by Amy Faye
"Well, he's at least not making dumb calls, that's to be sure."
"Compared to little old me?"
"Compared to you, he's a genius." Roy gave her an expression of sarcastic disgust. Erin responded with mock hurt. "You're doing fine. Keep in touch, okay? I don't want you to get hurt out there, but I'm not going to stop you. Just make sure that you don't do anything drastic. We can't protect you if you go John McClane on the guy."
Her phone buzzed. "Of course. I'm not an idiot, you know."
"I know. But it bears repeating either way. Just don't get hurt, and don't go too far. That's all I'm asking from you."
He gave her an address. I'll be there in 30 minutes. See you.
She texted back her agreement.
"I'll do my best."
"That's all anyone can ask."
Roy opened the door and blew a kiss back at her. She felt the weight of the words neither of them had said. She had to shower and get dressed, now, or she was going to end up going to breakfast smelling like sex.
She stepped under the water and let the water run off her back. She enjoyed the heat, but she hadn't taken long, luxurious showers since she was a girl. The capacity had been bred out of her by a life of taking quick showers. She let herself enjoy the heat by giving herself six minutes instead of four. She stepped out after five.
She was past the seduction with Craig. Three times in four days would have been a good effort for anyone. But more than that, she didn't have to worry about him dropping her like a hot potato. As far as he was concerned, she was on the hook. She was the prey, and he the hunter. He'd be as surprised as anyone when things turned out not to be that way.
She decided on a sweater and jeans. She remembered dimly that these clothes, specifically, were actually the first normal thing that Roy had seen her in. The thought made her smile. What a strange pattern she was working with.
One of the men making a mess of her emotions had seen her at her worst and decided, it seemed, that she was worth spending a little time with. The other, she'd forced herself on, only to discover that he was looking for her the whole time. She was being played by him, instead, or so he would have his fellow gang members believe.
Where one had only seen her blossom when she got back home, the other would be seeing her shrivel just a bit. What sort of effect would that have? She was interested in finding out, even if she wasn't remotely sure yet.
She was out the door fifteen minutes after Craig's last text and at the address with three minutes to spare. It wasn't a restaurant, which was surprising. It was a laundromat. There was a Mexican place across the street, though, that she'd driven past a few times. Would they even be open this early in the morning? Or was this part of the play?
She waited a while to find out. Five minutes passed with nothing to discuss. A few people went in, but nothing that stuck out.
Almost half an hour to the minute after he sent the text, a truck pulled up. The guy in the front seat had a Twins cap pulled low on his face. She could see that he had sharp features and a long nose, but not much beyond that with the tint in the windows.
It was a Chevy, light blue with a white stripe all around the sides. Could have been any car, for certain. But the guy got out, and she got a better look at him, right in time for her phone to buzz.
I gave you the wrong address, my bad.
She knew that wasn't the case. She'd been put there to see what she'd just seen. She wasn't going to take the bait, not completely. But she took a slow pass behind the back of the truck, long enough to write down the license plate.
So where am I supposed to go?
He sent another address, a few miles away. She pulled out into the street and started going. She had a text off to Roy with the license plate number before she arrived. She wasn't going to pursue it, but that didn't mean that nobody was going to.
He was certainly the guy that they'd heard described in the killing, and that meant he had to come in. If Craig had his way, no doubt the guy would be dead by morning. The fact that he could call the man's location thirty minutes out meant that he knew something that they didn't. Possibly even that the man, now in the laundromat., didn't know.
Someone was pulling his strings, telling him where to be and when, and that meant that though it had certainly been his hand on the knife, someone else was responsible for the murders of those girls. All those women and, though it was embarrassing to admit—she should have been objective, cared about all of them equally—most important of all, her sister.
Twenty-Eight
"Sorry about the trouble."
She already had a cup of coffee waiting for her. Black, no sugar. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about him being presumptuous enough to order for her, but the idea fit him more than she wanted to admit.
"What trouble?"
"I sent the wrong address."
"Oh, no problem. It happens."
"I hope you didn't drive all the way out there."
"I was running a few minutes behind," she lied. "So I was still driving when I got your text."
He smiled at the waitress, who brought two plates with pancakes stacked higher than was absolutely prudent and set one down in front of her.
"You know you shouldn't text and drive, don't you? It's dangerous. You could get pulled over."
"Bad habit, I know. I've been working on it, though. Hopefully I can stop myself being so foolish in the future."
"Make sure you do," he joked. "Or else. You might be arrested."
He was teasing her with the fact that he knew something that he thought she didn't. Too bad for him that she knew exactly what he was joking about.
"I wouldn't want to have to go into a police station." She faked a shiver, and then a real one took over an instant later. "They seem so scary from the outside. You ever been in one?"
"Once or twice. I used to be a very aggressive jaywalker."
"Oh yeah? They arrest you for jaywalking?"
