by D P Lyle
I made two calls. To Pancake and then to Detective Claire Mills. The cavalry was en route.
While we waited, we attempted to console and calm Megan. With some success but truly tamping down her fear was impossible.
I understood. This guy had invaded everything. Her cyber world, her home, and now her workplace. Worse, this time he had employed a weapon. A knife, no doubt. But the worst part was that he had invaded her head. Wormed his way inside and left a snail-trail of fear.
Fifteen minutes later, Ray and Pancake drove down the ramp, followed by Mills, and a police cruiser, two uniforms inside. I introduced her and Ray.
Mills listened carefully, asked a few questions, as Megan went through the story. Nicole and I added what we knew, which wasn’t much. She then inspected the damaged tries.
“We’ll take the car over to our impound lot,” Mills said. “Get the forensic guys to give a look.” She turned to the two uniforms. “Canvas the locals and see if anyone saw anything and check out any area security cameras. There must be a few around here.” She sighed. “Who knows? We might get lucky.”
Once we got back to Nicole’s, the decision was to walk over to The Cannery for food and drinks. Lots of drinks. Especially Megan who seemed to need to get hammered. Two hours later: mission accomplished. Back in the condo, Megan thanked each of us, with hugs and a few more tears, then disappeared into her room. Hopefully, for some much-needed sleep, but I doubted she’d get much.
CHAPTER 33
I WOKE UP the next morning, feeling like it would be a good day. Not sure why. Seemed like just another day. Sunlight pressed against the curtain. Nicole lay wrapped in a sheet like a taquito, her back to me. I laced my fingers behind my head and stared at the ceiling fan that spun overhead.
Why did I feel this would be a good day? Based on the past two days I couldn’t see any rational explanation for it. Actually, the opposite.
Megan’s stalker had basically dismantled her life. The constant stream of emails and texts, the invasion of her privacy and safety. Her home, Malibu, her condo, now her car. This guy was like swamp fog. He seeped into her life, every nook and cranny. No place left untouched. Well, except for Megan herself. And that could easily be in the offing.
Not much to be optimistic about there. Yet, that feeling that we were on the threshold of something big was unshakeable.
Nicole stirred, stretched, rolled my way, the sheet unfurling from her body. She pressed against me.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Thinking.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to do that?”
“You did. Many times”
“Yet, you persist.”
I fiddled with her hair. “That’s me. A rebel all the way.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
“Liar.”
“I was. But also, I have a feeling this will be a good day.”
“We could use one but why do you think so?”
I rolled her way, our heads now resting on one pillow, facing each other. “Not sure. I know Ray and Pancake were up late last night. I could hear them talking and clicking keyboards. If they spend that much time on anything, something good usually comes from it.”
“Let’s hope.” She stifled a yawn. “What’s that I smell?”
I had noticed it also. Bacon. “I suspect Pancake’s up and hungry.”
“Not a newsflash.”
We rolled out of bed, took a quick shower, and got ready for the day. I slipped on jeans and a dark green tee; Nicole white slacks and a tangerine shell top. I loved that color on her. With her blond hair it made her look like a Dreamsicle. I’ve always had a thing for Dreamsicles.
Pancake had yet again hammered out a massive breakfast. Everyone ate too much. Well, except for Pancake. Too much food wasn’t possible in his world. I noticed that Megan ate little. The wear and tear progressively apparent on her face and her slumped shoulders. I tried to keep things light, but failed miserably. Megan was not consolable. Even Pancake assuring her that he and Ray had made some progress didn’t seem to help.
“Jake thinks this is going to be a good day,” Nicole said.
“How so?” Ray asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just a feeling. But I figured you guys must have uncovered something last night. Lord knows you were at it until way late.”
“Did we interfere with your beauty sleep?” Pancake asked.
“No. But maybe Nicole’s.”
“She don’t need it,” Pancake said. “You do.”
“What’d you find?” Nicole asked.
That’s when Detective Mills called. She had something we needed to see.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Better if you take a look,” she said.
Next stop the Newport PD.
Mills had apparently located a pair of witnesses. Definitely a good thing. But then maybe not.
“One young lady said she saw a guy walking near the station around three or so. She said he looked ‘suspicious,’ whatever that means. Described him as short and stocky and he walked with a slight limp. He had on cargo shorts—she thinks they were tan—and a yellow tee shirt. Sound familiar?”
Megan shook her head. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” Mills said. “He apparently was a half a block away, walking down Church Street toward Broadway. We haven’t been able to locate him or any other witnesses who saw him.”
“The other witness?” Ray asked.
“This one might be more viable. A guy sitting in a coffee shop, working on his laptop, waiting for a business associate to show up, saw a guy walk past. He was on the opposite side of the street, moving away from the TV studio and toward Orange Avenue. He said he disappeared into the neighborhood.”
I knew that area. Right around the studio were several other businesses, but a block away, to the east, a neighborhood that extended all the way to the Back Bay rose up. Densely packed homes, most costing more than you’d think. SoCal property always made you shake your head. Particularly in The OC. Homes that would go for a couple of hundred K back in Gulf Shores fetched seven figures here. Made no sense, but that’s the way it was.
