Behind Closed Doors

by Carla Cassidy

  As his headlights disappeared from view, Ann closed and locked the front door... and the phone rang.

  Chapter 4

  “Hey, man, that’s a heavy frown you’re wearing. What’s going on?”

  Clay looked up as Raymond sank down in the chair next to his desk. “I just got back the lab report on the last note Ann Carson got.”

  “And let me guess...the only fingerprints on it are hers.”

  “No, mine are on there, too.” Clay sighed and set the report aside. He’d hoped there would be another set of prints; even if they were unidentifiable, they would have attested to a third person being involved. “Besides the notes, she told me last night when I was over there she’s also been getting a lot of hang up phone calls.” Raymond frowned. “While you were there did she get any?” he asked.

  “No...but that doesn’t mean she’s lying about them.” It irritated Clay that he felt the need to defend her.

  Raymond grinned. “You know what I think?”

  Clay swallowed a sigh. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  Raymond leaned toward Clay. “I think you’ve got hot pants for the nice teacher and that’s coloring your professional judgment.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Clay scoffed, then smiled ruefully. “Okay, I’ll admit I have a touch of a thing for her, but that doesn’t mean I’m not looking at all sides of the case.”

  “All I know is when a man’s got hot pants, it constricts the blood flow to the brain, making rational thought difficult.” Raymond scratched his belly and eyed Clay affectionately. “Just keep an open mind. It’s possible your lady teacher has got some personal problems.”

  “I’ve got an open mind and she’s not my lady teacher,” Clay retorted.

  Raymond smirked and stood up. “Whatever. I just hope you get this out of your system before you take off for Hawaii. It would be tough lying on those sun-kissed beaches yearning for a mainland lady.”

  Clay laughed. “Don’t worry about me. Once I get on that beach, you and the rest of this life will be just a distant memory.”

  He watched as Raymond went back to his own desk, then focused his attention back on the lab report. The lack of fingerprints other than his own and Ann’s bothered him. It implied something more insidious than a disgruntled student dashing off a nasty note to the teacher.

  Whoever had written it had taken care not to leave fingerprints. They’d probably worn gloves. Or Ann wrote the note herself, a small voice whispered inside his head.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Raymond was right. He couldn’t dismiss the possibility that Ann herself was responsible just because he didn’t want it to be so.

  Clay had been a cop long enough to know the various psychological profiles of criminals, knew that according to Greg Thorton, Ann had no family, no friends to speak of...facts that fit one particular profile and furthered the vague possibility of her being responsible.

  “Officer Clinton?”

  He looked up to see a small, white-haired woman, her face wrinkled beneath the heavy rouge that spotted her cheeks.

  “Yes?”

  “That man over there said I should talk to you. I want to make a missing persons report.”

  Clay looked over to see several officers watching him and her, faces schooled but not quite hiding roguish grins. He looked back at the old woman, wondering why his fellow officers looked so damned guilty and so amused. “A missing person report?”

  She nodded and sank down into the chair next to his desk, the heavy scent of roses wafting with her movement. “My Harry is missing.”

  Clay shuffled through the files on his computer and pulled up the appropriate form. “And Harry’s relationship to you?”

  “Harry’s my husband. Our fifty-fifth wedding anniversary is next week.” She pulled a purse the size of a small suitcase onto her lap and opened it. She withdrew a framed picture. The photo was a portrait of herself and the missing man. Harry appeared to be a big man, with massive shoulders and a barrel chest. He was looking at his wife, and the smile on his face spoke of a man contented and still in love despite the passing of youth.

  “How long has your husband been missing?”

  “Forty-eight hours. I knew I couldn’t make a report until he’d been missing for over twenty-four.” She snapped her purse closed once again.

  “Okay. Let’s start with some names. What is your name?”

  “Gloria Woninski.”

  Bells went off in Clay’s head. He’d heard about Gloria, a familiar visitor to the station, but he’d never had any personal dealings with her.

  He typed her name on the form even though he knew there would be no follow-up on this particular case. “And when was the last time you saw your husband?”

  She frowned and pursed ruby lips. “Two nights ago. That’s when they came for him. I woke up to the bright lights and they were singing ‘Up, Up and Away,’ and they were little men with big heads. They lifted Harry in their arms and they all went up to the mother ship.”

  Her eyes radiated complete belief in her own words and with a perfectly straight face Clay typed in what she’d said. “Actually, I think this should be considered a kidnapping,” she continued. “I know my Harry. He’d much rather be here with me than with them, but I think they’re holding him against his will.”

  Once again she opened her purse, this time to pull out a tissue. She dabbed teary eyes and drew in a tremulous breath. “You have to find my Harry. I miss him so much, and he didn’t take his heart pills with him. He needs those pills.”

  “We’ll do what we can, Mrs. Woninski.”

  She leaned over and patted his hand. “You’re a nice man to listen to an old woman.”

  “Do you have any children, ma’am?”

  She shook her head, a coquettish smile curving her lips and for a moment Clay saw the whisper of the young, flirtatious woman she had once been. “My Harry never wanted children. He always told me I was all he needed to be happy.” The smile crumpled and she was once again an old, bewildered woman. “You’ve got to find him. I’m all alone and I need him.”

