Chasing Shadows

by Wendy Meadows

  “If you try and take my gun I'll draw on you,” Sarah promised Paul in a voice that forced Paul to back down. “I was defending myself. The gray BMW is back, Sheriff, and I managed to put two bullets in the front windshield. You need to get some patrols out right now and begin searching for that car.”

  “No,” Paul objected. “I'm not sending panic through my town.”

  Sarah stared into Paul's eyes. “Last night you were very determined to make me do your job for you. Now, all of sudden, Sheriff, you want me to clear town.”

  “You're...bad news,” Paul hissed at Sarah. “You and your friend brought a dark cloud into this town.”

  Nate saw fear in Paul's eyes—no, not fear, but downright terror. “What's eating at you, Paul? I ain't ever seen you act so hateful before. What's this woman done to you? She ain't no killer. She's one of the good people in this world.”

  Paul threw a hard eye at Nate. “You stay out of this, Nate. Go on back to your farm and stay there.”

  Sarah folded her arms. “Sheriff, if I didn't know better, I'd say the killer had a very serious talk with you.”

  Sarah's words seemed to punch Paul square in the face. The old man stepped away from her as if she were a contagious disease. “What? You're...crazy,” he stuttered like a schoolyard kid searching for an intelligent response but only able to find a weak insult instead.

  “Is she?” Amanda asked. “I know I'm not a seasoned detective, but I do know that BMW racing by here couldn’t be a coincidence.” Amanda stepped close to Paul. “Sarah called you this morning when we were having breakfast at Nate's and told you we were coming to the courthouse. You were the only one who knew we were on our way here.”

  Paul's anger and fear slowly began to transform into panic. “Listen to me,” he tried to yell at Amanda, “if you're implying that I—”

  “We are not implying. We are stating it. Perhaps you told the killer we would be arriving at this courthouse this morning,” Sarah told Paul. “And perhaps a jury of your peers would be inclined to believe the same.”

  “A jury of my peers...wait a minute...I,” Paul stuttered again, “I'm the sheriff, for crying out loud.”

  “You're not above the law,” Sarah snapped. “Sheriff, I'm going to catch the killer and when I do he's going to tell me everyone he's been in contact with. Everyone.” She looked him in the eye without wavering. “Right now this guy is running loose and trying to get everyone to run scared. I don't run from threats. Is that clear?”

  Paul stared into Sarah's eyes and swallowed. Sarah's eyes were fierce and determined. “I...” he began and looked around, nervously. Sarah wondered suddenly if he was stalling for time, expecting to see the gray BMW appear again. Finally the sheriff seemed to collapse a little bit, his shoulders sagging. “I...he threatened my wife!”

  Sarah folded her arms. “Who threatened your wife?” she demanded.

  “I don't know the man's name,” Paul confessed, feeling sweat begin to pour down his panicked face.

  “Describe the man, then,” Nate told Paul. “And calm your britches, too. Ain't no one standing here out to cause you no harm. If you were threatened the way you said you were, we sure ain't gonna stand here and condemn you for acting out of fear.”

  Paul threw a grateful look at Nate. “Nate, when I left George's place last night, I drove home. When I turned down the driveway I saw a gray BMW sitting there, parked next to my wife's car. A man was leaning against the BMW...I knew he was bad news. But what could I do? I just couldn't run. My wife was inside the house for crying out loud. I thought I could talk him down or get him to leave or…something.”

  “I understand,” Nate assured Paul.

  Paul ran his sweaty hands over the front of his shirt. “I parked and got out of my car. The man...he didn't move an inch. He just waited for me to walk over to him and...” Paul paused as fear gripped his chest.

  “And what?” Sarah pushed Paul.

  Paul closed his eyes. “When he spoke…his voice was low and flat and calm, but he twisted it like the sharpest knife. He said he was here to chase you out of town, Sarah...” Paul shook his head. “And I was going to help him do it. But first, I was ordered to give you a message.”

  “What message?” Sarah asked, her adrenaline spiking.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as if still in terror. “The man told me to tell you that Rebecca was just the first. She was just a warning. I was to tell you to...go back to Los Angeles and wait or more people are going to die,” Paul answered Sarah and opened his eyes. He looked at her, pleadingly. “Beginning with my wife.”

