by D P Lyle
“But she’s been great to me,” Megan said. “Always there and always calming me when I would get wound up. She’s been a rock.”
“Which gives her a chance to play the hero,” Nicole said.
“Which makes her less of a suspect,” Pancake said. “The supportive friend couldn’t be the bad guy, or gal. A very good head fake.”
“Also,” I said, “wasn’t she the one that sounded the alarm the earliest? Didn’t she say that you should be worried about, even afraid of, this guy? Didn’t she say it would get worse?”
Megan nodded.
“Nothing ramps up fear more quickly than those around you being afraid,” I said. “That’s why horror movies are scarier in the theater than they are at home on TV.”
“Herd mentality,” Ray said. “Even if the herd is only two.”
Megan seemed to consider that before speaking. “I just find all this hard to believe. I mean, Abby seems so sweet. Not the kind of person who would even consider something like this.”
“But she’s not who she says she is,” I said. “Who you think she is, is a creation.”
Megan leaned her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. “I don’t freaking believe this.”
“I just had another thought,” Nicole said. “What if the guy is actually stalking Abby? What if she has moved and changed her ID and background to hide from him, but he keeps finding her?”
Megan looked up.
“Go ahead,” Ray said.
“He knew her from somewhere. Maybe he’s an old boyfriend or maybe he’s completely anonymous. Maybe he’s simply trying to wreck her life by keeping her off balance and afraid. Not by going directly at her but by going after those close to her. In these cases, the person she’s interning for.”
I liked that. As crazy at it sounded, it wasn’t any more off kilter than Abby and some unknown dude doing all this. Either scenario seemed improbably improbable but not impossible. I gave Nicole an atta-girl nod.
“I saw a few cases like that,” Pancake said. “One was a high school kid who was dumped by his girlfriend so he set about stalking and harassing her mother. Made her life hell for nearly a year before he was caught.”
Ray leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t buy it. If that were the case and if Abby were truly innocent, wouldn’t she have told you about it?” He looked at Megan. “That she had some mysterious stalker and that this person was harassing you as a tact to make Abby uncomfortable?”
Megan nodded. “I believe she would have.”
“I do too. She would be looking for the support from you that she’s apparently been so generous giving to you.”
Okay, I had to admit that that made more sense that Nicole’s suggestion. If Abby was in hiding, she would need allies. She would need a support system. Megan would have been a prime candidate for that role.
“The big question is—do stalkers work as teams?” I asked.
“Don’t know for sure,” Pancake said. “But if you mean like the typical obsessive, infatuated stalker, I’d think probably not. Seems to me that it would be very unlikely that two people would share the same obsession for the same person.”
“But if inflicting terror, and reveling in that, is the goal, then a team could make sense,” I said.
“Good thinking,” Ray said.
Ray actually said that? Had the world reversed its spin? I started to comment on that but quickly disconnected my brain from my mouth. See? I was getting better.
Ray continued. “That would also explain why the supposed stalker hasn’t called or showed up. The Trojan horse, Abby, was always inside the castle walls.”
“She has a front-row seat to the terror she and her partner have inflicted,” Nicole said.
Megan took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I find all this hard to believe.”
“I know,” Pancake said. “It’s a lot to get your head around. But things are starting to look like that could be the deal.” He opened his hands. “There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark and it ain’t the marriage of Claudius and Gertrude.”
“What?” I asked.
“Hamlet. You need to read more.”
Where does he store all this stuff? Pancake’s big, very big, and even his head’s big but still, it only has so much storage space. Yet, he comes up with crap like this all the time. Not that I knew what he was talking about. Hell, I didn’t even know who Claudius and Gertrude were and barely knew much about Hamlet. I do remember a skull in there somewhere. I started to ask him to explain but wasn’t sure I could listen to an English Lit lecture right now, so instead, I asked, “What’s our next step?”
“Pancake and I have more research to do. Why don’t you and Nicole do a drive-by of Abby’s apartment? Get the lay of the land. Maybe take a few pictures.”
“Why?” I asked.
“It’s intel we might need down the road. Don’t let her see you and don’t go near her place. Just check out the area.”
“We can do that,” Nicole said.
Of course we can.
“I’ll go with you,” Megan said.
“Might be better if you stay here,” Ray said.
“I need to do something. I’d be an extra set of eyes. Besides, I know where she lives.”
“We do too,” Pancake said.
“Yeah, but I live here. I know the area.”
CHAPTER 42
SINCE ABBY HAD seen our Range Rover, even ridden to Malibu in it, Ray suggested we take his rental car. It was a gray Chrysler 300 so we wouldn’t stand out. I drove, Nicole shotgun, Megan in the back.
“This is so insane,” Megan said. “I still can’t believe it’s not just a series of coincidences.”
“A lot of coincidences,” I said.
“I just don’t see Abby as capable of something like this and I’m not sure I buy her doing all this just for kicks. That seems too strange to be true.”
Nicole twisted in her seat and looked at Megan over her shoulder. “You might be right. This might be a wild goose chase and Abby might be completely innocent.”
“Except she faked her identity,” I said.