Craig made an exaggerated expression of uncertainty. "Well, there may have been other circumstances."
"So now the truth comes out, does it?"
"What? I'm shocked. I'd never try to hide anything from you, Erin."
"No, I don't imagine you would." She gave him a smile that could have flavored a milkshake.
"So someone broke in to your apartment? Sounds scary."
"When it's not you, you mean?"
"Well that goes without saying. When I do it, it's because you liked it."
"Ah. How obvious."
"I hope nobody was hurt."
"I'm alright," she answered. She would keep playing as close to the truth as she could, as long as she could, until things looked like they weren't going to keep working that way.
"The guy who broke in, did you see him?"
"No, I was asleep. I just woke up to find the chain on my door busted in and someone had gone through my stuff."
Craig let out a low whistle. "Scary. You could have gotten really badly hurt if the guy was looking to do some damage."
"I know. It just keeps going through my head, like—what if he'd brought a gun? What if he'd decided to—" she blinked and let out a long breath. "You know, like…"
"Oh Jesus, I hadn't even thought of that." Craig took another bite of the slightly-too-high pancake stack and poured more syrup in to fill the hole he'd made.
"I know. It didn't occur to me at first, either. I was just thankful, you know, he didn't steal my computer, or my TV, or anything, and then I just got to thinking about how bad it could have been."
"Yeah, I see why you wouldn't want to stay there any more. You could always stay at my place, though, if you want."
"I couldn't impose, though."
"It wouldn't be any sort of imposition."
She repeated herself a little more firmly. "I couldn't. I need my own space."
"The place isn't small, you know. There would be plenty of space for you."
"The offer is very kind, but no. I just couldn't.
I like small places, and I like to have plenty of time to myself."
He swallowed another bite. "Well, it's your choice. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with."
"Again, thanks for the offer. It's very kind, but I just would prefer to stay in the hotel, at least until the cops give me the clear and a locksmith has a chance to look at the place."
"Say no more. I understand completely."
He put his mind into eating. She wondered how much of it he believed. She had killed one of the boys responsible for the murders, and another would be going in for his crimes any time now.
But she had told him that she wasn't involved in either—she hadn't seen anyone in her apartment, hadn't even been awake. The other, she hadn't been there in time to see. If he believed her, then he'd start thinking someone else was going around, doing his dirty work for him.
A third person in the shadows might be enough to make him change his plans, start adjusting. Then again, Craig might see right through her. It was never easy to tell, and it was that much harder with Craig, because he seemed so ready to lie himself that he must have been good at it.
He pushed his plate back when she still had half a stack to eat, drank down the last few mouthfuls of water. Erin poured out the last of the syrup onto her plate, mopped some of it up with the next bite. The place was pretty good. Once this was all over, she might come by again. She almost imagined bringing Roy here before she realized that he wouldn't be around for it.
She couldn't risk it before the case was cleared up. She didn't know where Craig called home, but she knew he wouldn't call her out to somewhere far away from home turf. Which meant this was a no-go before their charade was over. When it was, he would be gone. She suddenly lost her appetite. She pushed her plate back just a bit and set down her fork.
"Too much food?"
"I don't know. Just don't feel good I guess."
"Do you mind—" He started to reach over before she answered, hesitating a little way to hear her answer.
"Go ahead."
Craig pulled her plate in front of him and started to eat again. She drank down the rest of her coffee, just cool enough to take a deep swallow of the last mouthful, and then started in on her water. The cool so soon after the hot felt good.
"I'm going to be out of town the next couple days. Work stuff."
"So that's why you needed to meet today?"
"You caught me."
"I thought you were a mechanic?"
"Client needs me to do some work on his bike, and he needs it done yesterday. I know the guy, and I know he's willing to pay, so I'm going to be going down to Arizona. Call it a house-call. But I think it'll take a couple days to get the bike in real good condition."
"Okay."
She didn't need a lie detector test to know that he was hiding something. He might be establishing an alibi for himself. If he suspected that she was on to him, it would be smart to be out of town for the third murder. That way, she wouldn't be able to accuse him of doing it. After all—he was four hours away.
But if he wasn't, and he really had some business to take care of down south, then what was it, and should she really be letting him go to take care of it?
The answer came before she took even a minute to think about it. She couldn't afford to tip her hand like that. She'd have to let him do whatever he wanted, even if what he wanted was to run roughshod over the law with abandon.
She had no other choice, not right now. So she'd keep her doubts to herself and wait for the right opportunity to arise. Then she'd nail him on whatever she could find.
Twenty-Nine
Erin put the phone to her ear and forced her voice to sound normal. "Russo."
"Hey, did everything go alright?"
"Everything's fine."
"Is this a bad time?"
She looked straight ahead, not letting the question get to her. "No, I have time. I can talk plenty. No problem."
"You sound strange. Are you sure that everything is alright?"
"I said it was fine, didn't I?"
