He would have followed them from the gym today but someone might have noticed him leaving, and besides, they would have been long gone by the time he changed his clothes and got to his van.
"Hey, girls," he said, grinning down at them. He was wearing jeans, and a black shirt that showed off his physique. He felt confident.
They'd been deep in conversation when he approached. The girl with short, dark hair Blanche, he remembered suddenly, smiled up at him. "Hi, Mac." It pleased him that she remembered his name.
Charlotte echoed, "Hi, Mac." Asked him what he was doing here.
"Same as you girls," he said off-handedly. "Winding down after a rough day in the mines. Anyone up for a dance. Charlotte?"
The blonde at the table, wearing a pink sparkly top that showed off a generous cleavage, slid hard eyes over him.
"No, no thanks, Mac. I did two aerobic classes back to back. That's it for me. Just having a beer then heading on home. "Della, you like to dance." Charlotte picked up her glass of beer, exposing the wet ring on the table, and grinned at her friend before taking a swallow. He suddenly felt himself the butt of an unspoken joke.
The blonde was giving Charlotte a look that said 'I'll get you later', then with a sigh he perceived rather than heard, she pushed back her chair, gave him a horsey grin. He hadn't expected teeth as showy as her cleavage. "Sure, Mac, I'll give you a whirl around the floor."
The other two girls laughed, and Mac felt the heat crawl up his neck and face. As he guided the blonde to the middle of the floor, behind him, he heard the softly spoken words 'aging playboy'. Charlotte's voice.
It was Charlotte he'd wanted to dance with, an excuse to ask her a few questions, nothing more. She shouldn't flatter herself. He supposed he had no choice but to dance with the blonde. Leaving her standing in the middle of the floor would only draw attention to himself. He was still feeling the sting of humiliation at Charlotte's rejection. Their private joke that wasn't so private, followed by her spoken insult, shot his anger up a couple of notches.
Where was the other bitch? he wondered again. He'd go back to her house later tonight. Maybe she'd be there then. He'd end this.
The blonde said something into his neck and for an instant he was surprised to find himself dancing with her. The music was so loud he couldn't make out her words, but not wanting to encourage further conversation, he managed some vague reply, a smile.
The dance ended none too soon, as far as Mac was concerned. He ordered a drink at the bar and finished it off almost before the blonde found her chair again. He hadn't bothered to walk her back to the table. He left shortly after, giving them a wave as he passed by their table. Damned if he'd let them think their opinion mattered to him, one way or the other. They stopped talking just long enough to wave back, an apathetic gesture, but he knew he barely registered with them. He was just the middle-aged guy who came to the gym. And apparently, who Charlotte thought of as an aging playboy. Horse-face had been doing him a favour by dancing with him. Bitches! Who in hell do they think they are? Bitches and whores, all of them. They didn't know who they were dealing with.
He'd worked himself into a mad fury by the time he reached his van. He got in and drove slowly around the parking lot until he found a parking place at the far end where he could see who came and went, but wouldn't be spotted. He'd been prepared to wait for however long it took, but less than a half hour later, the girls came out, hugged, and went to their separate cars. He watched Charlotte Bradley get into a silver Toyota and he followed her, keeping a safe distance behind the car.
Mac had no real plan thought out, but was just following instincts, wanting to hurt someone. Hurt them bad. He sat across the street from Charlotte Bradley's apartment building for more than an hour nursing the rage that coursed through him. His eyes remained riveted on the windows in the building from the moment she disappeared inside, and saw the light go on in an apartment on the second floor, and knew it was hers.
Every few minutes her silhouette would appear behind the blind as she walked past the window, and he fantasized about her, about taking her and letting her know he was much more than an aging playboy. He was her worse nightmare. He was still there, sitting in the darkened car, when she turned off the light.
When more time passed, he figured she was probably asleep. He pictured her in the bed, perhaps naked, trusting that she was safe. She was an athlete, a fitness trainer after all. She could take care of herself.
