In the Dark aka The Watcher

by Brian Freeman

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Stride turned and found Rikke Mathisen behind him. She clutched a cup of hospital coffee in her hand, and steam curled out of the brown liquid. She was tall; they were almost eye to eye. Her face was hard with rage. She pushed past Stride into the hospital room and tugged the flimsy curtain, blocking Finn from Stride’s sight.

  “I said, what are you doing here?” she hissed again.

  “I wanted to check on Finn.”

  Rikke pointed her finger like an arrow out of the room. At the end of the corridor was a small waiting area, with dreadful orange sofas, out-of-date family magazines, and an overhead thirteen-inch television suspended from the ceiling. No one was there. The television was off. Stride went to the tall window and looked out on the main street of Superior below him. Rikke followed. She wore an oversized sweatshirt and jeans.

  “You are not to come near him,” she insisted. “You are not to talk to him. Is that clear? I’ve hired a lawyer. We are through with you, starting now.”

  “How is Finn?”

  “Alive,” she snapped.

  “I hear he’s going home tomorrow. I’m glad he’s okay.”

  “He’s not okay.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened.”

  Rikke’s eyes were two blue stones. “Spare me. You knew perfectly well what kind of a man Finn is. He’s an addict, for Christ’s sake. An alcoholic. You deliberately went and pushed him over the edge. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” Stride said.

  “You’ve put salve on your conscience by coming here, Lieutenant. Now go home. Get away from me and my brother.”

  Rikke sat down, grabbed a dated copy of People, and flipped the pages savagely.

  “You knew about Finn peeping teenage girls,” Stride said.

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “A girl died.”

  “That’s not Finn’s fault.”

  “I think you know it is. You destroyed evidence, didn’t you? Our search team said someone burned papers in Finn’s room. The hard drive of his computer was missing. If he’s mentally ill, you’re not helping him by covering up what he did.”

  Rikke slapped the magazine shut. “Finn does not belong in prison. He belongs with me. I can take care of him.”

  “You can’t control him,” Stride said. “Isn’t that obvious? He’ll start all over again when he gets home. We both know it. What if another girl dies? How will you feel then?”

  “Finn would never hurt anyone.”

  “No? What about Laura?”

  “I told you, he wasn’t there that night. He had nothing to do with it. He was with me. At home.”

  Stride shook his head. “Someone masturbated near Laura’s body. We still have the semen that was collected. If Finn was there, we’ll be able to prove it.”

  “I’m not letting you take a DNA sample from him.”

  “We don’t need one. Finn provided a large sample of his blood on the floor of the bathroom in the Detective Bureau.”

  “You took his blood off the floor?” Rikke asked. “What kind of barbarian are you? A man is dying, and all you can think about is your investigation?”

  “My concern is with the victims,” Stride said. “I’m going to test his DNA. We’re going to find out that Finn was at the murder scene that night.”

  “I’ll talk to my lawyer. He’ll put a stop to this rape of Finn’s body. You’re disgusting, do you know that? You’re an animal. You don’t understand what Finn has been through in his life.”

  Stride squatted in front of her. “Finn took the car that night, didn’t he? When he came home, he was covered in blood. I think you did exactly what you did a few days ago. You covered up for him. You protected him.”

  “I think you should go,” Rikke announced. “I have nothing more to say.”

  “Finn was in love with Laura. He was obsessed with her. That’s how this all started.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Rikke told him. “You should just leave it alone. Believe me, Finn’s problems began long before Laura.”

  Serena rang the doorbell and waited. The Honda Civic that Tish drove was parked in the driveway of the lakefront condominium. Masking tape surrounded the edge of the windshield where the glass had been replaced. Across the street, Serena saw a Duluth police officer watching her from an unmarked police vehicle. She waved. He knew her.

  It was after ten o’clock, but there were lights on inside the apartment. When there was no answer, she rang the bell again. This time, she saw Tish through the window as she came to the door. She wore a men’s white shirt that draped to the middle of her thighs. Her legs were bare. Tish opened the door, and tobacco wafted from her breath and clothes into the hot night air. The smell of smoke was mixed with the tart aroma of gin. Tish leaned against the doorway and picked at strands of her blond hair.

  “Serena Dial,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping we could talk.”

  Tish gave a casual shrug of her shoulders. “Okay.”

  She turned away and wandered toward the rear of her condo. Serena came inside, closing the door behind her. The condo was sparsely decorated, without artwork on the white walls or curtains on the windows. The cream carpet under her feet was deep and lush, but the rental furniture was utilitarian. Serena saw a glass dining room table that doubled as a desk, where Tish kept her laptop and research notes. The kitchen counter was clean except for an empty box from a Lean Cuisine TV dinner and two drained bottles of Schweppes tonic.

  She followed Tish onto the balcony. Tish sat in a folding chair, with her legs propped on the slats of the wooden railing. She had a drink in her hand and a cigarette smoldering in an ashtray on the floor. Her shirt slipped up, revealing a triangle of white bikini panties. Serena leaned on the balcony, which looked out on the black expanse of the lake. There was almost no bluff below them, just sixty feet of air and then dark water. Everything was calm, without even a breath of wind to stir the heat around.