"Sure. Sorry I asked."
"Thank you."
Erin laid back in the bed and waited to feel normal again. She'd been waiting for a long time, and she suspected that she'd be waiting much longer than the phone call was going to take.
"I was just worried about you. I know that things like this situation, the one with Hutchinson—it can go bad fast."
"Well, everything's fine. You pick up the blue-and-white truck?"
"Sure we did. Everything checks out with him. He's the one from Minnesota, just like you said."
"Well, that's what I figured. I didn't remember his face, not exactly, but from the cap and the fact that I knew he was on that sheet, I guessed."
"Well, it was a good guess."
She suppressed the pride at the compliment. No time for them, and no time to feel good about herself over nothing.
"Just get him dead to rights. Find Juanita Rodrigues, see if she recognizes him. She probably won't, but you never know."
"Maybe he had the window down, right?"
"Right."
The conversation wasn't going anywhere, and she wasn't sure that she wanted it to. Erin let out another breath.
"Are you sure you're okay? You sound kinda down in the dumps, Erin. Do you want to grab lunch?"
"No." She knew that she was doing a bad job of making herself sound anything close to alright, but it was hard to put aside the knowledge that no matter how much work she put into the relationship, it didn't much God damned matter.
"Are you at the hotel?"
She didn't answer. She wasn't sure she wanted him knowing where she was.
"Say I was."
"Stay there. I'm coming over."
"Don't."
"Erin, I swear—"
"Stop worrying about me, Schafer. I can take care of myself."
"Are you sure?"
"Fuck you, that's my answer. Am I sure, fuck you."
"I'm sorry—did I do something to piss in your cheerios?"
"Honestly? I don't need this right now. Just—go do whatever you F.B.I. people do."
She hung up the phone.
She could hear it in her own voice. That inner bitch that she'd never been able to shake. Why was it so easy to play the part with Craig, but the minute that someone might have taken a legitimate interest in her—
She quieted that thought. He hadn't taken a legitimate interest in her. She wasn't going to be with him, not long-term. There was no long-term for them, not really. Regardless of what either one of them wanted. No amount of trying hard was going to make up for a five-hour plane ride.
She wouldn't find the time to go to Virginia. Not the way she attacked work. He wouldn't find the time to come to California, either. Not with the short leash that the F.B.I. kept him on. Karen let out a breath.
It was smarter, and it would be easier, to just get it all out of her system now. Stop worrying about any of it, Just get used to the idea that she was going to have to get over him, and the sooner she could manage it, the less painful it would be when it happened.
She took a deep breath again.
That was the right approach, and if she was smart, that was what she'd keep in mind when he knocked on that door. She was a cop in California, and he was an out-of-town, sticking-his-nose-in, F.B.I. cop.
There wasn't going to be any compromise, not in the end. They might try for a while, waste a couple of years imagining that one day they'd spend a little more time together, or they could be honest with themselves now and admit that shit wasn't going to happen. Not in the long run. It would be less painful if they just admitted it to themselves now.
Erin rolled herself over and closed her eyes. She was tired. She had been for days now. The shooting had only made it that much worse, and having to keep Roy at arm's length took a lot out of her. If not physically, certainly emotionally.
She needed to get herself straightened out. That idea was a laugh. As
if she was going to do anything remotely like that. She might get a nap or she might not, but the idea of being able to think straight for one god damned minute before Craig Hutchinson sat in a courtroom and stood trial for the murder of her sister, and whatever other myriad crimes she knew he was guilty of—that wasn't going to happen.
Erin's eyes shot open when she heard the knock. She was out of the bed like a shot, her first reflex to reach for the pistol. She stopped herself. Nobody was going to knock before they shot her, and if they did—maybe they would. She didn't know.
Maybe they would. She left the gun on the table regardless, a subtle fuck-you to the instinct that told her to make sure that she always had something ready just in case some crazy son of a bitch tried to attack her.
She was in control of her life, and if she was going to get killed, she was going to get killed. Nobody was pulling her strings. Not Craig, not the fucker in the blue truck, not her father, and definitely not—she put her eye to the peep hole.
Definitely not Roy fucking Schafer, who was standing in the hall outside.
"Go away."
"You know I can't do that, Erin."
"I said, 'go away.' "
"And I said I'm not going to."
"For how long? A few minutes? An hour? What happens when I let you in? What happens when we solve this thing? You gonna wait outside my apartment then, too?"
"Erin—"
"Don't you 'Erin' me. Go away. I don't need you here. I can take care of myself."
He took the comment like a slap in the face. The expression was every bit as satisfying as she'd thought it was, in the deep place in the pit of her stomach where right and wrong didn't matter nearly so much as making sure that people suffered when you wanted them to suffer.
He waited a minute, opened his mouth just about long enough to close it again, and then walked off. Even from the limited view of the peep-hole she could see that what started as a casual walk away quickly became frustrated, even angry.