Two aerobic classes back to back, she had told him, so she wouldn't have to dance with him. Brushed him off on the blonde like he was a joke, a laugh. But he needed to find out where Naomi Waters was. That was the important thing. I could make her tell me. Then take her. See the fear on her face, her eyes widen. She'd fight him; she was the type, but he would enjoy that. It excited him more when they fought him, gave him a bigger rush to gain control over them. He'd gag her, tie her to the bed. He smiled, picturing her in his mind. It pleased him knowing he could get into her apartment if he wanted to. There was no place he couldn't get into if he chose. He had the touch. He could do whatever he wanted to do.
His breathing rapid, his fists clenched and fire in his loins, he already envisioned himself halfway across the street. Until the saner voice spoke to him: You can't go up there. You can't touch her. Not tonight anyway.
The cops would have him if he did that. She'd been with two of her friends from the club, and they'd seen him, talked to him. One of them had danced with him. They would tell the cops about that. Tell them he asked Charlotte to dance with him and she turned him down. They'd figure out that he did exactly what he did do sat in the parking lot and waited for her to leave, then followed her home.
He sat for a few more minutes, then let out a long breath and turned the key in the ignition. The van purred to life. He'd keep Charlotte Bradley on hold for the time being. Her time would come and be all the sweeter for the wait. But he needed satisfaction tonight. For the moment, his urges were under his control. But he was ravenous, and his hunger needed feeding. His rage demanded release.
Mac went hunting.
And he knew exactly where he would find his quarry.
Chapter Thirty-Four
It was past midnight when he drove back to the house on Elizabeth Avenue, slowed the van, but it was still in darkness. Her car still gone. From there he took off for downtown, squealing the tires only a little.
The girl was standing alone on the corners of Station and Harcourt, smoking a cigarette. She was young, eighteen, an addict who prostituted herself to support her drug habit. She was a natural blonde and still had a pretty face in spite of the hard life. The work was shriveling her soul, would have gotten to her face in a few more years. Or maybe she would have got herself together, cleaned up and lived a happier life. Unlikely, but possible. All things were possible if you were still breathing.
Her name was Marie Davis. She came from a broken home, had lived with a cousin and her husband when she was thirteen. One night the husband raped her, and her cousin threw her out when she told her what happened, and kept the rapist. So much for family.
Marie wore the requisite micro-mini and too-high heels to show off long, shapely legs. Her face was heavily made up, even though, according to one or two of the nicer johns, she didn't need it. When she saw the van slowing down, she dropped the cigarette she'd been smoking, and crushed it out under her shoe on the pavement, wiped the boredom from her face, and smiled. Thought how good it would be to get off her feet. These heels were killing her. And she was cold. Unfortunately, sweaters and leggings didn't do much for trade.
The van had stopped, was idling at the curb. She sauntered over to it, hoped this one would at least not be a fat disgusting slob who smelled bad. She was pleasantly relieved to see a very nice looking man smiling back at her from the driver's seat. His square, white teeth gleamed in the light from the dash.
"I could use a little company," he said. "How about you, gorgeous?"
"Sure. You uh, gotta pay."
/>
"How much?"
She hesitated. Bit her pretty lower lip. "You're not a cop, are ya?"
He laughed. "Nah. I hate cops. I do body work. Like you." He grinned obscenely.
She got the joke but didn't smile. "Fifty." She said it timidly, almost a question, like she was trying it on for size, ready to lower her price if she needed to.
"I like a girl who knows her worth." He reached over and opened the passenger door. "Hop in."
She paused only briefly as visions of Ted Bundy passed through her mind. He'd been good-looking too. "You're not a serial killer or something, are you?"
He threw back his head and laughed as if it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. She laughed too, realizing how silly she had sounded.
"How do I know you're not another Aileen Wuornos?" he said, after she got in.
Her blue eyes widened. "That woman that shot all those men that picked her up in their cars? Wow, she was somethin' else, eh?"
