The OC

by D P Lyle

  “Jesus,” Megan said. “This is a waking nightmare.”

  “How would he know we went to the police?” Jake asked.

  “Lots of ways. We don’t know him. Don’t know who he is, where he is, or what he is. Hell, he could be a cop.”

  That dropped the room into silence. The tension palpable.

  “Still,” Megan said. “I’d feel better if we talked with the Newport Police.”

  Pancake nodded. “Okay. Let me call Ray. See if he knows someone over there we can trust.”

  “Trust?” Abby asked. “We can’t trust the police?”

  “Not always all of them.” Pancake looked at Megan. “We don’t know all the players over there. Who we might be able to work with. I don’t want you to simply walk in and get some flunky who doesn’t have a clue. Or doesn’t give a rat’s ass and lacks even a sliver of discretion.”

  “Okay,” Megan said. “Make your call. But then let’s talk with the police at the very least.”

  “Want me to go with you?” Abby asked. “For moral support.”

  Megan considered that. “I don’t want to overwhelm them with people. Maybe it’s better if we go. Besides, you have more work to do on the script.”

  “That makes sense. I do have a few ideas for making it snappier.”

  Megan smiled. “We like snappy.”

  CHAPTER 18

  NO SHOCK HERE but Ray knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a woman. Claire Mills. A detective with the Newport Beach PD. According to Ray’s guy, someone in the FBI’s LA office, she was experienced, tough, and took no prisoners. Took Ray all of twenty minutes to uncover all this and get the ball rolling.

  The result was that Pancake called her, had a brief chat, and set up a meeting. Fortunately, she was in her office “pushing papers around” and said we could drop by at any time. Which was now.

  The Newport Beach Police Department, like everything else in Newport Beach, looked expensive. Bright, modern, encased in clean white stucco, and with a palm-tree-framed entrance. Looked more like a spa or a library than a cop shop. The sign above the door dispelled any confusion. It read: POLICE DEPARTMENT in large black lettering.

  Good thing the city had wads of cash as the facility sat on a wallet-emptying patch of dirt near the corner of Jamboree Drive and Santa Barbara Road. Only a nine iron from two golf courses—the Back Bay Golf Club and the uber-exclusive Big Canyon Country Club. Oh, and maybe a strong three iron from Fashion Island, one of the top-grossing shopping centers in the world. Mostly outdoor, arranged in a palm-treed circle, and populated with high-end shops and restaurants—no fast food here, thank you.

  You could almost smell the money and for sure could see it in the bright white Bentley convertible that rolled by as we ascended the front steps. We stopped and watched the white car disappear around the curve in the road.

  “Buy me one of those, daddy,” Nicole said.

  “Since your movie’s going to be a major hit, you can buy me one,” I said.

  “Deal.”

  Just like that I was getting a new Bentley. Probably not. Not that Nicole’s movie wouldn’t rake it in, I was sure of that, but rather that I wouldn’t know what to do with a car like that if I had one. I liked my ’65 Mustang much better.

  Since there were four of us, a uniformed officer ferried a couple of extra chairs into Lieutenant Claire Mills’ office and we all sat. Introductions followed.

  Mills looked to be late thirties, stocky, muscular, no stranger to the gym. Her hair was short and sandy blond, eyes brown, and her face stern, which contrasted with her friendly smile.

  “It’s not often I get a call from the FBI’s Regional Director.”

  “Like I told you on the phone,” Pancake said. “That’s Ray’s doing. He’s the one that owns our firm, Longly Investigations. He’s also Jake’s father.”

  “I see. Well, he must have some pull somewhere along the line.”

  “Comes from his military days,” I said.

  “What branch?”

  “Marines. But most of his time was spent elsewhere.”

  Mills smiled, her head nodding slightly. “Got it. My brother also spent a considerable slice of his career ‘elsewhere.’” She turned to Megan. “I know you. I watch your show as often as I can.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You do a good job. So good I hear you’ve picked up some unwanted baggage.”

  “More like a steamer trunk, it seems.”

