My first thought was to flee, to run for my car.
But then I realized how foolish that was. First of all, I couldn’t be certain that he had any dangerous intentions. He just could be one of those creepy but harmless followers. And if he was creepy and dangerous, running to my car was the dumbest thing I could do. He’d either grab me in the parking lot, or follow me home.
I got off the escalator at the first level and walked quickly toward the atrium area where there were escalators down to the lower level. I stepped onto the down escalator.
Trying to find a security guard wasn’t the answer, either. He would disappear into the crowd until the guard left. Same with calling the police. He’d be nowhere in sight when they arrived. And what could I tell them, anyway? That a man seemed to be following me at a distance?
I got off the escalator at the lower level and walked briskly toward the ticket window to the Wehrenberg Theaters.
“One,” I said, sliding a ten-dollar bill through the opening.
“To which picture, ma’am?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just give me one fast.”
I grabbed the ticket and change and moved inside. I ducked around the corner just as he stepped off the down escalator. I couldn’t tell whether he had seen me. I moved down the carpeted hallway past the first two screens and went into the third. I found a seat halfway down the center aisle on the left. Putting my shopping bags on the seat next to me, I sat numbly, staring at the screen.
After maybe ten minutes, I realized I was watching an Arnold Schwartzenegger film. Despite the tension, or perhaps because of it, I grinned. What a surreal place Hollywood must be. Where else could a man named Arnold Schwartzenegger become an action movie star under his real name?
Each time the theater doors opened, I spun around. It was never him. I stayed through the end of the movie and filed out with the rest of the crowd, glancing furtively around.
Damn.
He was seated on the plaza across the way at the Northwest Coffee Co. Still wearing dark sunglasses, he was sipping a cup of coffee as he surveyed the throng emerging from the theater.
My mind was racing.
Lose him, I told myself. Start moving around and lose him.
I edged toward the glass elevator and squeezed on with a large group of buzzing and laughing moviegoers. I hunched down, trying to disappear in the middle of the crowd so that he wouldn’t be able to tell whether I got off at the first or second level. The elevator stopped at the first level. I moved to the side to let the crowd out and then wormed my way back into the middle of the mostly new group. I hunched down as the doors closed.
The elevator stopped at the second level. I got off with the rest of the crowd. Directly ahead was the corridor leading to the covered bridge to the parking garage. On one side of the corridor was a Champs, on the other side a Crate & Barrel.
I got my bearings. My car was on the opposite side of the shopping center, down on the parking lot in front of Saks. Saks was to my left. I turned that way and walked briskly down the main mall corridor, passing the J. Crew on my right, the Eddie Bauer on my left, trying to formulate a plan of action. Up ahead on my right was another corridor leading to the parking garage. On the left was the second level entrance to Saks.
Lose him in the parking garage, I decided, and turned right.
As I broke into a sprint toward the covered bridge I saw a sign on the left for restrooms, telephones, and lockers. The arrow was pointing down a hallway that was just before the bridge to the parking garage. I looked back as I jogged toward the bridge, my shopping bags banging against my legs. No sign of him. I cut left down the narrow hallway. The doors to the men’s and women’s restrooms were on the left side about twenty feet down the hallway. To my right, across from the restroom doors, was a pillar that protruded about a foot into the hallway, just enough to screen me from view. I backed against the wall on the far side of the pillar. I looked down. I was concealed, but the bulky shopping bags weren’t. I peered around the pillar and down the hallway toward the corridor that connected the mall to the parking garage. No sign of him. I glanced down at the shopping bags and then across the hall at the door to the women’s restroom. I took a deep breath and quickly stepped forward, kicking the door open with my foot. As it swung wide, I heaved the shopping bags inside and ducked back against the opposite wall behind the pillar.
I counted to ten and quickly peered around toward the main corridor on my left. No sign of him. Across the hallway to the left of the restroom doors was a metal door with the words THE MUSEUM CO stenciled in black. To the right of the restroom doors was a metal door with the word CAPEZIO stenciled in black. They must have been the back, or freight, entrances to the stores. About ten yards further down to the right, the hallway was barred by a large metal door with the words NO ADMITTANCE stenciled in black.
I tried to visualize a blueprint of the mall. The building was the length of several football fields. I was standing in a corridor that ran along the back, or west, side of the building. My position was a little to the south of the halfway point of the structure. Saks was on the front, or east, side of the mall. That meant that my corridor didn’t connect to Saks. Presumably, my corridor continued on the other side of the door marked NO ADMITTANCE—continued on until it ran into Famous-Barr at the end of the mall, which was too far south. But there might be a stairway along that corridor at the south end that would lead across and down to the first level, and then I could dash through Saks and out to the parking lot.
It was worth a shot.
I peered around the pillar again, staring toward the bridge that connected the mall to the parking garage. Just as I did, he jogged by, heading toward the garage. I jerked back, banging my head against the concrete.
Shit.
Wait. He’s out in the parking garage now.
Now!