  Sarah stared at Paul. So Rebecca's death wasn't a distraction intended to keep her away, she thought to herself, it was a warning to go to Los Angeles, at all costs. “I see,” she said as her mind wandered around a confusing thought. “If the killer wanted me in Los Angeles, why didn't he just wait until I arrived?”

  “How should I know?” Paul asked and raised a shaky hand at Sarah. “Detective Garland, the man who spoke to me last night called my home this morning. He gave me a number to call, and said he was watching the house. He knew exactly what my wife was wearing, it was as if he was watching us, but I couldn’t see anyone outside. He ordered me to inform him of your movements as soon as I knew...about half an hour later you called me and told me you were driving to the courthouse with Nate. I...had no choice, can't you see that.”

  “I understand,” Sarah assured Paul and placed a calm hand on his shoulder. “Sheriff, you contacted the killer, which means we can call him again at the same number, right?”

  “What? Oh no,” Paul objected and backed away from Sarah. “That man...that evil man...he will kill my wife if I dare go against him.”

  “Paul,” Nate raised his hand into the air, “calm down, okay? Let's back up. Tell us what this man looked like. Describe him for us, okay?”

  Paul wiped his arm across his mouth. “I...” he hesitated and looked around again. “The man was about average height...a little thick around the waist maybe...he had on...a leather jacket...blue jeans...and a baseball cap and sun glasses. It was dark and the man was obviously hiding his face.”

  Sarah let her mind soak in the new information and twist it around some. “About how old would you say the man was?” she finally asked.

  Paul cast his eyes down at his wrinkled hands. “That's what scared me the most...I say man...but from his voice he couldn't have been more than twenty years old, maybe mid-twenties at the most.”

  “Really?” Amanda asked.

  “A young voice despite all the evil he threatened,” Paul promised. “Now listen, Detective, I...I'm sorry I played ball on the wrong team, but I have my wife to think about. You can try and arrest me, but I have plenty of people who will stand by me, too. So—”

  “I have no intention of throwing the law in your face,” Sarah assured Paul. “You and your wife were threatened. No one is going to blame you for trying to protect your wife.” Sarah offered Paul a gentle smile. “Sheriff, I need the contact number the killer gave you. Please.”

  Paul swallowed again. “I—”

  “You've already spilled the beans,” Amanda spoke up. “The killer who paid you a visit isn't going to take you back. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say. From this point forward, Sheriff, your only chance is to get on our team and play smart.”

  “She is speaking the truth,” Nate told Paul. “Whoever this psycho kid is he's obviously very deadly, Paul, and he ain't driving away from Prate signing sunshine songs, either. Sarah done went and shot out the windshield to that fancy car he's driving, which tells me that young man is as mad as a wet hornet right about now.”

  Paul looked around the little town and then focused on Sarah's eyes. “Detective Garland, the life of my wife and the safety of the people of this town are now in your hands,” he said and pointed at the courthouse. “Come on, let's go talk in my office. I don't like standing out here in the open like this.”

  Sarah looked at Amanda and Nate. “Come
on, guys,” she said, “we stay together as a team.”

  “A team?” Nate asked.

  Sarah nodded. “Nate, you're on our team for good,” she smiled.

  “Sure enough,” Nate said, feeling useful again after many years of feeling like a worn down firecracker. He offered his arm to Amanda and she smiled as he proudly escorted her into the courthouse behind Sarah and the sheriff.

  Miles away, Don Street sped down an empty back road with a dark fury raging in his eyes. “You changed the game,” he hissed and struck the dashboard with an iron fist. “You changed the rules, Detective Garland. Now we'll play a different game!”

  Chapter Five

  Sarah sat down in a wooden chair by an old wooden desk worn down with time. The desk was tucked into an office that was no bigger than a broom closet, and the papers on the desk were mostly coated with dust, speaking of the boredom and laziness that pervaded the entire courthouse. “Nice office,” she said, examining the dark paneled walls. The wood paneling stopped at a green linoleum floor that was cracked and tired.