“Maybe it’s what Nicole said,” Megan responded. “She’s being stalked. She’s trying to hide.”
“I just threw that out,” Nicole said. “I’m not sure I buy it, but it’s at least possible. That said, I agree with Ray. I think that if that was the case, she would’ve told you what was happening.”
Megan considered that. “Maybe she wasn’t sure.”
“She’d have to be. If she is all three of these fake people, she’d know exactly what was happening. She would’ve been through it before so would know this guy had found her again.”
“I agree,” I said. “She would’ve told you about it rather than continually feeding your fear and making it seem as if you’re the target.”
“I’m not sure she’s doing that. You know, adding to my concern. She’s just concerned herself.”
“Did she ever say that things weren’t so bad?” Nicole asked. “That you’re right not to be overly worried?”
“Not that I remember.”
“So she feeds your fears,” I said.
Megan exhaled a deep breath. “I suppose.”
“The question is, is she the cause of your fears?” Nicole said.
“Turn left up here,” Megan said. “Two blocks to the four-way stop, then right. We’re almost there.”
It was nearing nine p.m. A couple of cars passed, headed the other way, but otherwise the streets were quiet and dark. Three minutes later, we rolled past the Creekside Apartments. Also quiet. Nicole lifted Ray’s Nikon, leaned past me, and snapped a few pictures through the driver’s window.
“I’ll turn around and give you a better angle.”
At the end of the block, I made a U-turn and slowly worked my way back down the street.
“That’s Abby’s place,” Megan said. She pointed. “First floor. Next to the end.”<
br />
Nicole adjusted the zoom. “Number 8?”
“Yes.”
The apartment building paralleled the street and extended nearly the entire block. Two-story white stucco, stacked above a half-submerged parking area. Put the first-floor walkway about five feet above the ground, steps leading up at intervals along the row of apartments.
I found an empty space and pulled to the curb behind a pickup truck. Abby’s apartment was now only forty feet away. Interior lights illuminated the closed curtains. A shadow moved by. Then another.
“There’re two people inside,” I said.
“Did Abby say anything about having company?” Nicole asked.
“No,” Megan said. “But then I didn’t ask.”
I switched the engine off. “Let’s hold here for a few minutes.”
My cell buzzed. It sat on the console. I spotted the caller ID. It read “Tammy.” Before I could grab it, Nicole did.
“Oh, good.” She then said to Megan, “You’re going to love this.”
“Don’t answer,” I said.
“She’ll just keep calling.”
“Turn the phone off.”
“Who is it?” Megan asked.
“Jake’s ex.” She rolled her window up so the sound wouldn’t carry outside and punched the answer button, placing it on speaker.
“Jake, what’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing. But I’m a bit busy right now.”
“Yeah, right. Doing what?”
“Staking someone out.”
“Hope it works out better than last time. Barbara Plummer didn’t do so well under your watchful eye.”
She was never going to let go of that one. Sure, I was charged with watching the Plummer residence, trying to catch Barbara cheating, and sure she did get murdered right under my nose, but those things happen, don’t they?
Tammy wasn’t finished. “So I guess you’re too busy to talk to Walter?”
“About what?” I knew but I just couldn’t help myself.
“Do you ever listen to me?”
Even I knew this was a trick question. There was no right answer. So why try? “Probably not. It’s a self-preservation thing.”
“Don’t be an ass. I need for you to talk Walter out of retiring.”
I was thinking maybe he should retire, change his name, get plastic surgery, and move as far away from Tammy as possible. I didn’t say that but rather said, “Walter’s an adult. He can make his own decisions.”
“Not when it impacts my life.”
Ah, the joys of modern marriage. Tammy-style.
“Maybe Walter wants to lower his stress level.” Getting the surgery done and running away would be a good start.
“Walter loves his work. It’s not a stress for him.”
“Maybe he has enough money squirreled away and he no longer needs to work.”
“Are you kidding? Enough for the next forty years?”
I flashed on a courtroom scene. Walter in handcuffs, facing the judge. Actually, I saw Judge Ruth Corvas. I had stood before her hawkish glare before. I pictured her dark eyes piercing Walter, her saying, “The jury has found you guilty of colossal stupidity and I sentence you to forty years of solitary confinement in your home with your insane wife.” Maybe I should write a screenplay. I wondered if Uncle Charles would be interested in a domestic thriller. Maybe tag Kirk Ford to play Walter. Casting Tammy would be more difficult. Maybe Grendel’s mother was available.
“Maybe a budget could help,” I said.
“You’re an ass.” She hung up.
“Wow,” Megan said. “She’s a trip.”
“A trip to the psychiatrist,” I said.
“I love it when she calls,” Nicole said.
“Look.” Megan pointed toward the building.
The curtain to Abby’s apartment slid open a couple of feet, followed by the glass slider. A man stepped out, phone to his ear, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He wore cargo shorts and a tee shirt. His hair looked fairly long and unkempt. While he spoke, he scanned the street but apparently didn’t focus on us. Just three folks sitting in a car, talking. He turned profile, flicked an ash from his cigarette over the railing, and continued his conversation.