  “I’ll make sure this report gets put at the top of the stack,” he assured her despite the fact he knew the report would be filed away in their crackpot file.

  “And you’ll call me the minute you find him? You’ll bring him home where he belongs?” She stood up, the huge purse clutched against her chest.

  “I promise when we find him, we’ll bring him home to you,” Clay replied.

  “Thank you.” Dabbing one last time at tear-filled eyes, she turned and left.

  The minute she was gone from the squad room, Raymond ambled over, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “We figured before you retire you had to have the experience of Gloria.” He hiked a hip onto Clay’s desk. “What was it this time? Alien abduction? Kidnapping by gypsies? Her stories are always good for a few laughs.”

  Clay eyed his friend in disgust. “Sometimes, Raymond, you’re a callous man.”

  “What are you talking about?” Raymond exclaimed in surprise. “The woman is a nutcase...a crazy. Once a month, for the past two years, like clockwork she’s in here filing another missing husband report.”

  “And if I recall the facts, her husband has been dead for two years. She’s all alone and can’t accept it. I don’t find that amusing, I find it pitiful.”

  “Clay Clinton, defender of the nuts of the world.” Raymond stood up and shook his head ruefully. “Better watch it, that kind of compassion can make you insane in this job.”

  “That kind of compassion is what’s made me good at this job for twenty years.” Clay also stood, unsure why an edge of anger had reared its head inside him.

  He drew in a deep, steadying breath and placed a hand on Raymond’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” he apologized. “Guess I just don’t find Gloria Woninski’s suffering as amusing as the rest of you do.”

  “You’re right,” Raymond conceded. “We all feel ba
d about the old woman, but you’ve also been around here long enough to know that black humor is what gets us all through the tough times.”

  Clay nodded and flashed his friend a conciliatory smile. “I know. Don’t mind me. I’ve just got a lot of things on my mind.”

  “Take her to bed, that will ease some of your tension.”

  Clay frowned. “Gloria Woninski?”

  Raymond laughed. “No, your teacher. You’ve been too long between women and you’re losing your sense of humor.”

  “Ha ha,” Clay retorted dryly as Raymond went back to his desk.

  Too bad mental illness and lack of coping skills wasn’t as easily spotted in others as they were in Gloria Woninski, Clay thought. If Ann had talked about spaceships and aliens he’d know he was dealing with a woman in crisis. But Ann had seemed well-adjusted and worked at a respectable job requiring intelligence.

  What was she? A victim receiving notes from an unknown perp, or a victim by her own design, writing notes to herself and making up phone calls in a bid for attention?

  One thing was definitely true. She was occupying far too much of his mind in relationship to the lack of severity of her case. He’d spent more time thinking about her, wondering about the notes, speculating on her than he had most of his other, more serious cases.

  Raymond was right. Clay had the hots for her. Although his interest in her was not bound solely by a physical desire. No, it went deeper than that. There was something about the sadness in her eyes that pulled him, something about the infrequency of her smiles that made him want to bring her happiness.

  Damn. Irritated, he put the lab report away and instead pulled up the files on an armed robbery he’d been working on for several weeks.

  “Hey, Clinton. The chief wants to talk to you,” one of the other officers yelled across the room.

  Clay raised a hand in acknowledgment. Probably some leftover paperwork to sign or discuss concerning his retirement. He got up and made his way to the stairs that led to the chief’s office.

  Chief Walter Zolinni answered Clay’s knock. “Clay, come in, come in.” He motioned Clay to the seat in front of his massive desk, then eased himself down into his own chair.

  Clay waited patiently while the Chief lit one of the three cigars he allowed himself per day. Once it was lit, Walter leaned back in his chair and studied Clay for a long moment. “You still set on this retirement nonsense?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are we down to? A little over a month?” Clay nodded and Walter continued, “And there’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “No, sir.”

  Walter puffed thoughtfully. “Too bad. I was going over your file this morning. Lots of good stuff in there... accolades and letters of community support. You’re a good man, Clay. The department hates to lose you.”

  “Thank you. The job has been good to me.”

  “So, tell me about this Ann Carson thing.”

  Clay looked at his boss in surprise. It was rare that the chief got involved in actual casework, especially in something so benign. “She’s an English teacher at Northland Community College. She’s gotten a couple of threatening notes, one inside her refrigerator in her condo....”

  Walter sucked on the cigar, blowing the smoke out the side of his mouth toward a wilted, browning plant in the corner. “I got a call this morning from Mayor Walker. Seems you’ve managed to step on some toes.”

  “Step on toes?” Clay frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not sure I understand. Whose toes?”

  “Mayor Walker is golf buddy with the senior partners at Beatty, Walters and Majors. Seems they complained to him that you’ve been harassing one of their up-and-coming stars.”

  “I didn’t harass anyone. I questioned one of their lawyers because he and Ann Carson recently broke off a relationship.”

  “I figured as much.” Walter dabbed the cigar, forcing ashes to fall into a pristine ashtray. “Just do me a favor, if you have to speak to this lawyer again, tread easily. The mayor was upset and when he’s upset his foot always manages to connect with my butt.”