  Paul waved a hand at Sarah and brushed off her comment. “An office is an office,” he said and hurried past Amanda and Nate.

  Sarah waited until Paul sat down behind his desk before continuing. “I wasn't being insulting,” she promised.

  “Who cares if you were,” Paul replied and yanked out the top right-hand drawer of the desk and pulled out a blank business card. “Here,” he said and slid the card across his desk. “Take it and...do whatever you see fit.”

  Sarah reached forward, took the card into her hands and examined it. A cell phone number was scribbled on the front of the card. “Can I use your phone?” she asked.

  Paul pointed at the brown phone on his desk. “Don't involve me,” he said and stood up. “Detective, I became Sheriff of Prate not because I cared about any high-minded ideals about the law,” he said in a tired voice. “I became Sheriff because everyone in my family always thought of me as a coward. I wanted to prove them wrong...guess I didn't. My point is, I don't have the training you do...and the murder of your friend scared me to the bone. You're a well-known name in Los Angeles. You tracked down and caught the Back Alley Killer for crying out loud. I've never caught a real criminal in my life.” Paul shook his head as if shame soaked his heart. “You have to catch this killer...please,” he begged. “But...don’t ask for my help. Because I'm going home right now and taking my wife away from Prate until you solve this case.”

  “Oh, Paul,” Nate said in a disappointed voice. “You can't run.”

  “Your wife wasn't threatened, Nate,” Paul retorted in a tortured voice. “My wife...she's all I got. Now...” Paul looked at Sarah. “My office is your office...just...get to work,” he finished and ran out of the office and vanished down the hall.

  “He's scared,” Sarah told Nate, whose face had hardened in the wake of the sheriff’s abrupt exit.

  “Scared or not, man should never run from a fight,” Nate replied and pushed the door shut. “You gonna call the killer?”

  “Not yet,” Sarah told Nate and picked up the phone. She dialed Pete's cell phone number. Pete picked up on the fourth ring. “Hey partner.”

  “Don't talk to me,” Pete barked.

  “Pete, I know you're mad but—”

  “Yeah, I'm mad,” Pete retorted and stood up behind his desk, grabbed a cigar, shoved it into his mouth, and began walking around his crowded office. “I thought we were going to be partners again.”

  “We are, Pete,” Sarah promised. “Pete, you trained me to think smart and I am being smart. I just found out that the killer wants me back in Los Angeles. Rebecca's murder wasn't a warning to stay away after all.”

  Pete gnawed on his cigar. “That doesn't make any sense. If the killer wants you back here, why didn't he just wait until you arrived?”

  “I'm chewing on that question myself, Pete,” Sarah confessed. “I'm not even sure how the killer knew my location. I'm thinking he tracked my cell phone somehow? That's about the only logical explanation I can come up with.”

  Pete stopped pacing his office and focused his eyes on the worn carpet floor. “I ordered Sheriff Bufford to run you out of town, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Pete shook his head. “Bad move on my part. I let my emotions overwhelm my brains. Seems like staying in Prate was the right thing to do after all. Sorry I jumped down your throat, kid.”

  “No harm done,” Sarah smiled, relieved. “Now listen, Pete, you're not the only one who ordered Sheriff Bufford to run me out of Prate. The killer paid Sheriff Bufford a visit at his home last night.”

  “Oh?” Pete asked. Sarah dashed out Sheriff Bufford's story. “And you have the number this punk gave Sheriff Bufford?”

  “Holding the card in my left hand as we speak,” Sarah said. “Pete, run the number for me.”

  Pete ran over to his desk and snatched up a pen. “Okay, kid, give the number to me.” Sarah read off the number to Pete. “Yeah, that's a Los Angeles cell phone number,” he said. “I'll run the number and get back to you and….oh, before I forget. I ran Mrs. Diane Samton, the woman who was supposed to meet with you from the big studio?”

  “Oh good,” Sarah said. “What information came back on her?”

  “The woman's dead,” Pete told Sarah. “She's been dead since 1973.”

  “Dead?” Sarah asked, stunned.

  “Diane Samton was a two-bit actor in a few films,” Pete continued. “She died of lung cancer at the age of seventy-four.” Pete puffed on his cigar. “She was married five times, never had a kid, owned a little art studio, nothing major.”

