by Terry Odell
He brushed a few dead leaves from around her headstone and ran his hand along the rough granite. The memory of her last day kicked him in the teeth. Her smile, trying to hide the disappointment when he’d said he had a lead he wanted to follow. The perfunctory peck on the forehead he’d given her.
It was your day off, damn it. And the last words you said to her were, “Sorry, Gram, gotta work. Another time.”
You could never count on another time.
His throat tightened. Checking to make sure there was no one else around, Randy took a deep breath as eight years of suppression slammed through his defenses.
Chapter Twelve
Sarah slowed as she approached David’s grave. She’d been here often after his accident, but it had been three months since her last visit. The visit where she had vowed to stop grieving. As if saying could make it so.
She ached for Randy. He had never completed his grief. It was devastating not being able to say goodbye to loved ones, to have them taken without warning. She turned and saw him, kneeling at his grandmother’s graveside, shoulders shaking, as he dealt with the feelings he’d kept inside all these years.
She walked the rest of the distance to David’s grave with confidence. She knelt, placing the flowers one at a time into the container as she spoke.
“Hi, Sweetheart. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I still miss you.” She brushed away some leaves. “I think of you every day. I know you’re not here because … because you wanted to leave me. Us. I can’t prove it and I don’t think anyone can. I guess you’re the only one who really knows.”
After she made final adjustments to the flowers, she traced the letters on his headstone with a forefinger. “I met someone. I like him. You’d like him, too.” Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to speak aloud. “I know you don’t want me to be alone the rest of my life. No one can ever replace you. You’ll always be a part of me. But there’s room for so much more. I know you’ll understand.” She remained motionless for several minutes, hardly aware of the drizzle, feeling warmth course through her body despite the chill in the air. She wiped a tear from her cheek. David understood.
Sarah rose from her knees at a light touch on her back. She turned to Randy and gave him a damp-eyed smile. His eyes were red, his cheeks were wet, but he looked at peace.
“You better?” she asked.
“Yes.” His voice was hoarse.
“You never cried for her before, did you? You never said goodbye. You have to grieve, you know, or you never heal.”
He nodded.
“I had a few things to clear up myself,” she said. “I think David understands.”
“Understands what?”
“This,” she said, and she pulled him under the shelter of the oak tree and kissed him. A gentle kiss, one that spoke of friendship, of understanding, of sharing. His moist lips touched hers. She tasted the salt of their intermingled tears, felt the sweet tenderness of his lips and then, without warning, her tongue sought his. Not a chaste kiss this time, but one deep with passion. He returned the kiss and she crushed her hips against him. He reached down and cupped her bottom in his hands, lifting her tight against him, giving her clear evidence of his arousal, and they lost themselves in the depths of their hunger.
The rain began in earnest, and they drew apart. Randy placed one gentle kiss on her cheek before he grasped her by the hand and they raced to his truck.
When Randy pulled to a stop in front of Sarah’s building, he reached over and stroked her cheek. “This can’t go further, you know. Not while I’m working on your case.” He took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “I’ll work round the clock to close it.”
“I understand. But please call if you find out anything.” She saw the underlying pain in his eyes. “Or if you want to talk.”
She closed the door, then ducked her head and hurried inside. Once she was in her apartment, Sarah crossed to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Randy’s truck was still there. She raised her hand. He flashed his headlights and she watched the black pickup crawl away.
While she fixed her dinner, Sarah noticed the lights in the apartment across the way. She reached for the phone to let Maggie know. No. She brought her plate to the table. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
* * * * *
Randy drove to the station, his emotions in turmoil. He sat behind the wheel in the parking lot until he gathered the composure to go inside. Sarah had yanked the bandage off an old wound, releasing all the festering guilt. He’d heal cleanly this time, thanks to her gentle touch, but the incision was still sore.
Memories of her kiss made him all the more determined to solve the case. He made a quick stop in the men’s room to rinse his face, then went straight to his desk, giving cursory nods to the few officers he passed on the way. Behind a closed door, he checked his voice mail, thumbing through his pink message slips while he waited for his computer to boot. Nothing from Dr. Lee, but Maggie’s name leapt off one of them.
He seized his phone and punched in her number.
“I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I knew you were working,” Maggie said. “I thought I’d check with you before I said anything to Sarah, in case it’s nothing. She’s had enough scares lately.”
A chill ran through him. “What are you talking about?”
“I went to the building next door to welcome the newcomers with some brownies. A man came to the door, probably in his forties, kind of fat. There was no furniture in the living room. There was a card table in the kitchen covered in pizza boxes and burger bags.”
“And …” He forced himself not to snap at her. Let her talk. She was obviously trying to make up for the mistake with the heater man.
“And, I saw these two easy chairs parked right in the dining room area. Kind of strange for a dining room, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maggie, I’m sure there’s a point here someplace. So far, you’ve got a fast food-eating man whose furniture hasn’t been delivered, who decided to put a chair in the dining area of an empty apartment. Maybe he likes the view.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say!”
“What do you mean?”
