by Dale Mayer
Jackson was hopeful they had a way to prove that. But the fact that it was even the same kind meant it was somebody who knew them.
“How does that help us?” Deli asked. “I presume there’s no way to get fingerprints off this at this point.”
The men shook their heads.
“No,” Kanen said. “They’re too small, and we’ve already handled them enough to smudge anything that might have been there.”
“Of course,” she said with a shrug. “But why make it look like a break-in here? That just led me to my bug-planting theory. Wouldn’t it have been better to come in and to leave without anybody realizing it? Then I would never have thought to search for bugs. If nobody saw him, why cover up bug-planting with a fake break-in?”
At that Jackson grinned. “Because somebody probably did see him.” He walked to the front door, opened it, stepped out into the hallway. He looked at the other doors around and said, “Which one would most likely have seen somebody come here?”
She pointed to the left. “Marsha. She’s home all the time.” Deli walked over to her neighbor’s door and knocked on it. When an older woman with hair in a frizzy beach-wave curl opened it with a big smile, Deli said, “My place was broken into. Have you seen anybody suspicious here lately?”
“Oh, no!” Marsha shook her head. “Not at all. Of course I’m not here watching what happens in the hallway all the time,” she said apologetically. “I saw your new boyfriend, but that’s it.”
Jackson froze. He stepped up beside Deli and asked, “You saw me?”
Marsha’s gaze went from Jackson to Deli and back again. She blushed and muttered, “Sorry, Deli. I didn’t realize you were playing with several.” She tossed her an admiring look. “Takes balls to do that these days.”
Deli groaned. “This is Jackson. He’s a friend of mine, not my boyfriend,” she explained. “And I don’t have a boyfriend, so I don’t know who this other man was.”
Marsha stared at her. “Really? Because he said he was your boyfriend. He was just leaving you a surprise. He had a package with him. But I wasn’t sure. It was decorated like a birthday gift or something naughty,” she said with a wink.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Deli reiterated firmly. “So I have no idea who this guy is. Any chance you could describe him?”
Marsha leaned against the doorjamb, crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at the corner of the hallway, as if trying to remember. “Tall, slim, all dressed in black, a cap on his head, his features were more Slavic-looking.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She frowned and said, “He had, like, higher cheekbones.” She motioned at hers. “And they were sunk in a little. Dark eyebrows. He had a five-o’clock beard going on already. So maybe not Slavic but swarthy.” She got the right word with triumph. “I guess Slavic would have been more regional—or Swedish, right?”
Jackson nodded. “Okay, did you see any distinguishing features? Did he have a big nose? Did he have gross teeth? Did he have anything on his wrists?”
She shook her head. “I hardly talked to him. I asked him what he was doing. When he explained who he was, he was really cute about it. He stammered, almost blushing. I figured he was pretty innocent. Or at least doing something that made him feel special or was hoping to make you feel special.” She turned her gaze back to Deli. “This was just a couple hours ago.”
Jackson studied Deli’s face as she turned to look at him. He gave a clipped nod. “We can certainly take another look. It probably isn’t too hidden.” He knew exactly what the surprise was—bugging her apartment. But he couldn’t place the person Marsha was describing. He glanced around the hall. “Of course, there are no cameras that would have shown his face either.”
“Well, there is one,” Deli said, “down at the far end at the doorway.” She looked at Marsha. “He didn’t ring outside the apartment building, did he?”
She nodded. “Yes, but he identified who he was and how he was trying to leave you a present. He had it in his hand.” She held her hand up, making the shape of a box about four inches by six inches. “But it was all wrapped up. So I figured it was totally okay.”
“How did he get in her apartment?” Jackson asked.
“That’s the thing. That’s how I knew it was okay too,” Marsha said gaily. “He had a key. He said it wasn’t working outside on the apartment door, but then half the time ours don’t either, do they?” She shared a comical grin with Deli. “But he did get into the apartment with it, so I figured it was no big deal. Then I came inside and made a cup of tea.”
“You didn’t hear any banging or anything going on?”
Marsha shook her head. “No, but I was doing some vacuuming and had my talk shows on, and you know I get really focused on those. Besides, if there was any banging, I would have just assumed you’d come home.”
Jackson caught sight of Deli’s face turning beet red.
Marsha just laughed and turned to head back inside. “And speaking of TV shows,” Marsha glanced at her watch, “my favorite is about to start. So if you don’t mind …” And she closed the door in front of them.
“How do we get a copy of the images from the camera at the doorway?” she asked as they headed back into her apartment.
“Kanen is probably already on it,” Jackson said.
“How can he be on it?” she asked.
“It’s just a feed,” Kanen said from the living room, where he sat with his laptop open and his legs propped up on the coffee table. “No different than any other. Easy to access if you know where it’s coming to or from. But I can pretty well assure you that your intruder’s not looking directly at the camera.”
“But he would be though, wouldn’t he?” she argued. “If he called Marsha and asked to be let in?”