“The witness said he was dressed in jeans and a dark blue or black tee. Carried a small backpack over one shoulder. He guessed he was maybe six feet and looked to be fit.”
“What made him stand out?” I asked.
“The guy said he seemed to be in a hurry. Not running or anything like that but moving along. Also, he kept looking back over his shoulder.”
“Did anyone else see this guy?” Pancake asked.
“Not that we’ve found yet. But here is what I wanted to show you.” She picked up her iPad. “We scoured the area for security cameras and found a few but none that was very helpful. Except for maybe this one.”
She tapped an icon and a grainy video played. The camera aimed up 19th Street and appeared to be maybe a block away. Channel 16 visible on the left. A figure came around the side of the building and turned away from the camera, toward the neighborhood. He did indeed glance back a couple of times, but at that distance and with the image being of poor quality, his face was never visible.
“As you can see,” Mills said. “He more or less fits the description coffee-shop dude gave us. Tall enough, dark shirt, looks like a backpack, and he’s walking quickly.”
“Any way to enlarge or enhance this?” Pancake asked.
Mills shook her head. “My computer guys tried. This video was grabbed from the service station on the corner. The equipment is about a century old so the quality sucks. This is really all we have.”
Which wasn’t much. All you could really decipher from the fourteen seconds he was in frame was that he was tallish and carried a backpack. No other features were evident. Which meant this could fit hundreds of dudes in the area. Literally. Was this our guy? Maybe. He was in the right place anyway.
“What time was this?” I asked.
“Time stamp show
s it was three fifteen.”
That was maybe fifteen minutes before Nicole and I arrived at the studio. Were we that close to crossing his path? If this was the guy, the answer was yes.
Mills replayed the video a couple of times, the screen angled toward Megan. “Any familiarity here?”
Megan examined it, brow furrowed. She gave a headshake. “No. Doesn’t look like anyone I now.”
“I figured.” She shut down the iPad. “Too far away and poor quality. Not enough to make an ID, or even create a useful description, but that’s all we have.”
“Not exactly nothing,” Pancake said. “Dude looked to be six feet or so, and fit, like your witness said.”
“If that’s him,” I said. “Could just be a random person.”
Ray nodded. “We don’t know exactly when Megan’s tires were slashed. Could have been much earlier or later than this video.”
“That’s why I was hoping Megan might recognize him.”
“Sorry,” she said. “No one comes to mind.”
“I didn’t think it would.” Mills scratched the back of one hand. “Sorry to drag you down here, but I had to take a chance.”
“No worry,” Megan said. “Anything to catch this guy.”
“The good news,” Mills said, “is that you can have your car back. We’ve finished with it.” She shrugged. “Found nothing of interest. Looks like he simply slashed the tires and walked away.”
Next stop, the police impound lot where we arranged to have Megan’s car trailered to a nearby tire store. Took another hour to get the tires replaced. We headed back to Nicole’s.
CHAPTER 34
BACK AT THE condo, Nicole and I waited for Megan to get ready and gather her materials for work, then followed her to the studio. I was happy to see that the station had hired a guy to guard the place, including the underground parking area. He looked like a high school kid but it turned out he was in college, taking a semester off to make some tuition money. He wasn’t armed, but did he really need to be? I looked at him as more of a scarecrow than anything else. His mere presence might deter the stalker.
Not that I thought the guy would return for an encore. He had done his damage and delivered his message. More or less a hit-and-run. Time to move on. To what was the question. To think I had foolishly believed this was going to be a good day.
But in all fairness, none of what we had learned today was bad news. We had a description of sorts and an image of—someone. Not sure it was our guy but it was at least possible, which was more than we had yesterday.
Nicole and I swung by Jersey Mike’s and picked up sandwiches. Two extra-large for Pancake, of course. I knew better than to return empty-handed. Besides, I was getting hungry, too. After lunch, Nicole and I sat on her deck, reading, enjoying another perfect day in paradise. Ray and Pancake hung at the kitchen table doing Ray and Pancake stuff.
I almost felt guilty loafing while they worked. But the truth was that me and computers weren’t on a first-name basis so what could I do? Except stay out of the way, and hang with Nicole. Why wouldn’t I?
An hour later, Pancake stuck his head out the door. “Got something.”
We hustled inside and sat at the table.
Pancake explained. “Of those twenty-seven cases I told you about, most proved to be nothing. Nuisances more than anything else. Nothing really to them. But I found six cases of small station TV reporters who were stalked aggressively enough to reach law enforcement’s radar. Each involved emails and texts and gifts, it seems. Of those, four were solved. Two with restraining orders and the guy seemed to have given up and moved on. Two with jail time. One got two years plus three more on proby. The other, fifteen years. He physically attacked his victim.”
“I take it he’s still locked up?” I asked.
“He is. It’s the other two cases that I found interesting. From what I could determine, each of the victims was stalked electronically for several months. The first, nearly a year ago near Salt Lake City. Dana Roderick, twenty-nine, the social reporter for a small Christian station. She was stalked for several months and ultimately murdered.”