  Mills offered a sympathetic smile. “Tell me about it.”

  Megan nodded toward Pancake. “He might do a better job.”

  Pancake proceeded to lay it all out. The emails, texts, gifts, leaving one at Megan’s doorstep, the escalating treats in his communications. He handed Mills a copy of the emails and texts. He had circled the problematic ones with a red marker. We waited while she scanned them.

  She placed the pages on her desktop and leaned back. “I agree. You’ve got a bad actor here. A least it feels that way. But, and this is a big but, though these are definitely disconcerting, even somewhat threatening, there’s no overt threat here.”

  “Feels overt to me,” Megan said.

  “I know it does. As it should. But it doesn’t rise to the level that I can put any resources on it.”

  “Why not?” Nicole asked.

  “The truth? I wish I could. I don’t like the sound of this guy. Hell, I don’t like these stalker-types in any form. Makes me want to take a swing at them.” She smiled, shrugged.

  I liked her. I also agreed with her. I’d like to take a Louisville Slugger to this guy, too.

  “Unfortunately, the truth is that we get this kind of stuff around here all the time. You know? California, the land of the nutjobs. So we can’t track every one of them. Not until there is a real, tangible, direct threat.”

  “I guessed as much,” Pancake said.

  “That’s because you understand the rules. The restrictions. Another cold hard truth is that everyone, even this miscreant, has rights. Free speech, free communication, that kind of thing. He can send all the letters and emails and texts he wants. Until he makes a real, credible threat, that is. Then we can come in.” She glanced at Megan. “It’s all BS. If I had my way I’d run this guy down with my SUV.” She smiled. “Maybe worse. But, sadly, I can’t do any of that.”

  “I sort of understand,” Megan said. “But part of me doesn’t.”

  “That’s because it’s a very gray area. A balancing act between protecting and overstepping. There’s no right answer.”

  “So what do you suggest we do?” I asked.

  “I will open a file. A complaint, if you will. That will at least create a record. If we can ID the guy, I’ll personally go have a chat with him. In fact, I’d love to. I’ll also talk with my guys over in the cyber division and see if they have any tricks.”

  “I appreciate it,” Megan said. “This is getting scary.”

  “I know,” Mills said. “I truly wish I could do more, but I promise, I’ll do everything I can.” She opened her hands toward Megan. “In the meantime, be diligent and aware. Stay close to friends. Don’t go out alone.”

  “Sort of like house arrest, I guess,” Megan said.

  “Not quite that but do use common sense.”

  “She’s going to stay with me,” Nicole said. “I tried to get her to before and she refused, but now we’ll kidnap her if we have to.”

  “That’s a felony,” Mills said. She smiled. “But we’d probably let it slide.”

  “Jake and Pancake are staying at my place too. So it’ll be like a slumber party.”

  “If you make s’mores,” Mills said, “I’ll drop by.”

  “S’mores sound good,” Pancake said.

  Of course they did.

  Mills actually walked us outside. As we exited, a gleaming yellow Lamborghini rolled by. Maybe Nicole would buy me one of those instead of the Bentley. A Lambo I could get behind.

  “I know this is frustrating,” Mills said to Megan. “I know
you hoped we could swoop in and whack this dude in the head. No doubt he needs it. But I want you to know that I take this personally. I’ll keep my finger on it. I’ll talk with our tech guys and see what I can get done. Sort of off the books since I can’t do it officially.”

  “Thanks,” Megan said.

  “I imagine Pancake here—I love that name, by the way—has a few tricks up his sleeve too.”

  “A few.”

  “Just don’t break the law.”

  Pancake tossed her a mock-surprised look. “Moi? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Mills laughed. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THIS ALSO WILL come as no shock—Pancake was hungry. He said so before we made it out of the Newport PD parking lot. I guess he’d forgotten about the two sandwiches he had woofed down—what? A couple of hours ago?

  When Nicole learned that Pancake was coming, she had insisted on stocking the fridge. Her take was that a hungry Pancake would be intolerable. I told her Pancake, at least chronologically, was an adult and could fend for himself. She countered with why would I want to roll the dice with Pancake becoming hypoglycemic? She had a point.