Nicole lowered her window, raised the camera, and snapped several pictures. She worked the zoom and took more.
“Who is it?” Megan asked.
“Don’t know,” Nicole said. “Looks to be around thirtyish.” Based on the slider behind him, I guessed he was just over six feet, fit, maybe around 170. “Looks like Abby has a man in her life.”
“Is that him?” Megan asked. “The guy?”
“Could be,” I said. “No way to know.”
“Maybe he’s a neighbor or something.”
“Yeah. Just dropped by for a cup of sugar and a smoke.”
“If he lives there,” Nicole said, “it sort of blows her having an anonymous stalker out of the water and puts an accomplice in play.”
“Spoken like a true screenwriter,” Megan said.
Nicole smiled. “Thriller of the week.”
“Thrilled isn’t exactly what I’m feeling.”
“Are you sure she never mentioned that she was seeing someone?” I asked.
“No. Never. You heard her earlier today, talking about how few guys she had even dated.”
“I get the feeling this guy isn’t just a visitor or a neighbor. He looks comfortable, like he belongs.”
The guy ended his call, tossed his cig over the railing, and stepped back inside, pulling the slider closed. Shadows moved behind the curtain, then the front door opened and the guy stepped out. I could see Abby just inside before the door swung shut. The man bounced down the nearby stairs, turned into the entrance of the underground parking, and descended down its ramp. He walked along the row of cars. From our vantage point we could only see the roofs. He appeared to stop behind the fourth one in. A silver something, but from this angle and distance, I couldn’t determine the make. He popped the trunk, rummaged around, lifted a backpack, slung it over one shoulder, closed the trunk, climbed the ramp, the stairs, and went back inside.
Nicole snapped a couple of dozen pictures of him. It was dark so I wasn’t optimistic any would be very detailed, but it’s the best we could do.
“Do you recognize him?” I asked Megan.
“Never seen him before.”
Nicole pushed open her door and stepped out.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
“Wait here.”
She walked maybe a hundred feet up the sidewalk, crossed the street, veered toward the building, and backtracked to the garage entrance. She descended the ramp. I saw her approach the car and snap a few pictures.
Two minutes tops and she was back in the car.
“Got something for Pancake to use,” she said. “Toyota Celica. Colorado plates.”
CHAPTER 43
“WHAT DID PANCAKE say?” Nicole asked.
“Nothing.”
“He was up late last night and then again this morning working on tracking that car and you’re telling me he’s found nothing?”
We were headed up Newport Boulevard, following Megan to the studio.
“He didn’t say that. But he wouldn’t tell me anything. He did say he was close but didn’t want to talk about it until he had it all tied up.”
“He’ll find out who the dude is. Or at least who owns the car.”
“He will.”
“Those donuts smell good,” she said.
This morning, Megan had been nervous about going in and having to face Abby. Now that she knew things just might not be as they had seemed only a few days ago. What if she slipped up and said something that created tension, or worse, made Abby wary? Nicole and I tried to assure her that all would be okay.
“But what if she senses I’m suspicious of her?” Megan had asked.
“She won’t,” I said.
“Just be yourself,” Nicole said. “Focus on work and don’t force
anything. Act as if everything is normal. Just another day.”
See? There it was again. Act natural, normal. Impossible to do.
So, we devised a plan. Nicole and I would go in with her to be a buffer while Megan settled in. On the surface, it seemed strange that she needed to get comfortable at her own job, in her own office, but I understood. It’s hard to unring the bell of knowledge. With everything that Pancake had unearthed, Megan now knew that Abby was not who she said she was. Abby Watson didn’t exist but rather was a manufactured person. Which, of course, changed everything. What we didn’t know was whether she was also the other two interns, Liz Ingram and Beth Macomb, or whether she was a serial stalker, or worse, truly dangerous.
Rather than simply barging in with Megan, we decided to grab a box of donuts for the staff. Always a distraction, a great icebreaker, so to speak, and the last thing we wanted here was for any frost to appear in Megan’s relationship with Abby. As Ray would say, we needed to be cool. Ray-speak for not showing your hand, gathering intel and not delivering it, and in the end acting naturally.
See, it cannot be escaped.
I lifted one of the two boxes of donuts from the Range Rover’s rear seat. Yes, we were smart enough to double up so we could take one box to Pancake. If we hadn’t, he would have smelled it on us—yes, he can do that—and then we’d have to put up with his complaints and ultimately have to head back out to get another dozen. Better to be preemptive.
Inside, Phyllis P oohed and aahed over the donuts, before selecting one with multicolored sprinkles. The others we ferried to the office where Abby and Darren Slater did their own oohing and aahing.
“You guys are the best,” Abby said. “I was starving. I didn’t have time for breakfast this morning.” She pulled a chocolate-covered cake donut from the box and took a bite. “Hmmm. Wonderful.”
“Late night?” I asked.
“Stayed up too late reading,” Abby said.
“Anything I might like?”
“Uh, no. A trashy romance.” She smiled. “You don’t impress me as the romance book type.”