“Really?” Nicole asked.
“Yep. Case never solved.”
“How was she killed?” Ray asked.
“The reports say she was strangled. Apparently, she was abducted from a mall and her body was found a couple of days later along a deserted roadside several miles outside of Salt Lake.”
“Strangling is usually personal,” Ray said.
Pancake gave a half nod. “Totally.”
“You think this might be the dude harassing Megan?” Nicole asked.
“Don’t know. I’m just saying it has some similar elements.”
“The other case?” I asked.
“Tiffany Cole. Worked at a small station in Henderson, Nevada. Similar to Megan, she’s very pretty and did mostly human-interest stories. Apparently, her stalker harassed her for a few months until about six months ago when she bolted. Moved away, fell off the radar, and disappeared. Not like a missing person but rather it seems she left the area and evaporated from social media.”
“I don’t like this,” Nicole said. “None of it.”
“Not much to like,” Pancake said.
“What’s next?” I asked.
“A couple of phone calls.”
Pancake put his cell on speaker and dialed the Henderson station, saying we might want to start with the more recent of the two. Unfortunately, the station manager was in a meeting so Pancake said he’d call back. He then tapped in the Salt Lake City station’s number. The manager, Scott Hartman, was available. Pancake introduced himself, Longly Investigations, and each of us, ending by telling Hartman that the call was on speaker. He then explained the reason for the call.
Hartman hesitated before responding. “You think this guy might be related to your situation?”
“Could be. We did find more than a few similarities.”
“This was a year ago,” Hartman said, “but I remember it like yesterday. Dana was a very special young lady. She had been with us for four years. Good at what she did. Her work was always top notch and she was so engaging. Our viewers loved her. She had such a bright future.” An audible sigh. “Then this guy crashed into her life.”
“Tell us about it.”
“She had a huge following so she got notes and gifts and things like that not infrequently. This guy started out just like any other fan. Nothing alarming at first, but then it morphed into something else. The messages became more aggressive. He accused her of ignoring and offending him, of not taking their love seriously. Amazingly, that’s how he saw all this. A love story. Dana changed in many ways. She was scared all the time, always looking over her shoulder, not trusting anyone.”
“Did she have any idea who might be doing it?” I asked.
“None. Lord knows she fretted over it. She considered just about everyone she’d ever known. It got so bad that she couldn’t sleep, lost weight, and was worn out and tired all the time. Her work suffered considerably.”
“You mentioned gifts,” Nicole said. “What kinds of things did he send?”
“At first they were the usual things. Flowers, boxes of candy. Then the gifts became more disturbing.”
“Such as?” Ray asked.
“Dead flowers, boxes of crushed cookies, even a dead mouse.”
“Really?” Nicole asked.
“Yeah. That one threw her for a loop. I tried to convince her to go to the police, but she was reluctant. Then the very next day a box of beautiful yellow roses arrived here, along with a marriage proposal.”
I glanced at Ray, then Nicole.
“This is more or less what we have going on here,” Pancake said. “A similar escalation.”
“Then tell your young lady to take all this very seriously.” He sighed. “Which I guess she is if you guys are involved.”
“Any physical confrontations or overt invasions of her life?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,
” Hartman said. “He painted graffiti on her garage door. Words like ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’ and the like. Bright red. I can still see it. He also punctured a couple of her car tires.”
This was becoming officially eerie. The MO of this guy and our guy seemed to be in lockstep. Hundreds of miles and a year apart, yet they seemed to follow the same script. I had to admit, Pancake just might have hit the jackpot. He always had a knack for reading between the lines, and this was all that and more. To extract this case from all the others—hell, to even find all the others—was a major bit of mental gymnastics and cyber sleuthing. He was a freaking Sherlock sometimes.
“So he never actually confronted her?” Pancake asked. “Face-to-face?”
“Not until that day.” He sighed. “The irony was that I had convinced her to bring in the cops and she had agreed to do so. She was going in to report it the next day.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“She was at one of our larger malls. He apparently took her from the parking deck. Her car was found unlocked and her purse sitting on the passenger’s seat. The police said it was like she was prepping to get in. But she never did.”
“Did the police ever suspect anyone?” I asked.
“No. At least that’s what I was told. As far as I could tell they did a good job. Pulled out all the stops, but in the end, it was never solved.”
“Do you remember who led the investigation?” Ray asked.
“Sure. Detective Roberto Gomez. He’s a real bulldog. I think his failure to solve it hurt him as much as it did all of us here at the station.”
“Anything else that you can think of?” Pancake asked.
A long, slow exhale. “I don’t know the details but I do know she had been tortured before he killed her. The cops held all that close to the vest. They didn’t want to let the public know that part.”
“Not an unusual move,” Ray said. “Helps filter out the nuts and also with the interrogation of any suspects.”
“The worst part?” Hartman said. “She was dumped along a rural road. Like someone might discard a soda can. I still can’t get over that.”