Though Marie sort of understood how you could hate men that much, she was careful not to say so. "They made a movie about her, Monster. I got the DVD. That actress, Charlize Theron, was really good."
She moved closer to him, relaxed now in the warmth of the van, not worried, even amused that he'd thought he might be in danger from her. She toed the stilettos off her aching feet.
He pulled away from the curb. "Yeah," he said. "She was. Very good."
"You don't need to worry about me, Mister."
He smiled without looking at her. "I know."
She heard the locks on the doors click. And there was the briefest moment when Marie felt the icy chill of foreboding creep inside her skin. And then, it went away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Lisa wouldn't let Naomi leave without having breakfast first. Scrambled eggs, toast and orange juice. "I could get used to this," Naomi grinned, a forkful of fluffy scrambled egg midway to her mouth, and Lisa smiled at her.
The sun was streaming in the window, warming her face, throwing a warm path across the floor. She could stay here forever being fed and fussed over, forget all the dark stuff.
"You need to stay healthy," Lisa said, as she poured their coffee into stone mugs. "But I must say, you're looking much better this morning. Bright eyed and bushy-tailed. "
"I slept great. Thanks, Lisa."
"You're more than welcome. So is Molly. She slept great too. Didn't you, Molly?"
Molly was curled up on an oval of sun on the floor, and merely blinked in contentment.
"You've got a plan to catch him, don't you?"
Naomi smiled mysteriously. "I've got a plan. And you're psychic."
"You're not going to tell me, are you? Please be careful, honey."
"I will. I don't know how I can thank you, Lisa."
"No need. I love having you here. Molly too. And besides, it makes me feel like I'm making up a little for … my lack back then."
"You have nothing to make up for. I know that's what you're feeling, Lisa. But it's misplaced guilt."
* * *
After leaving Lisa's, Naomi went to Home Depot and bought the hardware she would need to put her plan into action, along with a set of chimes she planned to hang just inside the back door. Then she drove straight to Edna's.
There was maybe a second or two, standing on Edna's front step, where she had rarely set foot, even as a child, when Naomi almost lost her nerve. Her finger was poised over the buzzer, hesitant. Now, ignoring that timid child within her, she pressed it firmly.
She heard her aunt's footsteps coming down the hallway and took a shallow breath. The door opened and Edna's eyes widened with surprise. "You," was all she said. Then came the tightening of her mouth, the flaring of nostrils as though detecting an unpleasant smell in the air.
She was dressed in a pearl grey suit, smelling of her L'Eau d`Issey perfume. Diamond horseshoe earrings enhanced a new flip hairdo. I really wanted her to like me. I tried. But that's all beside the point now. She suddenly realized she didn't give a damn what this woman thought of her, and the realization was freeing.
"Yes, it's me, Edna. I won't keep you long. May I come in?"
"I was just on my way out."
"I can see that." She held her ground, refusing to cringe under her cold, unbending glare. "As I said, it won't take long."
With a put-upon sigh, Edna grudgingly opened the door wider. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here after what you did."
After what I did. The door closed behind Naomi and she was standing in Edna's narrow gold and purple carpeted hallway, with the huge fern by the French doors, leading into the living room, reminding her of a hotel lobby. She made no response to the statement, but took the pendant out of her jacket pocket and held it out to this woman whose approval had once meant so much to her. "Where did you get this?"
She saw the fleeting shock in her eyes as she stared at the pendant in Naomi's hand. Then she looked up at her with defiance, if not quite convincing. "I don't know what you're talking about? I never saw…."
"Yes, you did. I know it's yours. At least you've taken possession of it. I want to know where you got it. It's a simple question."
How did she turn out so different from her sister? Naomi wondered for the hundredth time. How could two sisters be so different?
"Now that I've taken a better look, I do seem to remember it. I found it years ago. On … on the beach. I don't know why I kept it, I never really liked it. It's of no value. You may keep the thing."
"Oh, I'm definitely keeping it, all right, and I don't need your permission. This is rightfully mine. It belonged to my birth mother."