  “No criminal history?”

  “Not even a single parking ticket,” Pete shrugged. “Woman was clean as a whistle. Lousy at love, but clean as a whistle.”

  “Pete, can you find out if—”

  “If the movies she acted in was funded by J&P Brothers? Already did and the answer is yes. But that’s as far as I got.”

  Sarah felt confusion grip her mind. “Keep digging, Pete. In the meantime, I'm going to go get my jeep and drive around some. I doubt our killer raced back to Los Angeles.”

  “I'll let you know if I find something,” Pete told Sarah. “Right now I'm running every gray BMW in the state.”

  “Remind me to give you a big kiss,” Sarah smiled. “Pete, you're my hero.”

  “I just want you home, kid,” Pete sighed. “I was kinda excited about the whole idea of getting you reinstated.”

  “I know,” Sarah apologized. “Tell you what, after this case is solved, Amanda and I will still drive down to Los Angeles and stay a full week. By then, you should be sick of us.”

  “Deal,” Pete smiled and then toughened his tone. “Get to work Detective Garland, and watch your backside,” he said and ended the call. “That kid weighs heavy on my heart,” he whispered and went back to work himself.

  Sarah set down the phone and then stood up. “Okay, Pete is running the number. In the meantime, I want to go and get my jeep and drive around and search for the BMW. The killer has to be staying somewhere.”

  Nate rubbed his chin. “So what makes you think that boy’s still in town?” he asked Sarah.

  “It’s the nature of a killer,” Sarah said in a serious voice. “Nate, whoever he is, he's already killed once and he's bound to keep killing until he's either caught or killed himself.”

  “But why the games?” Amanda asked and cuddled Mittens to her chest. “Los Angeles, love, I don't understand what's really happening, even though this is all playing out right before my eyes. If this creep wanted you in Los Angeles, why didn't he wait until you arrived?”

  Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “I don't really know, June Bug. I wish I did. I wish I knew how Rebecca was involved. I believe Rebecca was killed because she came across something or someone that—” Sarah paused.

  “What?” Amanda asked, reading the startled expression on her best friend's face.

  “Diane Samton,” Sarah whispere
d. “Rebecca was a very sharp woman. I wonder...”

  “Wonder what?” Amanda pressed.

  “Give the woman time to get her thoughts straight,” Nate told Amanda in a polite tone.

  Sarah closed her eyes. “I called Rebecca yesterday morning...she wasn't in her office. Rebecca is always in her office. When I talked to her she seemed normal...but her voice...there was something in her voice...” Sarah opened her eyes. “The killer went after Sheriff Bufford...is it possible he had was holding Rebecca as his prisoner? For leverage against me?” Sarah closed her eyes again. “What if...Rebecca found out who Diane Samton really was?”

  “Why? What did Pete find out about this Diane Samton?” Amanda asked.

  “A woman who died over forty years ago of lung cancer. She played a few minor roles in some J&P Brothers movies,” Sarah explained. She opened her eyes again and looked at Amanda. “Or, could it be...could it be that...Rebecca was involved with the killer somehow?” she dared to ask.

  “You tell us,” Nate said to Sarah, baffled. “You're the detective.”

  Sarah drew in a deep breath. “No, absolutely not,” she said in a stern voice. “Rebecca would never betray me.” Sarah forced her brain to think. “Rebecca acted in a few movies herself in her younger years...small-time films, nothing major. I wonder...if the name Diane Samton surfaced in her mind somehow...and she realized it couldn’t be Diane Samton coming to meet with us from the studio…and that's why the killer went after her?”

  “Keep talking,” Nate told Sarah. “Work it all out in your mind, girl.”

  Sarah focused on Rebecca in her mind. “What if the killer believed Rebecca sent me a message to stay out of Los Angeles and—” the phone rang on Paul's desk. Sarah bit down on her lower lip and snatched up the phone. “Hello, this is acting homicide Detective Garland,” she said.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Alda,” a cold voice told Sarah. “Let me speak to Paul.”

  “Paul is not available,” Sarah replied. “Dr. Alda, did you perform an autopsy on Rebecca—”