  So, off to Gelson’s Market where we filled five bags with—well—everything. At least I got some oatmeal.

  Back to Pancake’s sandwich. A Dagwood. This triple-decker deal is a massive sandwich anyway and when Pancake hammers it together it becomes a sight to behold. Like twin towers. Each with three slices of bread; layers of meats like salami, ham, pepperoni, turkey, and bologna; more layers of cheese, in this case cheddar, provolone, Swiss, and smoked gouda; banana and pepperoni peppers, and a few jalapeños; lettuce, tomato, and red onion; all slathered with mayo and mustard. Did I mention he ate two of them?

  Anyway, he was hungry so we headed back north on PCH then onto Newport Boulevard. Pancake worked his phone and decided we should go to Burger Lounge, just off Newport on 17th Street. I knew better than to argue, so five minutes later we were placing our orders at the counter. We found a table along one wall. Pancake said he needed to make a call, got up, and walked outside.

  Megan’s phone buzzed. She mostly listened, then said, “You hungry?” A pause. “Great. We’re having lunch at Burger Lounge. Bring it with you.” Pause. “Yeah, that’s the one. I’ll order you a burger.”

  She slid her phone into her purse. “That was Abby. He sent another flower box.”

  “Maybe trying to make up,” Nicole said. “After this morning’s email.”

  Pancake returned. Megan told him of the new gift.

  “Maybe trying to kiss and make up,” Pancake said.

  “That’s what I thought,” Nicole said.

  “Great minds run in the same small circles, darlin’.”

  “All that geniusness aside, this isn’t bad news,” I said.

  “I’d rather he just go away,” Megan said.

  “I know, but at least he’s still communicating.”

  “Exactly,” Pancake said. “My fear was that he would stop reaching out and we’d have no idea what he was up to. Or maybe, more importantly, his state of mind. The more he communicates, the better the chance he’ll slip up.”

  “I guess that’s true,” Megan said. “I just wish he’d get hit by a garbage truck.”

  “Or Pancake,” Nicole said.

  “Same thing actually,” I said.

  “You’re funny,” Pancake said. “Both of you.”

  “We try.”

  “Anyway, back to the issue at hand, the call I made was to my guy. Told him it was time to dig deeper.”

  “Can he?” Megan asked. “Find this guy?”

  “Not going to be easy but he has a few tricks. Access to certain databases, search and tracking algorithms, that sort of thing.”

  Our burgers came and we dug in. They were hot, juicy, and excellent.

  Abby came in, a long white box tucked beneath one arm. “Here you go.” She handed it to Megan.

  Inside. A single white lily.

  “The funeral flower,” I said.

  “What?” Megan asked.

  “Lilies. They’re for funerals.”

  Megan sighed. “Great. Just freaking great.”

  “Guess our hopes that this was an apology doesn’t hold up,” Nicole said.

  “Nope.” Pancake wiped grease from his chin with a napkin. “It’s a message for sure. Sort of an exclamation point to his last missive. The silver lining is that he hasn’t gone silent.”

  “Not a message I want to receive,” Megan said.

  “It’s what these guys do. They thrive on generating fear. The power that gives them. Your fear is his drug. That’s what he needs.”

  I had a thought. Yes, I do have those from time to time. Some of them were damn good. Like this one, I hoped. “Can I ask something?”

  Pancake grunted.

  “If he feeds on fear, wouldn’t he want to experience it? Be able to actually feel it?”

  Pancake nodded.

  “So why not show up? Why not go to Megan’s office, or her home? See her up close?”

  “That would expose him,” Nicole said.

  “He’s apparently not ready for that,” Pancake said.

  “I don’t want to see him,” Megan said. “Ever. Unless he’s behind bars.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Maybe not face-to-face but why not call? He’s sending all these scary messages and gifts, like this one. But he can’t see her reaction. Only guess at it. Maybe get a hint of it whenever she responds. If he called, he could experience it firsthand.”