The two men looked at her, and then Kanen started clicking on the keyboard. “If he did, I’ll find it,” he said. He glanced around the living room. “The place couldn’t have been tossed too badly, if you got it already sorted out again.”
“It was bad enough that I don’t want to see it any worse, but it was doable.” She slumped down on the couch beside him. “I feel useless. Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“I want a list of everybody in your life, present and your recent past,” Jackson said. “Anyone who might have access to the keys to your apartment.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Hardly anyone.”
“Well, hardly doesn’t mean no one, so …” Jackson grabbed a piece of paper from the table, checked the other side, saw it was blank on the back side, flipped it over, handed it to her and gave her a pen out of his pocket. “Everyone. Any friends you’ve given a key to for safekeeping. Any men you’ve given keys to use at night. Your intruder got a key from somewhere. I want to know where your keys are normally kept, etc.”
She groaned and wrote down names. He watched as three made the list, and then she sat back and studied the names and shrugged. “None of these people would care to come into my apartment to plant bugs.”
“Of course they wouldn’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean other people didn’t get access to your keys through them. With that, it’s easy enough to get copies made.”
Startled, she looked at him. “But that could be just about anybody at work. Because I wear mechanics overalls throughout the day, I keep my purse in a locker.”
“Is it locked?”
She shook her head. “No, we’re assigned lockers. It’s just a few of us. So no need to lock up my purse. I don’t keep anything valuable in there.”
“Credit cards, money?”
She shrugged and shook her head. “No. Usually only my lunch bag. … And my keys.”
“Then write down who you work with as well and put down beside that person’s name that he’s an employee with access.”
She shook her head but obeyed. When she was done, she handed him the piece of paper and pen. “I still don’t think any of these men would have had anything to do with it.”<
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“No, I doubt it too,” he said. “But the fact of the matter is, you have a stalker, and we have a murderer. We can’t take any chances.”
“You make it sound like these are two separate people.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I can’t figure out how they could be related, unless you are holding out on me.” He paused, but she only rolled her eyes. “At the same time, if we treat each as a separate person, we’ll get a little further in terms of who’s doing this. The more they do, the more we see what it is they’re up to, and the easier it will be to catch him or them.”
“Why?” she asked. “It’s not like fingerprints were left here. So that’s a dead end. We found the bugs and turned them off or whatever. As far as you know, they’re military issue, the same kind we use on base. That doesn’t lead us anywhere either.”
“But this does,” Kanen said as he flipped the laptop around for her to see.
She leaned forward to see a grainy photograph of a man standing at the front door to the building. His hood was pulled over his head, and he leaned slightly toward the side, where she knew the speaker was for the outdoor intercom. “I don’t recognize him, but it might be the man who knocked on my door last night,” she said slowly. “Still, I have no clue who that is.”
Chapter 8
But there was something about him. She had a hard time trying to figure out what it was but considering the number of people she sees on a daily basis that wasn’t unusual. “I want to recognize him, but I don’t,” she added slowly.
“Are you sure?” Kanen asked.
Jackson just glared at her.
She glared back at him. “What? So I don’t recognize him, and that puts me in trouble?”
“He knows you,” he said. “So chances are you know him. Something about the way he tilts his head, the line of his jaw. Something in there is familiar.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s not triggering right now.”
He nodded and hopped to his feet. “How about coffee?”
She shook her head. “Not this late. I’ll never sleep.”
Kanen looked up and said, “If coffee is happening, I’ll have a cup.”
Instead of Jackson putting it on, she rose, walked into the kitchen and put on a small pot. The last thing she needed was more stimulation. What she needed were answers. There was something about that man in the photo. But she just couldn’t place him. “I don’t understand why this guy, if he’s the stalker, would be planting bugs.”
“No, neither do I,” Jackson said. “It would make more sense that this guy was connected to the ambush and subsequent murder.” He turned to look at her and held out his hand. “May I have your phone?”
She pulled her phone from her pocket, swiped it to unlock it and handed it over to him. “Why?” she asked.
“So we can track your stalker.” He handed it to Kanen, then glanced back at her. “Do you remember any of the phone number?”
She gave him the area code and the first three digits.
Kanen found it almost immediately. He said something about tracking backward for the number.
“How do you guys know how to do all that?” she asked in amazement as she sat down beside Kanen again.
With both the laptop and her cell phone beside him, Kanen busily checked out owners of that phone number. Suddenly he stopped, looked at her and said, “Do you know a James Carville?”
“James? Yeah, I work with him,” she said. “Why?”
Kanen twisted the laptop so she could see the number and the name it was currently registered to.
She stared at the name and shook her head. “But I work with him. Why would he be doing this?”
Instead of making her feel better, it made her feel a hell of a lot worse. She stared at the two men in her apartment, then got up abruptly and walked into her bedroom. She threw herself down on the bed and stared up to the ceiling. She thought about all the times she had come across James, when they had stopped and had lunch, or he’d brought her coffee every once in a while. She’d returned the favor. But he’d never asked her out, never made it seem like he cared for her in any way. So why was he tormenting her on the phone? And was it connected with the ambush and the murder, or was it just a sick mind having fun?
