“Well, to be frank, Miss Caldwell, what we’re missing is hard evidence.”
“Evidence?” I gestured toward the notes. “What’s this? A ham sandwich?”
“As I said, we’ll dust for prints, but as of right now there’s no proof these came from the person you’re accusing.”
I slammed my hands on my lap. “What about him attacking me in the stairwell?”
Detective Jenkins sat back. “Your word against his. Where’s a witness? A medical report? Even a bruise?”
Christ, I couldn’t believe this. “But, my roommate has been seeing him outside our apartment.”
The detective raised his voice. “And we’ll get a statement from her. I realize it’s frustrating, and it’s not that we’re not sympathetic, but you haven’t brought me enough to charge him. What about answering machine recordings? Other witnesses? We need more if we’re going to make an arrest.”
Brandi warned me. I should have listened. “Whatever.”
“Stalking cases are difficult to prove,” Detective Jenkins continued, as if I hadn’t said anything. “You need to be very diligent about collecting evidence. There are some excellent resources on the Internet and in the bookstore about stalking, including what constitutes evidence, how much you need, etc. I suggest taking a look at them.”
“Thanks for your help.”
His expression hardened. I guess my tone was a bit too sarcastic.
“I’ll write up my report, interview your roommate and get you a case number,” he said, his voice a couple of degrees cooler. “Once you have more evidence, bring it in and we’ll see what we can do.”
I stood. “Fine. I’ll start collecting.”
He stood as well. “Finals are coming up, aren’t they?”
I looked at him suspiciously. “And that has what to do with my stalking case?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation. How’re your grades?”
“They’re fine. What does any of this matter to you?”
He placed his knuckles against the top of his desk and leaned on them, rocking back and forth. “It’s just that at about this time of year, we get a certain number of false reports from students, usually students looking for some reason to drop out.” His lips twisted into what I think was supposed to be a smile, but ended up being a sneer. “It’s procedure to ask.”
I wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him. “This is not an attention stunt. I’ll get that evidence and be back.”
“Good.” He rubbed his hands together. “Glad we got that settled.” He turned his attention to Tommy. “So, you think you guys will win the Rose Bowl a second year in a row?”
I didn’t even try to hide my disgust as I stalked out of his office.
Tommy caught up with me as I paced outside. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”
I strode down the hallway. “You think?”
“We’ll just have to get some more evidence, that’s all.” He shot me a crooked grin. “I guess it’s a good thing you made copies of those notes before you brought them.”
“Guess so.” I ducked to get out of the way of a female cop striding determinedly down the hall, my thoughts sliding to the black jeweler’s box still sitting safely in my purse. I had intended to hand it over to the cops for evidence, so it puzzled me that I hadn’t. Why this strange reluctance? What could I possibly gain by hanging on to it?
Enough of this. I’ll analyze it later. With effort, I forced my thoughts back to the present. “I think we missed a big opportunity back there with my story. We should have told him David was bothering you instead of me. Probably would have garnered more reaction since we couldn’t have the quarterback destined to take the team to the Rose Bowl irritated by a stalker.”
Tommy chuckled. “Yeah, but he’d never believe it. No self-respecting quarterback gets irritated by stalkers.”
I sighed. “I just can’t win. Brandi warned me about this. She didn’t think there’d be much the police could do.”
We had reached the lobby and paused to put on our jackets. “Yeah, well unfortunately she was right. Let’s go file a complaint with the school.”
***
Student Services was nearly deserted when we walked in – only a couple of Korean women and a red-haired guy with a terrified expression populated the narrow hallway. After reading the descriptions above the windows, I chose the one marked “Harassment.” Good as place as any.
The worker barely glanced at us, continuing to furiously pound at her keyboard. “I’d like to file a complaint,” I said, leaning over the window. The fluorescent lights added a greenish tinge to the white cinderblock walls and white tile floor.
“We close in fifteen minutes,” she answered, eyes never leaving the computer screen. She looked to be middle-aged, with blond hair rolled in tight sausage curls and small silver reading glasses perched on her nose. Her desk was devoid of any personal items save for one framed photograph of a young man in a suit.
“Well, then. We’d better get started,” I said.
She looked at me then, peering over the glasses, her lips pursed in disapproval. “It takes longer than fifteen minutes to do the paperwork.”
“I’m pretty speedy.”
Her frown deepened. I sighed. “Can we at least start, or let me see the paperwork or something? It took me longer than I thought to file a complaint with the cops and I’d like to get something done today.”
She studied me, considering. “What kind of complaint?”
“I’m being stalked.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Student or teacher?”
“Student.”
“Have you talked to the police about it?”
“Yes, I just finished doing that. Now, I want to file a complaint with the university.”
Taking off her glasses, she closed her eyes and pinched her nose for a moment. Leaving her glasses to dangle on a silver chain around her neck, she heaved her considerable bulk out of the chair and gestured for us to move to the door. Opening it, she ushered us inside. I caught a whiff of her floral perfume.