The colour left her face so that the rosy blush on her cheeks turned to splotches. "Whatever. Now I really have to ask you to leave. Or I'll have to call the police and tell them you've pushed you way in here and refuse to go."
"Go ahead, Edna. Phone the police. We'll wait for them together. Maybe they can get the truth from you."
"I've told you the truth. I found the damn thing on the beach. I forgot I even had it. There, that's it. So you can leave now." A flash of red scarlet fingernails as she ran a hand through her new hairdo. "Okay? Are you satisfied?"
She wasn't. Calmly, she said, "I don't believe you found this on any beach. Someone gave it to you, didn't they? Who was it, Edna? Who gave this to you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
But Edna's face said otherwise. Her entire body language said otherwise. "This pendant belonged to a girl who was raped and beaten and left on the side of the road to die. You know who she was. You read the article in the paper. You saw her school picture in which she was wearing this. She always wore it. She was wearing it the night she was abducted. It wasn't with her personal effects."
Edna's colour had turned ashen. Only the blush splotches remaining. She was shaking visibly, but with anger now. "Yes, I read your damn story in the paper. We all did, everyone who lived in River's End has read it, and more. It's an embarrassment to leave my home these days. I'm sorry, but your early circumstances have nothing to do with me. I told Lili you'd bring trouble on this family, and I was right. I have told you I found that thing on the beach. How it got there, I have no idea. Now, please leave." She glanced at her watch. "I'm going to be late for my appointment. If you don't mind."
She did mind, but she knew she was not going to get any more out of her, not today, not voluntarily. Edna was lying, though. That much was clear. Surprisingly, she was not a very good liar. The panic in her eyes told on her. This pendant had meaning for her. Naomi didn't believe she wouldn't have kept it all those years if it held no significance.
The instant she got home, she phoned Charlotte at the gym and told her that her mother now knew the necklace wasn't in her jewelry box. "I didn't mention your name, but she probably figured out that you took it. I thought you should know. I'm sorry, Charlotte."
Charlotte muttered a mild curse over the disco music in the background. "I'll deal with it," she said, her voice edged w
ith irritation and regret. "I've got to get back to work now, Naomi. Talk to you later."
But Naomi doubted that would happen. There would be no further courting from Charlotte's side. She didn't really blame her. Despite her problems with her mother, that was ultimately where Charlotte's loyalties would lie. Blood's thicker than water, she thought, and almost laughed at the bitter irony in the old adage. That's fine, I can live with that. But she had needed to confront Edna with the pendant, ask the question. And she had to look into her face when she did it.
She considered her options: she could take the pendant to the police. But running that scenario through her mind convinced her it would just be another dead end. They'd accept Edna's story that she found it on the beach and that would be that. Of course they would. They'd tell Naomi she was grasping at straws, to get on with her life. Yet, wouldn't it occur to them that that was awfully coincidental considering she was legally related to me? That the pendant had belonged to a victim in an abduction and had never been recovered. Would they follow it up? Take seriously the connection with Edna?
They might. But probably not. This was a cold case, hardly a priority for the police department. She could always call Sergeant Nelson and ask him to intercede, but she wasn't about to harass a man who'd just had a heart attack.
Two things Naomi knew for certain; Edna was keeping secrets, and Edna was afraid.
She suddenly thought of Frank. He knew Edna. Maybe he would have some ideas. She would ask him to go through that year book. He might have been acquainted with some of the people in Edna's life back then.
He was out when she called so she left a message with Kay. While she waited for him to call her back, she hung the chimes she'd bought above the back door. Eight feather-light butterflies in blues and yellows that would move at the slightest draft and warn her that someone had opened the back door. She was counting on it.
Having dubious mechanical skills, she spent the better part of an hour installing the bolt on her studio door, placing it well below the doorknob so that it wouldn't be immediately noticeable, and painted it toasted mahogany, the same colour as the door.
The Abduction of Mary Rose Page 16
