own shallow breathing. She blew on her hands while she looked in her rearview mirror, keeping that position for a few minutes. No one appeared to be stopping, which was a sad commentary on Los Angeles, but very good because it appeared that nobody had been following her.

She knew she had to do something. And she would. But
first, she just wanted to rid herself of the tension, the awful feeling of being set up. Rooting through her purse, she found the number for Triple A in her address computer, then dialed out on her cellular.

It told her the system was busy.

Her breathing quickened.

Again she dialed out.

Again the system was busy.

She went into the back of her phone, played with the battery, and tried again.

The steady beep, beep, beep told her that either her number had been cloned or somebody had tampered with the phone itself. Either was very disconcerting.

Instantaneously, her chest tightened. Yelling at herself because the panic had to stop. She was a damn officer of the law. She had to do better than this. She felt around her purse for her gun. At least, she knew
that
was working.

A pair of bright lights grew in her rearview mirror, filling up the reflective space. She turned around, saw the car slowing behind her…slow, slow, slow until it parked around twenty feet away. But it wasn’t just any car. It was…
highway patrol
!

Yes!

Never had that CHP emblem looked so cool.

Cindy looked down at her right hand gripped around the butt of her service revolver. It wouldn’t be cool for him to see her holding a gun. It might give him the wrong impression. She put the gun back, but took out her ID and badge. She slid over the console and got out on the passenger’s side, walking a few feet until his face came into view.

At first, she thought she was imagining things, but she knew she wasn’t. The agitation she felt was both horrific and overwhelming. It made her head go light and her knees shake. She willed herself to stand erect, because her other thoughts were either to run or to faint—untenable options because he had a shotgun. He was carrying it so that the length was nestled against his arm, and the barrel was pointing down. But that position could change in an eye blink.

Play dumb
!

Which wasn’t hard. She
was
dumb!

Did he follow her or had he been waiting outside her apartment all this time?

But she would have noticed a highway patrol car—

“Having car problems, Decker?” he said. “Maybe I can help.”

His voice broke into her terrified thoughts.

“Have you always moonlighted for the highway patrol?” she asked. “The uniform looks swell on you.”

He slowly raised his outstretched arm, like a Nazi about to give a Heil Hitler, but stopped short with the barrel of the gun aimed at her stomach. “If you want to live a little longer, you should shut up. And don’t do anything silly. Things like running or screaming or trying to hotdog it in a one-on-one. Because my trigger finger’s twitching, and I’ll cut you down as easily as I’ll cut a fart. You get it?”

“Got it.”

“Who knows, Decker? Maybe with those fancy words of yours, you can talk me down.” He smiled. Cindy could make out the teeth in the moonlight. He said, “You’re a clever gal. What do you think?”

“I’m going to give it a try.”

“C’mon.” He waved the gun from left to right, then lowered it. But the barrel was still near her groin. She had heard that stomach wounds were very painful—excruciatingly painful. But death was worse.

He was talking. “…going to take a little ride. Just the two of us. We’ll take my car. Gentleman always does the driving. Besides, maybe you’ve always wanted to see the inside of a highway patrol vehicle.”

“Golly gee! Will you turn on the siren and flash the lights, too?”

“Always the wiseass.” He was now glaring at her. “Let’s see how funny you are when you’re begging for mercy.”

She thought about faking him out, telling him that she had phoned her dad and he was on the way. But maybe that would set him into a panic of rash reaction. Never panic someone holding a shotgun. She could feel his eyes
boring in, her mind emptying of ideas and blanking out conscious thought. But Freud did have something with that little gizmo called the
unconscious
. Because seconds later, she found that she had leapt over the side railing, and was rolling like a ball down the embankment of the freeway. Hugging herself and praying…
where did that come from
?

One second, two seconds, three and four.