I spun right and sprinted toward the NO ADMITTANCE door. I turned the knob and shoved hard against the metal door. The force made the door swing open all the way and bang against the wall as I ran through the doorway and down the narrow corridor. The freight entrance to Famous-Barr was about seventy-five yards ahead. I passed a freight elevator on the left and then several metal doors, each with the name of the store stenciled in black: FOOT LOCKER, CRAYOLA KIDS, D.O.C., BENNETTON. The linoleum floor was shiny with wax. I slid to a stop at the end of the corridor in front of the large door bearing the legend FAMOUS-BARR. I grabbed the doorknob.
“Shit,” I hissed as I twisted and yanked. The door was locked.
I turned.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Back at the far end of the corridor, the large metal door that I had shoved open was still open.
I started running back down the corridor, trying each back door along the way. Each was locked.
I stopped in front of the freight elevator and peered through the glass window. I jammed my thumb against the down button. I heard the elevator gears shift somewhere below. I squinted through the window, trying to spot the elevator car. The cables started to vibrate and then move.
“Come on,” I pleaded, glancing back toward the open metal door. “Come on.”
I could hear the tired whine of the elevator car slowly rising on the cables.
“Come on, come on.”
As the top of the elevator car rose into view, I turned to look down the corridor. I caught my breath as he stepped back into view, returning from the garage.
Just as the elevator car clunked into position, he turned and stared at me. We were maybe forty yards apart.
He started toward me at a deliberate trot until he reached the open metal door. Without breaking stride, he reached out and yanked the door closed behind him. Then he broke into a sprint, his red hair flying.
We were twenty-five yards apart when the elevator door slid open. He reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked like a
gun or a knife. I ducked onto the elevator and banged furiously on the button for the lower level. The elevator door slowly slid closed. It clanged shut just as he reached the elevator. I flinched as his face suddenly appeared in the window. As the elevator started to descend, he glared down at me through the reinforced glass. Then his head jerked from view.
“Oh, my God.” I was shivering. “Oh, my God, oh, my God.”
The elevator descended at an infuriatingly leisurely pace. I stared at the floor indicator above the elevator door, tapping my foot anxiously. After what seemed like an hour, the light blinked from 2 to 1. As the elevator passed by the first floor landing, light came through the window and I winced, afraid that his face would abruptly appear. I jammed my thumb hard against the button for the lower level.
“Hurry,” I pleaded. “God, hurry.”
Finally, the elevator reached the lower level and shuddered to a halt. The door slid open and I stepped out into a small area. To my left was a door marked STAIRS. To my right was a long narrow corridor. From somewhere up above, I heard a metal door open. Then there was the clattering sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. It had to be him.
Cradling my purse under my arm like a football, I sprinted down the corridor, which opened onto a concrete loading dock area. I could go right or left. To my right there were four parallel loading docks, all positioned at a forty-five degree angle to the underground service tunnel that ran through the center of the mall. A large Saks truck was parked in position at the far dock. Beyond the loading dock area to the right, the concrete slab narrowed into an elevated walkway that ran along the side of the building for fifty yards and then curved out into another loading dock area. To my left, the slab narrowed and ended. The service tunnel curved out of sight to the left.
I chose right. I jogged past the four loading docks and continued along the pathway, pausing to try the doors marked MALL STORAGE, ELECTRICITY, GENERATOR ROOM, GAS METERS, WATER VALVE ROOM. Each was locked.
Back in the distance, I could hear the sound of a metal door swinging open, then footsteps charging down the corridor. Up ahead, just before the next loading dock area, was a large trash compactor. It was twenty feet long, maybe four feet high.
I turned back. He wasn’t visible yet. I looked around frantically. There was nowhere else to hide. I tossed my purse into the open top of the compactor and climbed in after it, landing inside on several large, bunchy bags of trash.
Chapter Seventeen
The stench was powerful.
Fighting back thoughts of Bruce Rosenthal’s final moments, I grabbed my purse and crawled over the bags toward the other end of the long container. When I was far enough back to be invisible from the opening, I turned toward the front and waited, my knees pulled up to my chin. I tried to breathe through my mouth to minimize the putrid smells.
After a few minutes, I heard footsteps from a distance. The metal container was a good sound conductor. The footsteps were heavy enough to be boots. I listened, straining my ears. I heard several quick steps, then a pause, then several more steps, then another pause.
Perhaps he was trying each of the doors I had tried.
His steps grew louder as he approached the trash compactor from the rear. I listened as he walked the length of the container, passing my position on the way. He stopped at the front end. I held my breath.
A hand appeared at the top of the opening, and then the other hand. I saw a glint of metal in the second hand. He was resting his hands on the top of the container opening. I remained motionless, silently begging him to move on. He leaned over and squinted into the container, his red hair falling over his face. I didn’t move, praying that I was far enough back to be shrouded in darkness.
He straightened up. His hands withdrew. I heard him move down the length of the container toward the back. I listened as the footsteps grew fainter.