  I noticed Abby seemed uncomfortable. Fidgety, gaze down toward her lap.

  “What is it?” I asked her.

  She looked up. “Nothing.”

  “It’s something. What is it?”

  The stress lines around her eyes and lips deepened. “I don’t like this. It reminds me of the guy that glommed on to me. He called all the time. Showed up way too often.”

  “Mine, too,” Nicole said. “He seemed to always know where I was.” Abby wound her napkin into a knot. “Yeah. He even sent me photos of me out doing normal stuff. Like he was following me. Which, I guess he was.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” Megan said. “The emails and texts are enough, thank you.”

  “That’s my point,” I said. “You’re sitting here all wound up and scared, yet he experiences none of that. It’s like his work, for lack of a better term, goes unrewarded. Like Pancake said, your fear is his drug. He’d want to savor it.”

  “Unless he’s nearby,” Nicole said.

  Megan’s head swiveled. She seemed to examine everyone in sight. “You guys aren’t helping me here.”

  “Relax,” I said. “You’re safe here. You have Pancake and Nicole to protect you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I could throw my burger at him.” I smiled. A feeble attempt to tamp down her angst, but I saw no sign that it worked. “That would at least distract him so Nicole could Krav Maga him into submission, and Pancake could garbage truck him.”

  Megan smiled. “I love you guys. Without you I’d be going insane about now.”

  “When we leave here,” Nicole said, “we’re going to go by your place and pack what you need. You’re moving in with me.” Megan started to protest but Nicole continued. “It’s not open for discussion.”

  “But aren’t you leaving tomorrow? Going up to Malibu?”

  “So are you.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You can and you will.”

  “What’s in Malibu?” Abby asked.

  “My uncle’s place,” Nicole said.

  “Her uncle is Charles Balfour, the big producer,” Megan said.

  “Really?” Abby asked. “He’s a huge deal.”

  “He has a house in The Colony,” Nicole said. “Right on the beach.”

  “I can’t crash your party,” Megan said. “Or your uncle’s home.”

  “Trust me, he’ll be fine with it. Besides, you can fi
nally meet my parents.”

  “As an added bonus,” I said, “Kirk Ford will be there.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Abby said. “Kirk Ford? Wow.”

  “Come too,” Nicole said. “You’d enjoy it.”

  “Oh. No, I couldn’t.”

  “What?” I asked. “You have something better to do?”

  Abby smiled. “Better than that? Not now. Maybe not ever.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll call Uncle Charles and let him know.” Abby glanced at Megan, then back to Nicole. “I don’t know. I’d feel like a gate crasher.”

  “Exactly,” Megan said.

  “The house is seven thousand square feet and has a dozen bedrooms. All suites. I think he has plenty of room for you.”

  “It is tempting,” Megan said.

  “Listen,” Nicole said. “With all this going on, I think it would be good to get away. Even just for one day. Get away from this guy and clear your head.” She shrugged. “Both of you.”

  Megan sighed, then nodded. “It would be a welcome break from this clown.”

  “He can still send emails and texts,” Abby said.

  Megan raised one shoulder. “True. But I won’t have to look over my shoulder and wonder if he’s following me.”

  “So, it’s a done deal,” Nicole said.

  Abby and Megan exchanged a glance, then each of them nodded.

  “What’s the party for?” Abby asked.

  “Me,” Nicole said. She laughed. “And Kirk.”

  “It’s to celebrate the upcoming production of Nicole’s new screenplay,” I said. “Her uncle is the executive producer and Kirk is the star.”

  “Amazing,” Abby said. “Megan told me you were out here to film a movie, but I never imagined it was something like that. That is so way cool.”

  “Uncle Charles has invited a ton of big-name producers, directors, and actors. Not to mention his neighbors who I’m sure will wander in. All on the A-list.”

  Abby looked starstruck. “I don’t have anything to wear to something like that.”

  Nicole laughed. “You have a swimsuit, don’t you? Did I mention it sits right on the beach? And he has a massive pool. It’ll be fun and wild. Uncle Charles never does anything that isn’t over the top.”