Fire exploded past her head. She screamed, pain stinging her scalp as buckshot grazed her cranium. She dove into brush and dropped onto her belly, creeping to a spot that afforded the best camouflage, trying to hide and escape at the same time. Blood was seeping from the side of her head. She touched the wound and winced, then inhaled deeply, trying to get air into her lungs. As she slithered along the solid ground, stones and rocks scraped her stomach.

She could hear him coming down, making his descent, the sounds of thick soles dragging loose earth. She needed to get away.

What do animals do when they’re being hunted?

They run. (
That would make her visible
.)

They crawl and creep and hide. (
Crawling or creeping made noise
.)

They fight. (
He had a gun and outweighed her by seventy pounds of muscles and years of experience
!)

They play dead.

Go for it, kid
!

She stopped in her tracks, trying to paralyze every muscle in her body. It was hard because her bladder and bowels weren’t in great shape. Though she managed to hold still, she could still hear her own terrified breathing. Even with the cars racing by, it was audible. If she could hear it, maybe he could hear it, too. She opened her mouth, hoping not only to get in more oxygen but also to decrease the gasping breaths.

But his footsteps kept getting closer. Silently, she turned her head until his form, silhouetted by moonlight, became
visible. He was scouting out the brush for her body, pulling back the limbs of the foliage, parting the bushy leaves and peering inside for her.

He was the hunter, she was prey. How long could it last? How long could
she
last?

If he found her, crouched like a wounded animal, she was as good as dead meat. She’d have to have a plan if he came upon her. Because she did have the element of surprise.

Her confused and addled thoughts pointed to two choices. Because it was unlikely that she could outrun him without being shot—he was noted as a terrific marksman—she figured she’d have to attack him directly or try to dislodge the gun from his grip. If she could disable him, it would be easier to dislodge the gun. But if she fell short of the mark, she’d be dead.

Gun or him? Gun or him?

Then she thought:
You don’t have to make that decision now. Seize whatever meager opportunity he’ll give you
.

He came closer and closer, his eyes running over the terrain, moving in on her. Parting the leaves with the barrel of the gun, which would mean that the barrel would be pointing at her face if he found her. Feet were always more deadly than arms.

Imagine yourself to be a kangaroo
.

What’s my motivation
?

He’s going to blow off your head if you don’t succeed
.

A foot away…then it came down to inches. Eleven, ten, nine…

She held her breath and silently positioned herself.

Eight inches, seven inches.

The leaves began to separate, letting in the moonlight.

She caught him hard between the legs. As he doubled over, she thrust her feet upward and pushed them into the cartilage of his nose. Instantly, it shot out blood. She bolted up, grabbed his arm as she had been taught at the academy, and gave it a solid twist, wrenching it with all her force. But he’d also gone to the academy. He’d been
taught the same maneuvers. Despite his handicaps—a throbbing groin and a bleeding nose—he pulled from a bottomless reservoir of strength.

She should have made the break to freedom when she’d had the opportunity. Except that she didn’t want that. She wanted to win! Under her force, she saw the gun slip from his grip. She was almost there. Then it was hand to hand. She was smaller, more agile. Without the gun, she had a chance.

But then he fooled her. His left hand had the audacity to reach around her neck, pulling her back tightly against his chest. She was forced to let go of his left hand, then tried to do the old flip she had learned from the academy.

He had also gone to the academy. He was prepared. And he was strong…so strong.

The light was fading.

So were the sounds.

I love you, Mom
.

Decker gripped his
cellular phone. “
How long ago
did she call?”

Rina stemmed her own anxiety to keep him calm. “She said she’d be here at around ten—”

“That was
an hour
ago! Did you call her?”

“Yes, of course. She’s not answering her phones or her pager. Maybe she’s going over the mountains. Sometimes the reception isn’t so good.”

But Decker wasn’t hearing it. The fear was immediate and raw. “How
many
times have you tried to call her?”

“Around a half-dozen,” Rina admitted.