When they faded away altogether, I exhaled slowly and waited. A few minutes passed in silence. I heard the distant growl of a truck engine starting up, followed by the noise of shifting gears. As the engine noise grew louder, I suddenly realized that the truck was inside the service tunnel somewhere south of my position. It was moving north toward me. But by the time I made the connection—namely, that the driver could be my rescuer—the truck had already rumbled past the compactor on its way out of the mall.
“Damn,” I mumbled as my spirits fell.
More silence. Ten minutes passed. Then the crackle of automobile wheels on cement.
I clambered over the garbage bags toward the opening, but by the time I got to my feet the vehicle was disappearing into the northern end of the tunnel. I could just make out the two red bubbles on the roof. I realized that it must have been mall security, or maybe the police.
The realization triggered a wave of hopelessness. If that vehicle really was mall security or the police, they were probably on their evening rounds. That meant they might not be back through the tunnel for hours.
Standing chest high in the opening of the trash compactor, I scanned the area. No sight of him.
I knew I couldn’t remain there. I had to start moving, to get out from the underground portion. Just as important, I had to get myself into a position where I could flag down a truck or other vehicle that might come through the tunnel.
As quietly as I could, I climbed out of the compactor container. Standing on the cement platform looking out over the service road, I got my bearings. The service tunnel ran south to north underneath the middle of the mall. The freight elevator shaft was roughly two-thirds of the way down the mall structure, which meant that I had started off in the underground section closer to the southern than the northern end of the mall. After getting off the elevator, I had moved further south. The underground service tunnel was a one-way road. The entrance was at the southern end of the mall. The choice seemed obvious: the quickest and safest way out was to keep moving south.
The elevated concrete pathway wrapped around the corner of the loading deck and terminated in a short stairway down to the road level of the service tunnel. I went down the stairs and inched along the wall until I was facing south. The tunnel was dark beyond the loading docks. The only illumination was an occasional weak overhead light.
He could be down there waiting, or he could be coming up from behind. Based on the sound of his footsteps when he walked away from the compactor, he was heading north. Moving south still seemed the best idea for me.
Seemed, I reminded myself.
If I was wrong, I told myself, if he was actually somewhere farther south in the tunnel, I would need a hiding place if he turned and came back. I looked around. I didn’t see any doors or openings on either side of the tunnel. A few yards ahead, set in the wall near the ground, was something I first mistook for a small steering wheel. As I kneeled to look closer, I saw that the steering wheel was actually the locking mechanism for a circular hatch, like one on a submarine, except set in the wall. There were yellow warning stripes on the hatch. A small yellow sign bolted to the wall above the hatch read:
WARNING: ACCESS TO STORM CULVERT
OPEN ONLY WITH EXTREME CAUTION!
I put my hands on the wheel and tugged counterclockwise. The wheel initially resisted, but then turned smoothly. I retightened it and stood up.
Peering down the tunnel, I saw another hatch set in the wall about twenty yards further south. The tunnel curved to the right beyond that, so I couldn’t tell whether there were other hatches.
It hadn’t rained for at least a week, I told myself as I started walking forward along the tunnel wall. That meant that the storm culvert might be a good hiding place.
As I continued to walk south down the tunnel, I could feel the slight incline in the road. That was a good sign, because it meant that the service tunnel was beginning to return to street level, which meant I was getting closer. Anticipation got the better of me, and I started to run. As I rounded t
he corner I could see the tunnel entrance off in the distance.
Yes!
But as I got closer, I saw that the entire entrance was blocked by a steel-barred gate. I stopped in front of it. It was one of those motorized gates that slid up and down like a flexible garage door. I peered through the gate toward the entrance ramp. Getting in was easy. There was an electric eye device out there, along with one of those cardkey boxes. Getting out at this end was another story. I put my hands on the cross-hatched steel and tried to pull the gate up. It wouldn’t budge.
I stared through the gate, my hands resting on the steel bars. I felt like a prisoner.
There had to be a way to open the gate from the inside. I looked around. Over on the wall near the gate was a control panel. The button marked CLOSE GATE was just that: a simple black button. But the one marked OPEN GATE required a key.
I turned around and faced north into the service tunnel as I tried to organize my thoughts. I had two choices: (1) I could wait here in the hopes that a truck or security car would eventually come down the ramp and open the gate in time to save me, or (2) I could go back into the service tunnel and try to reach the elevator. The advantage of waiting by the gate was that I could get out the moment the gate opened. The disadvantage was that if he showed up before a vehicle did, I would be trapped. If I headed back into the tunnel, though, there were two advantages: there were other escape routes and there were more places to hide if he showed up. The disadvantage was that he was probably in there somewhere.
I turned back and peered through the gate.
If he’s somewhere down in the tunnel, which he probably is, and if he’s heading my way, which he eventually will, I certainly don’t want to end up against this metal gate like a cornered rabbit.
I turned around, my back against the gate, and took a deep breath. The panic and the raw fear had faded. I seemed to be running on a combination of adrenaline and autopilot.
Due Diligence Page 16