We followed her through a maze of desks, people and filing cabinets – tons of filing cabinets.
“You’d think with computers they could get rid of some of those,” Tommy whispered to me. I nodded, stepping aside to avoid a man in a wheelchair using one of the cabinets. Everything seemed to be coated with that same unhealthy greenish glow.
Our guide held open a door to a small room furnished with four chairs, a table and a computer. She gestured for us to sit then disappeared for a moment. When she returned, she had several sheets of paper with her.
“Like I said, we close in fifteen minutes, but we can at least get some of the basics done.” She closed the door and bustled over to the chair in front of the computer, eyeglasses jingling on the chain. The floral perfume permeated the small room – I had to concentrate to keep from coughing “You’ll also have to meet with the dean of Student Services. Call his secretary tomorrow to get an appointment.”
Introducing herself as Eileen Livenson, she laid one of the forms on top of the pile, balanced her glasses on the tip of her nose and uncapped a pen. “Name?” She poised her pen at the top of the form.
“Kit Caldwell,” I said, breathing out of my mouth. I wondered why she would handwrite the forms when a computer sat right there. Oh, well, bureaucracy.
She wrote it down, using quick birdlike strokes, before turning to Tommy. “Are you a part of this complaint as well?”
He shook his head. Eileen adjusted her glasses to look at me better. “You do realize there are parts of this process you’ll need to do alone. For privacy purposes.”
I nodded, trying not to roll my eyes.
“Student identification number?”
I supplied it and the rest of the information for the top half of the form. When she fi
nished, she moved the pen decisively to the second part. “Name of the student you are filing a complaint about.”
“David Naughton.” I helped her spell the last name.
“Address?”
“Not sure, somewhere on North Main, maybe 141 or 151?”
Eileen turned to the computer and typed in the name. A moment later, she frowned. “The only David Naughton I have in here is a freshman who lives in a dormitory, Loggin Hall. Could that be him?”
I shook my head. “No, I was at his apartment. And he’s a grad student in engineering, not a freshman.”
“Are you sure you have the name spelled right?”
“Yes, I saw the name when I went to his apartment.”
Her brow furrowed. “Are you sure he’s a student here and not at Riverview Technical College?”
“Are you sure you’re using that computer right?” First that stupid cop and now this. I was the victim here, for God’s sake. Didn’t anyone get that?
Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no need to get defensive. I’m on your side.” Her tone had cooled to frosty. Under the table, Tommy put his hand on my knee, gently squeezing.
I took a deep breath and almost choked on the perfume. “I’m sorry, it’s been a rough day. Look, I know that address was either 141 or 151 North Main Street. Can you do a reverse search using the address and see what name pops up?”
She tapped a few keys on the computer. “Not without an apartment number.”
I thought for a moment. “I think it was 5D or something. Definitely five something.”
Eileen eyed me, but obediently tapped away at the keys. Watching the screen, her eyebrows suddenly went up a notch. “Well, this is interesting. There is a David who lives at apartment 5D at 141 North Main Street, and he is a graduate student in engineering. But his last name is not Naughton.”
I held my breath and counted to five in my head. No, I would not strangle Eileen Livenson, no matter how attractive that prospect became. “What is it?”
“Terry. David Terry. T-E-R-R-Y,” she spelled.
Tommy shot me a sharp look. I shrugged back, my hands in the air, an “I have no idea” expression on my face.
“I wonder how you got that name wrong,” Eileen mused, still studying the screen. “Doesn’t sound anything like Naughton. Are you sure this is the David you want to make a complaint against?”
I pressed my fingers flat against the table to prevent them from balling into little knots and taking matters into their own hands. “This man has been stalking me. Did it occur to you that perhaps he’d tell me a wrong name to prevent me from making a complaint against him?”
Eileen took her glasses off and pinched her nose. “I don’t know. We don’t have many students coming in here to complain they’re being stalked by other students.”
“Look,” Tommy interrupted, flashing his most charming grin and squeezing my knee again. He had probably seen my hands looking like they may do something regretful. “It’s closing time anyway, so why don’t we stop for the day? We’ll go make sure David Terry and David Naughton are one and the same, then we can finish this tomorrow. Sound like a plan?”
Eileen looked relieved. “Yes. I think that’s an excellent suggestion. The windows open at seven-forty-five in the morning and we close at four-forty-five. Come back anytime between then.”
Tommy thanked her as he helped me to my feet and escorted me to the door. At the last second, I broke his hold.
“Can you look up one more name for me? Please?”
Eileen glanced pointedly at her watch. “It’s … ”
I stepped forward. “Please? Just tell me if she’s a student or not. That’s all I want to know.”
Eileen’s eyes darted between the watch and me. She let out a long sigh. “What’s the name?”
“Cat Caldwell.”
Eileen gave me a funny look before typing in the name. Tommy tried to catch my eye, but I kept my gaze on Eileen.
“No,” Eileen said after a moment. “No Cat Caldwell.”
Although I expected that answer, I felt my heart sink anyway. “How about Catalina Caldwell?”