“Good God!” He paced as he spoke. “I’m coming home. But first I’m going to call up Hollywood and ask them to send a cruiser by her house. Hopefully, it won’t be driven by one of those assholes that have been giving her a hard time. Okay…” He was talking as much to himself as he was to Rina. “First we’ll see if she’s home. Next we’ll see if her car’s gone. If her car’s gone, I’ll put out a bulletin on it. Which means I’d better call CHP. To get to the house, she’d take the freeway.”

“Do you want me to go out looking for her?”

“Absolutely not! You stay by the phone. God, what a nightmare!”

Rina closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to say other than to agree with his assessment. Obviously, that certainly wouldn’t be productive. “I’ll call you immediately if something comes up—”

“She didn’t say anything about what she wanted to talk to me about?”

“No, nothing.”

“Not a hint?”

Rina hesitated, to weigh her words carefully. “Nothing specific. She did seem rather…enthusiastic over the phone. Like she found out something—”

“Oh, great! That’s even more ominous! Her poking around stuff, pissing people off—”

“Peter, maybe I’m wrong—”

“You’re never wrong! What made you use the word
enthusiastic
?”

“Maybe the correct word is preoccupied. She forgot to ask about Hannah’s welfare until I mentioned the incident in passing. Then she got all concerned about how Hannah was doing. That’s not her at all…to forget about her sister. You know how she feels about Hannah.”

“Cindy hasn’t been home all day! She’s been nosing around something, and it caught up with her. God, how can someone so smart be so damn
stupid
!”

“Maybe she just got a flat tire.”

“Right. And chickens have lips!” Decker cursed under his breath. “Maybe Scott knows something. I’ve got to go.”

“Peter, don’t worry. It’ll work out.”

Decker wanted to believe her. He really wanted to believe her. He also wanted to believe that good was rewarded and evil was punished. But even the great prophet Moses wasn’t privileged to know God’s system of justice. Why should he, a mere mortal, be privy to the crazy way the world worked?

The car wasn’t in her parking space, so it was logical that Cindy was still out. Ridiculous to try the apartment, but Hayley figured what the hell. Nothing better to do. Maybe Cindy had taken her car into the shop, and was driving a loaner. The Saturn was sure smoking pretty bad on Friday. It would make sense for Cindy to check it out. Hayley climbed up the two flights of steps, and knocked hard for several moments. Of course, no one answered.

So what? No big deal that she wasn’t home.

But something prevented Hayley from turning around and going home. This itch…this pang in her stomach…like something from another sphere was talking to her. Telling her that something was wrong. So she took out a hairpin and tried to pick the lock. As soon as she realized it was a dead bolt, she stopped and gave up.

Now she definitely should have turned around and gone home. But the itch was growing stronger, propelling her to start in on the windows. They were locked: no big whoop about that. Someone had broken into her apartment, so Cindy was probably extra-diligent about locking her windows.

At that point, she would have surely turned around and gone home
if
she hadn’t seen fresh scratches near the sills that made her feel downright jumpy. She pounded on the window, but that didn’t accomplish anything except rattle the glass. No more options save two—go home or break the glass.

She exhaled out loud. Then she wrapped her jacket around her fist and gave it all she had, punching a jagged hole in the pane. She snaked her hand in, avoided a particularly lethal shard of glass, and somehow managed to unclick the lock with her padded fingertips. Up came the window and a moment later, Hayley was inside.

She called out Cindy’s name, but no one responded. Scoping out the rooms, she found nothing lurking behind the shower curtain. Norman Bates had decided not to camp here today.