  “I’ll do my best not to ruffle feathers,” Clay agreed.

  “Thanks.” Walter stood up and walked with Clay to the door. “You’re a good man, Clay. An excellent cop. We’re all going to miss you when you leave.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  As Clay walked back down the stairs to his desk, his mind whirled. So Thorton had complained about him. Not just innocuous grumbling. He’d gone to his powerful friends to get Clay’s butt chewed. An interesting reaction for a man who presumably had nothing to hide.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to check out Greg Thorton a little more thoroughly. He could be discreet, make sure the worm didn’t even know Clay was around.

  Ann left the movie theater and walked out into the darkness of the night. She’d escaped her house earlier in the day, driven out by the incessant ringing of the phone. After shopping at the mall, she’d finally decided to relax for a couple of hours in the cool quiet of the theater. She hadn’t realized the movie would run so late and the mall would be closed and the parking lot nearly deserted when she emerged.

  Her car was a mere dot in the distant parking lot and the lot itself looked ominously dark, with light poles sparse and half the bulbs burned out.

  She pulled her keys out of her purse before advancing. With her purchases in one hand, the keys in the other, she took off walking toward her car.

  She’d hoped the movie theater would provide a nice quiet environment and that she’d be able to lose herself in the story unfolding on the screen. She hadn’t realized that Saturday nights the mall belonged to bands of teens.

  The movie had been slow, the theater noisy and she now felt no more relaxed than she had when she’d gone in. She did feel good about one thing. First thing that morning she’d run to a nearby discount store and bought an answering machine equipped with caller identification.

  If the phone had rung while she was out, she’d not only have a record of the call, she’d have a record of the caller’s number as well.

  Against one wall of the mall structure, a group of young teenagers stood, laughing and joking, apparently waiting for a parent to come and pick them up. Someday, she told herself. Someday she’d have children...a family. It was a promise to herself, the dream of a future filled with love and security.

  She was halfway between her car and the mall when she heard the sound of a car engine racing. She turned to see a car heading toward her. Gaining speed, the bright headlights nearly blinded her. She froze, watching as the car came faster and closer. Like a deer in the middle of the road, half mesmerized by the brightness of the lights, she watched unmoving until the car was nearly on her.

  With a cry of horror, realizing the driver wasn’t swerving away, she ran. With a whoosh, the car passed by her so close she felt the engine heat, smelled the hot tires. The car whizzed by her, then turned around and faced her once again.

  Like a bull pawing the ground and snorting steam, the engine once again raced, tires smoking as the rpms increased. Frantically, Ann realized the driver intended to chase her again. She looked around for help, for a place where she could run, but the near empty parking lot made her a helpless target.

  With a squeal of tires, the car came again. Ann fought the impulse to turn and flee, knowing there was no way to beat out the speeding car. The best she could do was outmaneuver it.

  Pulse pounding, she waited until the car was practically on top of her, then threw herself to the side, gasping in stunned disbelief as she hit the pavement and skidded on the rough ground.

  In relief she saw the taillights of the car continuing on toward the parking lot exit. A sob tore through her and she sat up.

  “Hey, lady...are you all right?” One of the teenage boys who’d been standing against the buildings ran toward her. “Jeez, I’ve never seen anything like that. It looked like he was trying to run you down.” Helplessly he stood over h
er, afraid to touch her yet obviously wanting to help. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m all right,” she finally managed to say. Although she wasn’t. Her palms were bloody, her hose shredded from her facedown ride against the asphalt. Still, it wasn’t the physical wounds that bothered her. Icy fear crept through her, making her shake uncontrollably.

  “My buddy is calling the police.” the kid said. “They should be here any minute.”

  She nodded. She knew she should stand up, that by doing so she’d make the teenager feel better. But, she couldn’t. Fear kept her immobile. If she tried to rise to her feet, she knew her trembling legs wouldn’t hold her.

  “Did you see what kind of car it was?” she asked as she picked up the keys she’d dropped.

  “Nah. It was too dark. I couldn’t even tell what color it was.”

  Could this be coincidence or was this connected to the notes? But who? Hysteria bubbled up inside her. Who was doing these things? Paper threats were one thing...but this was something else. Had she not flung herself out of the way, the car would have killed her.

  With a sigh of relief, she heard the distant sound of a siren, signaling the approach of help. A minute later a patrol car pulled up, the red and blue lights atop the cab swirling a measure of comfort.

  Ann pulled out the card Clay Clinton had given her and handed it to the officer. “Call him,” she said. “I want him here.”

  He handed the card to his partner, who returned to the car, then he helped her up. “What happened? The 911 call was a report of a hit-and-run.”

  The teenage boy looked sheepish. “I told him to say that so you’d come quicker. It was an almost-hit-and-run and we saw the whole thing.”

  For the next several minutes, the officers took statements from the kids while Ann leaned weakly against the side of the patrol car.

  The first policeman had just finished questioning the kids when Clay pulled up. In a single movement, he turned off the engine and bounded out of the car, immediately approaching Ann.