“No, no Caldwells except for one. A Kitrina Caldwell.” She said this in a voice oozing with disapproval. Oddly enough, the tone didn’t match the expression in her eyes, which regarded me warily.
“Thanks,” I said, as Tommy gripped my arm and dragged me outside.
“What was that Cat thing all about?” he asked, letting go only after we both stepped into the cold winter sunlight.
I looked at him in exasperation. “The woman at the Halloween party. Don’t you remember?”
He glared at me, equally as exasperated. “Of course, I remember. I just couldn’t believe that’s what you were trying to check. I mean, you really think she was your sister? And even if she was, she was kidnapped when you were seven. Why on earth would she still be using your parents’ last name?”
I gazed at the sky, too aggravated to admit he was probably right. “This day totally sucks. Nothing is going the way it should. Why the hell does no one believe me? And why the hell did David lie to me about his name?”
Tommy shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Don’t know. It’s probably what you said, he was planning on stalking you and didn’t want you to know his name.”
I frowned. “Yeah, I know I said that but something just doesn’t feel right.” In fact, the more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got.
Tommy pondered. “Does the name Terry mean anything to you?”
“Should it? No, I’ve never known any Terrys.”
He stomped his feet. “Well, then maybe he was trying to fuck with your mind. Sounds like it’s something he enjoys doing.”
A fat gray squirrel ran up the side of a trashcan sitting on the street, studying the contents in its quick, sharp way. Its movements were not entirely unlike Eileen Livenson, although it weighed a lot less. Hordes of students meandered past it, but the squirrel paid them no heed.
“You know.” I spun on my heel to face Tommy. “I really would like to know why David lied to me. In fact, I’d like to know so much I think I’ll go ask him.” I stalked past both him and the squirrel. The squirrel, finding nothing decent in the trash, darted off in search of other treasures.
Tommy hurried to catch up. “Hey, slow down there. I’d like to know that as much as the next guy, but do you really think this is a good time to be asking?”
I kept right on marching, eyes fixed straight ahead. My anger simmered right below the surface, threatening to turn into a rolling boil. I knew I would focus on nothing else for the rest of the day, so I might as well confront David now. “As that crazy old saying goes, there’s no time like the present.”
Tommy’s long legs fell into stride next to mine. “What if he’s not there?”
“Then, we’ll wait.”
I didn’t look at him. I knew I sounded borderline fanatical, but I had reached the point of not caring. I wanted answers and I wanted them now. To Tommy’s credit, he didn’t argue, just silently accompanied me to my destination. If I hadn’t been so agitated, I would have admired his response. As Brandi said, and kept saying, he certainly did seem to be a keeper.
Chapter 19
This time I didn’t need any help breaking into the red and white brick apartment building. Someone had propped the security door open with a rock. Before going in, I studied the list of apartment numbers in the directory, looking for David’s, desperately needing confirmation I hadn’t dreamed the whole last name thing.
When I finally found it, I couldn’t speak – rage and confusion mingled in explosive concentrations inside me.
Tommy saw it, too. “David Terry,” he read. “But I thought … ” his voice trailed off.
I stepped forward, putting my hands on either side of the directory. The piece of tape that had rea
d “David Naughton” was gone. In its place, in the same type as the other names, was “David Terry.”
“Tommy, I swear. He had David Naughton here last week,” I said, my eyes glued to those words.
“I believe you,” Tommy said, his tone of voice skeptical even as his words were reassuring. Great. My one ally had started doubting me. I wanted to kill David.
Whipping around, I flung open the security door and strode inside. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Tommy called from behind me.
“Very,” I answered, heading for the stairs, too agitated to wait for the elevator.
This time, I kept my stride in check so as not to create another coughing fit. With every step I climbed, my anger also rose a notch. Why would he lie about his last name? Actually more than a simple lie. To be so calculating as to change the directory. What had he expected to accomplish? Did he think I would never find out? And why did he remove the tape? Exactly what the hell kind of game was David playing?
I wished I had never set foot inside that Halloween party – I could have lived the rest of my life quite happily never knowing David, never meeting the woman who called herself Cat. What kind of insanity had I gotten myself into?
I managed to keep myself under enough control so that I was only coughing a little by the time I reached David’s apartment. Better than I expected. I pounded on the door.
Tommy wisely stayed to the side, so as not to be seen through the peephole. I didn’t appreciate how shrewd that was until I saw David’s face when he opened the door.
“Kit,” he exclaimed, a smile stretching across his features. Then he saw Tommy and the smile disintegrated, replaced by shock.
“We need to talk.” I took advantage of his hesitation to muscle my way inside the apartment.
Tommy grinned at David. “Nice to see you again, buddy.” He shoved David aside, slamming him into the wall next to the door. For the first time, I saw fear dart across David’s face.
“I could have you arrested for that,” he said.
Tommy shrugged as he shut the door behind him. “For what? You fell back against the wall. Where’s the crime?”
The Stolen Twin Page 14