Now she felt doubly stupid: A. She was worried about a grown woman, a cop nonetheless, and B. she’d broken the window, which she’d probably have to pay for. And how would she explain it to Cindy, who was already looking at her like she was a little weird. Who could blame her? Cindy couldn’t possibly understand what drove Hayley to break the window or tail that Camry. How could Hayley explain her unfailing intuition, stemming from that dreadful day when she had been stuck for three hours in the middle of Joshua Tree National Park in blistering desert
heat because some asshole in the department thought it funny to drain her radiator fluid and run down her phone battery? Luckily, some Good Samaritan motorist did eventually stop. And miracle of miracles, he wasn’t a psycho or a pervert. He was just a nice guy who let her use his cell phone and waited with her until Triple A showed up. Later, after she was safe, she had sent him money—fifty bucks, which had been a lot, back then. The envelope came back stamped: Return to Sender…addressee unknown. At that point, Hayley swore up and down that he had been her guardian angel. And who couldn’t use a guardian angel—someone looking after your ass? Cindy was a nice kid with potential
if
the jerks didn’t get in her way.

For the sake of completion, Hayley gave the place a quick once-over. Everything seemed okay (except for the broken window, which she should board up before she left). Without thinking, Hayley pressed the button on Cindy’s phone message machine: one from Mom, a couple from Daddy, and a couple from Oliver. Not that Scott said his name but Hayley recognized the voice. She smiled, having known something was up from the moment he had followed Cindy out of Bellini’s. It seemed so predictable. Cindy was trying to prove something to her father, and Oliver was trying to prove something to his boss. The two of them were a chemical reaction waiting for the catalyst.

Out of habit and boredom, she started opening drawers, first in the bedroom, then the desk in the living room, and finally in the kitchen. That’s when she came across notes with Bederman’s name scribbled all over the pages. The papers had been stuffed behind a cow-shaped pot holder. Hayley smoothed out the sheaves, then sorted them one by one. Lots of charts and diagrams, and lots of doodling…Bederman’s name, Cindy’s name in bubble letters, and the name Armand Crayton with arrows pointing every which way. The last page she looked at gave directions to a place called Belfleur.

Where the hell was Belfleur?

More important, where the hell was Cindy?

Someone, in a beaten-up red Camry, had tailed Cindy into the hills last Friday. Then someone had trashed the kid’s apartment. Now she wasn’t home, and it was past eleven, and she was up to something that had to do with Armand Crayton.

Crayton was dead.

This wasn’t looking good, and the itch was growing by the second. Rooting through her pocketbook, Hayley found her electronic notebook and looked up Oliver’s cellular number. As the phone rang, she wondered how she would explain herself to him, whether he’d think she was a partial or an absolute idiot.

He picked up on the third ring. “Detective Oliver.”

His voice sounded tense. She said, “It’s Hayley Marx.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you have Cindy Decker’s father’s phone number?” she stammered out. “I need to talk to him.”

“Why?” Scott shot out. “What’s this about?”

His agitation was palpable. She said, “Maybe you can help me, Scott. Do you know where Cindy Decker is?”

“No!” he barked out. “Why do you want to know?”

“Probably for the same reason you’re snapping at me. I’m worried. I’m at her apartment now, her car isn’t here. She hasn’t been home all day. I know her place was broken into—”

“
Where
are you exactly?”

“Inside her apartment,” Hayley repeated. “I broke the window and let myself in. Because I have this…this feeling—”

“What feeling?” Oliver cried out. “What’s wrong? Anything out of place?”

“No, except for the window, which I’ll board up. But I found some notes in her handwriting. They had Rick Bederman’s name on them. Even creepier, some also had Armand Crayton—”

“Oh God!” Oliver moaned.
Did the bastard get to her
? “Her stepmom just called her dad about five minutes ago. Cindy is supposedly on her way to her father’s house, but she hasn’t shown up.”

“Well, maybe I can help with that. In her notes, she wrote down directions to a place called Belfleur. Do you know what that’s about?”

“Yeah, I have an idea,” Oliver muttered. “This isn’t good. Her dad was here a few seconds ago, but left after his wife called. We were all in Oxnard, raiding a chop shop. Hold on. Let me see if I can catch him.”