  Tish flicked a mosquito off her forearm. “I read about you,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “I read about that guy who came after you last winter. You almost died.”

  “You’re right. So?”

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  “It was.”

  “I don’t think I would have survived an experience like that.”

  “I don’t like to talk about it,” Serena said.

  “Sure, I understand.” Tish added, “You know, when I first met you, I didn’t like you. I’m not sure I would have liked anyone that Stride was with.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Loyalty to Cindy, I guess.”

  “And now?” Serena asked.

  “Now I see that there’s a lot more to you than I realized.”

  “How often does a girl get a compliment like that?” Serena said wryly.

  “I just mean that when people meet you, I guess they don’t always see past the face and the killer body.”

  “This body has a couple more pounds on it than I’d like.”

  “You don’t have to be modest. Anyway, I shouldn’t have prejudged you. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Serena said. “But I need to tell you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “Stride and I have a lot in common. He may not show it the way I do, but we’re both damaged. Losing Cindy damaged him a lot.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “I don’t like seeing that pain dragged up for him again,” Serena said.

  “You mean me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re honest.”

  “What about you, Tish? Are you honest?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did you really know Cindy?” Serena asked. “Or are you making it up? Because as far as I can tell, there’s no evidence that you ever even met Cindy. So if you’re playing games with us,
I’m telling you right now that I will make you regret it.”

  “I did know her.”

  “Then why did she never mention you to Jonny?”

  “Even the most loyal of women has secrets.” Tish picked up her cigarette with two fingers. “Don’t you keep secrets about yourself?”

  “Some,” Serena admitted.

  “There you go.”

  “If I keep a secret, there’s a reason for it. Did Cindy have a reason to hide her relationship with you?”

  “Maybe I asked her to.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Tish swirled the ice in her drink and then drained the rest of it. “You already told me there are places in your own past that you don’t like to visit. Is it so hard to accept that I feel the same way? I wasn’t ready to come back here and face my past. Cindy understood.”

  “Are you ready to face your past now?”

  “I’m here. It took me thirty years, but I’m here.”

  “Did something happen back then between you and Peter Stanhope?” Serena asked. “Is that what you’re hiding?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you convinced that he’s guilty?”

  “You didn’t know Peter back then. I did.”

  Serena shook her head. “If you were a cop, I’d say you’ve fallen in love with a suspect. Not love-love, not romance. It’s easy when you’re a cop to fixate on one suspect and wind up wearing blinders.”

  “Maybe you’re the one wearing blinders,” Tish said.

  “Peter didn’t try to commit suicide after being questioned about Laura’s murder,” Serena reminded her. “Finn did.”

  “Finn was just a pathetic, mixed-up kid.”

  “People like that are capable of anything,” Serena said. “Including murder.”

  “If Laura thought Finn was violent, she wouldn’t have spent so much time with him.”

  “Maybe she didn’t know. Did Laura tell you anything about Finn’s background?”

  “She told me that something terrible happened to him back in Fargo, but I don’t know what. That was when Rikke swooped in and rescued him.”

  “Finn was in love with Laura,” Serena said. “Love can be pretty twisted for someone like that. We know he was spying on Laura. He’s been spying on young girls his whole life.”

  “You mean the peeping incidents?”

  Serena nodded. “Stride and Maggie are certain that Finn is the peeper. He hounded one girl until she died.”

  “That doesn’t mean he killed Laura,” Tish said.

  “You know what made that girl special? She had a tattoo of a butterfly on her back. Just like Laura did. He’s still obsessed with her.”

  Tish’s eyes opened wide. “Is that really true?”

  “It’s true.”

  Tish brought her bare feet down onto the balcony and cupped her hands in front of her face as if she were praying. Then she shook her head. “Peter is the one who attacked Laura,” she insisted. “Not Finn. You don’t know how vengeful Peter could be when he was rejected.”

  “Are you talking about Laura or yourself?” Serena asked.

  “Both of us.”

  “Come on, Tish. What are you not telling me? What did he do to you?”

  Tish’s lips bulged with defiance. “You mean other than pushing me into a closet at school and groping my tits and pawing my crotch? Peter was the kind of boy who took what he wanted even if you said no. He thought he was entitled. He hasn’t changed a bit.”

  “I’m not trying to defend his behavior,” Serena said.

  “That’s good, because he was nasty. Vicious.”

  “How so?”

  “After I said I didn’t want to go out with him, he spread rumors about me all over school.”

  “What rumors?”

  “He told people I was queer. That made me very uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Serena said. “Teenagers are quick to believe that kind of lie.”

  Tish watched the moths buzzing around the porch light and didn’t say anything. She sucked on her cigarette.

  Suddenly, Serena understood. “Wait a minute, it wasn’t a lie, was it? He was right. You’re gay.”

  Tish nodded slowly.

  “Did you tell Peter?” Serena asked her.