She hopped off the bed after a few moments, walked out to the living room and stood, glaring at the two men. “Are you sure there’s no mistake?”
Kanen shook his head. “No, there’s no mistake. That phone is registered to him. Now the question is whether somebody else is using his phone to call you.”
She glommed onto that idea. “That’s possible, isn’t it?” She smiled at the thought. “Maybe he has no clue.”
“But it would have to be somebody close to him, and you did say it was a male caller, correct?”
She nodded her head. “Yes, as far as I could tell, it was a male.”
“Does James live alone?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “I don’t think we’ve ever had any personal conversations at that level.”
“Maybe it’s time,” Kanen said. “But don’t let him know you’re on to him.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “We also leave our phones in our lockers sometimes. I leave mine in my pocket, but most of the time I can’t access it because of the mechanics’ overalls. We’re also not supposed to be talking on the phone at work. Hazardous to our job and focus.”
“Is he a mechanic?”
She nodded. “He works in one of the garages. But we don’t work together.”
“But you’ve been back and forth between the navy garages to see him, know who he is?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “He towed in the rig that morning after the shooting. He’s brought me a coffee every once in a while. I’ve done the same for him. But it’s not like we’re friendly outside of work. We’re in the same meetings sometimes.”
“What about one of the other guys? Any chance somebody might be working with both of you and used his phone?”
She shrugged. “I have no clue. How would I know that? That’s something only he could answer. Although some of the calls have been in the evening. So, unless he doesn’t have his phone with him, or he’s living with somebody, or left his phone somewhere, there’s no way it could be anybody but him.”
“It might be time to pay him a visit then,” Jackson said.
She frowned. “I thought you just said to find out at work tomorrow, without letting him know I know anything.”
“I did,” he said, “but now I’m thinking maybe it’s better if we step this up and put a stop to it right now.”
Kanen looked at his watch, looked at the coffee that had just been delivered in front of him and said, “If we could take that to go, we could visit him right now.”
Jackson checked the time. “It’s past ten o’clock.” He frowned, took a sip of his coffee. “Why don’t we finish the coffee and then go?”
Kanen nodded. “Like you, I’d much rather find out what the hell is going on with this guy tonight.”
Jackson glanced at Deli. “Do you want to come with us?”
She opened her eyes wide in surprise, but inside she was torn about resolving her problem, at the same time not getting James in trouble. What if it had nothing to do with him? “I really don’t want to see him.”
“In a case like this, it’s much better to face him head-on,” Jackson said.
*
He watched her face twist in dismay. He understood her reticence, but she was better off bringing this situation to a close. “At least if we can get this problem solved, we’ll know it’s not connected to the rest. We do need to know if he’s connected to these bugs too.”
She nodded, stood, walked into the bedroom and grabbed a sweater. It wasn’t that it was a cold night, but she felt chilled at just the thought of what was coming. She returned to the living room and said, “I presume with your superspy skills, you already know where he lives.”
Kanen nodded. He took a big si
p of his coffee, finished the cup, set it down and stood with his laptop. “I think Jackson is correct. This is our next stop, even if it is late.”
Jackson led the way to his vehicle. With all of them in, he pulled the Jeep out of the parking lot and asked Kanen, “Where to?”
Kanen gave him directions off base.
“Interesting he doesn’t live on base. He could be in single quarters, I presume?” Deli said.
“He may not live alone,” Kanen said.
Ten minutes later they pulled up outside James’s apartment building. As they walked up, Deli looked up and asked, “What floor is he on?”
“He’s on the second floor,” Kanen said. “Why?”
She pointed up to where a man was sitting with a beer out on the corner balcony. “James, is that you?”
James stood, leaned over the railing and said, “Deli? What are you doing here?”
“Yeah, it’s us. Can we come up for a minute?”
He stared at her in surprise, then shrugged. “Sure, whatever. What are you doing here?” When he got no answer, he went inside and hit the buzzer to let them into the apartment building. He was outside his front door when they walked toward him. He smiled at her, took a look at the two men with her and his face turned belligerent. “Who are these guys?”
“Well, I got myself in a bit of a pickle,” she said. “Not knowing how else to handle the situation, I asked for help. They’re helping me.”
Immediately James turned solicitous. “I’m sorry to hear that. Come on in.”
With all of them in his small apartment, he motioned at the chairs. “There’s barely enough seating.”
She grabbed an armchair and sat down. The two men sat on the couch. She glanced around and said, “It’s small, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “It is indeed. But it’s just me here, so whatever.” He sat down on the single chair left. “So what’s this about?”
She didn’t know where to start. She glanced at Jackson, who gave her a slight nod, and he said, “Part of the problem is that we have two issues going on in Deli’s life. One—my vehicle was shot in the radiator. I ended up pulling it off to the side of the road, and Deli came back to see what was wrong with the vehicle. While we were there, somebody drove past and sprayed us with gunfire. But you know that part…”