Hayley waited, noticing that her breathing was shallow. It seemed as if she had been put on hold for a very long time. Then an anxious, deep voice broke through the line.

“Tell me everything that you know.”

Hayley cleared her throat. “I know that a Camry had tailed her on Friday. I know that the Camry fell down the mountainside. I know that her house was broken into. I found some scratches on her windowsills. Other than that, nothing seems out of order, sir.”

“So why are you calling me?”

Hayley’s throat became dry. “I don’t know how to say this—”

“Then just spit it out.”

She cleared her throat. “There’s some odd men in my division, Lieutenant.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, she had Rick Bederman’s name scrawled on some of her notes.”

“Okay. What about Bederman’s partner, Tim Waters?”

“He’s also odd. But there were no notes with his name on them.”

“She also mentioned some kid that she went to the academy with—Andy Lopez. What do you know about him?”

“He’s a jerk, but he doesn’t strike me as dangerous. She also didn’t write his name down.”

“She had a run-in with a sergeant there—”

“Clark Tropper. She’s been typing up some papers for him. I thought they ironed things out.”

“Maybe not. Do you have phone numbers for any of these yahoos?”

“I can get them in a snap. I’ll call them for you, if you want.”

“No, I’ll call. Just get me the numbers.”

“Sir, it might be less obvious if I call Bederman. But I’ll do whatever you want.”

She was right. Decker said, “Do you think Bederman would hurt her?”

“Yeah, if she made him angry enough. All of these men have tempers.”

Decker told her to hold a moment. To Oliver, he said, “This Marx girl. Can she be trusted?”

Oliver thought long and hard. “She’s a pain in the butt. Sarcastic, bitchy, intrusive. But I never recall her being dishonest. What does she want?”

“She wants to call up Bederman and sound him out. If she’s sincere, it’s a good idea because it’ll look less suspicious. But if she’s setting us up, then it’s a bad idea.”

“If she’s setting us up at Bederman’s behest, then he knows about this phone call, Deck.” Oliver ran his hand through his thick, greasy hair. “Marx isn’t the sharpest knife in the block, but I’d take the chance. Because right now, she’s a lot closer to the situation than either of us.”

Decker hoped that Oliver was right. To Marx, he said, “All right. You take Bederman and Waters and Lopez. They’re your peers. Tropper’s a sergeant. You call him up, you’re in a one-down position. Being a loo, I’m in a one-up position. I’ll take Tropper.”

“That makes sense.” Hayley cleared her throat. “Sir, again, I don’t know how to tell you this, so…I put a tracer on Cindy’s car—”

“You
what
!?”

“I put a tracer on Cindy’s Saturn. After that guy in the Camry tailed her into the mountains, I got concerned. When I first started on the force, some wise guy in the department made sure my car broke down in the middle of the desert. It was so traumatic that I swore to myself it wouldn’t happen to any other woman rookie if I could help it. I know I must sound idiotic. But as God is my wit
ness, I like your daughter.” Hayley’s eyes started watering. “I’d feel horrible if anything should happen to her.” She sniffed back an onslaught of tears. “Do you want me to activate it?”

“
Hell, yeah, activate it
!”

She winced at the aggression in his voice. “Okay, sir. I’ll do that. The mechanism is back at my house. I’m fifteen minutes away from it. I’ll call you as soon as I get a signal. Then I’ll take care of Bederman. I’m sorry about this, sir.”

“So am I.” Decker gave her six phone numbers. “Call any of those lines if you hear anything, no matter how trivial it seems to you.”

“I will.”

Decker hung up. To Oliver, he said, “Hayley said she was worried about Cindy, so she put a tracer on her car. Goddamn it,
I
should have done that! What the
fuck
is wrong with me?”

What the fuck is wrong with both of us
? Oliver said, “Marx is smarter than I gave her credit for. Always been my downfall…underestimating the gray matter of women. That’s why my ex has a new Mercedes and I’m driving a ten-year-old Plymouth.”