  “No, he had no idea it was true, but it scared me to death to have the rumor out there.”

  “So you knew back then?”

  “I knew.”

  “Are you still in the closet?”

  “I don’t hide it, but it’s not like I wear a T-shirt that says ‘pink and proud.’ ” Tish blew smoke out of her mouth.

  “I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable,” Serena said.

  “It doesn’t, but you have no idea how ugly and hateful people get over homosexuality. The same people who tell me that Jesus loves me would stone me to death if they could.”

  “Not everyone feels that way.”

  “Enough do that I’m still careful about who I tell.”

  “Is there someone in your life?”

  Tish crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. “Not anymore. I lived with Katja, a photographer I met in Tallinn, for five years. She was getting too close, so I ran away. It wasn’t the first time for me. Lesbian relationships crash and burn a lot. We get emotionally close, and then you put the physical attraction in the middle of it, and a lot of times, it flames out.”

  “Did Laura know you were gay?” Serena asked.

  Tish’s face glowed with dew from the humid air. “We didn’t talk about it.”

  “Not even with your best friend?”

  “You have to remember the times, Serena. It’s bad enough today, but being gay was dangerous back then. This was when Anita Bryant was on the rampage about homosexuals. You didn’t advertise being different. You kept the closet locked up tight.”

  “What about Laura? Was she gay?”

  “I told you, we didn’t talk about it.” Tish stood up, shutting down the conversation. “I think you should go.”

  “If that’s what you want,” Serena said.

  “I do.”

  Serena stood up, too. “Can I ask you about something else?”

  “What?”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  Tish folded her arms over her chest. Her eyes were angry. “If you’re asking a question like that, you must already know.”

  “I heard she was shot. She was a hostage who died in a bank robbery.”

  “That’s right. Why do you care?”

  Serena wasn’t really sure why she cared, but it was a detective’s curiosity. “When someone’s life is touched by violence more than once, my instinct is to look for a connection.”

  “There’s no connection,” Tish insisted. “The robbery has nothing to do with any of this. It was years before I even met Laura. My mother was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “It must have been hard to be left alone at that age,” Serena said.

  Tish shrugged. “It’s hard to be left alone at any age.”

  30

  Stride was stretched across the leather sofa in the great room of the cottage when Serena arrived home near midnight. He was sleeping, with a paperback novel still in his hand. One leg had fallen off the sofa, and his bare foot was on the carpet. Sara Evans sang on the stereo. Serena let him sleep while she undressed and got ready for bed. The windows were open, with the curtains blowing like sails, and the night air was humid and hot. She slept in a loose tank top in that kind of weather. Back in the living room, she turned down the lights, switched off Sara, and made herself a cup of pear tea, which she sipped in the love seat opposite Stride. Rose fragrance blew in from the bushes near the porch. Her eyes got lost in the shadows and felt heavy. When she put the teacup down, she leaned back into the folds of the sofa, and soon she, too, was dreaming.

  In the mists of her brain, she was with Tish on a beach. A cool breeze kissed their bodies. She came upon Tish from behind, caressing the down of her nec
k. The bones of Tish’s spine traveled like the graceful arch of a harp into the small of her back. Her flesh was young and soft, and Serena felt no guilt, only freedom, as they began to make love. Later, after they were done, she found herself in water, floating, alone. It was paradise, except for a strange, rhythmic thumping that wormed into the stillness of her world and unnerved her. Like a drumbeat or a heartbeat. She felt herself coming naked out of the water, and what she saw was Jonny, covered in blood, swinging a baseball bat with a sucking thwack over and over into a body on the beach. Killing Tish.

  Serena started awake, gasping for breath.

  Jonny was awake, too, and staring at her. “You okay?”

  She shook the sleep out of her head and blinked. “Yeah. What time is it?”

  “Almost three.”

  “I’m hungry,” Serena said.

  “What would you like?”

  Serena thought about her diet. “Forty-six eggs.”

  “Do you want those scrambled or fried?”

  “Don’t tease me. You think I’m kidding?”

  Stride gestured at the narrow, heavy box she had left on the dining room table. “What’s that?”

  “I picked up something of yours at the lost and found.”

  His eyes narrowed with concern and curiosity.

  “The bat,” she said simply.

  He looked at her. “Stanhope?”

  She nodded.

  “That son of a bitch,” he said.

  Serena knew he wasn’t talking about Peter Stanhope. He was talking about Ray Wallace. Ray, who had sabotaged a murder investigation for money and power. Ray, who had handed over the murder weapon to a man he suspected of committing the crime.

  Stride went to the table. He didn’t touch the box immediately. Instead, he studied it closely, as if the cardboard, ink, and tape would talk to him. He bent down close to it, as if the smell of blood would still permeate the air. Then, using two fingers on each corner, he lifted it, measuring its heft.

  “Peter called it a goodwill gesture,” Serena said. “He didn’t have to give it to me. He could have destroyed it.” She added, “He admitted that he was the one who sent those threatening letters to Laura.”