“The view. That dining room looks right into Sarah’s kitchen window. And I can’t be sure, because the guy was doing his best to get me out of there before I could see anything, but I think there were some binoculars and maybe some other fancy techno stuff on a little table by the chairs. Anyway, it didn’t look kosher, and I thought you might be able to find out who rented the place. We don’t need peeping Toms in the neighborhood.”
The thought of someone watching Sarah made his skin crawl. “Hang on a second, Maggie.” How much would someone know if they’d been watching her apartment? Techno stuff, Maggie said. Listening equipment? Could he hear what went on in Sarah’s place? Shit. He wanted her out of there. Now. “Would the man have a view of Sarah’s front door?”
“No, it’s off to the side.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. Go across the hall and get Sarah to your place.”
“Why can’t I call her?”
“If the man has listening equipment, he can hear her side of the conversation.” Which, Randy knew, would probably be loud and clear.
“I get it. All hush-hush. Don’t worry. I’ll get her out on the Q.T.”
If his nerves hadn’t been firing on all cylinders, he might have laughed at Maggie’s enthusiasm. “Good. Have her call me from your place. She has my cell number.”
He paced his office while he waited for the call. Today was Sunday. When did Maggie say he’d moved in? Was it only one man? Damn. No matter what Sarah said, he couldn’t see Diana as a major player here. But this whole case looked like someone was playing puppetmaster. Diana didn’t seem to have the brains. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered. She knew how to use her … charms … to get what she wanted.
Slow down. He was a cop, and it was time he started acting like one. He had a whole b
unch of nothing, but it all surrounded Sarah. He took his legal tablet and had half-filled a page with disjointed notes when Sarah called.
“I’m at Maggie’s. Now, will you tell me what’s going on?” Any fear in her voice was hidden beneath the indignation.
Randy forced himself to keep his tone neutral. “I’m sorry. Your new neighbor might be spying on you.”
“That’s ridiculous! Watching me? If he is, why don’t you arrest him?”
“It’s not that easy. Watching someone isn’t against the law. As a precaution, I’d like you to stay with Maggie for a little while. I’m going to do some database searches and see if I can trace the rental.”
“I’m not running away because some pervert might be looking in my windows.”
“It seems too much of a coincidence that a peeping Tom would move in now, on top of the fire, the robbery and the break-in. I’d like to see if I can figure out who this guy is.” He clicked his way through layers of links until he reached the database he needed.
“How long should I stay out of my apartment? It’s making me angry to think someone can force me out of my own home.”
“Will you give me an hour? That should give me enough time to do some research.”
Nothing but silence.
“One hour, Sarah.” When she didn’t respond, he hung up.
Randy turned to his computer. While he worked his way through databases, directories, reverse directories and property tax lists, he made a quick call to Dr. Lee. She’d left for the day, but according to the receptionist, Starsky and Hutch were hanging in. Othello was improving and they might have identified the poison.
Randy permitted himself a moment of relief, then returned to his monitor. After another half hour, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Ownership of the building was buried under layers of holding companies, but ultimately, it was yet another of Consolidated’s tentacles. Consolidated was showing up all too often for his taste. He added Diana’s ex-husband to his list.
His stomach growled and Randy glanced at his watch. Seven-thirty. He rummaged through his desk for any leftover snacks while he punched Maggie’s number into the phone.
Ripping the wrapper from a Snickers bar, Randy heard Maggie come on the line.
“Have you found out anything?” she asked.
“Yes and no,” he said around a mouthful of candy. “There are lots of players, but the building is owned by one of Consolidated’s holding companies.” He took a deep breath. “The vet said Othello’s doing better. Do you know what happened?”
“Dr. Lee started to explain, but I don’t remember. Sounded like he might have chewed on a cigar or something. Frankly, I was so glad he was all right, I wasn’t paying attention. How are your cats?”
“Hanging in.” That was all he would allow himself. “Would you ask Sarah to sit tight while I pay a visit to her curious neighbor.”
* * * * *
Randy bounded up the steps and pounded on the apartment door. He took a deep breath, telling himself to act like a cop, not an irate boyfriend.
Boyfriend? Whoa. Slow down.
The door opened to a man matching the description Maggie had given him, a beer bottle in one hand. His bloodshot eyes squinted at Randy’s badge. The apartment reeked of cigarette smoke, pizza and stale beer.
“Is there a problem, Detective?”
“I hope not, Mr.—”
“Mazzaro. Tony Mazzaro.”
“Mr. Mazzaro, are you new to the building?”
“Oh, I don’t live here. I’ve been waiting for the power hookups and some furniture.”
“At eight at night?”
Mazzaro’s eyes roamed before they returned to Randy. His gaze fixed on Randy’s chest, not his eyes. Beads of sweat started to pop out along his receding hairline. “Technically, I’m not supposed to be here nights. But the missus and I have been having some trouble. This beat a hotel.”
“Who hired you?”
“I work for Temps Unlimited. I think Consolidated hired them for this job.”
Even from the doorway, Randy could see the binoculars, headphones and a parabolic sound reflector. Fancy techno stuff indeed. Thank you, Maggie.
“You want to explain that?” Randy said, pointing to the dining room. “I’ve got some concerned neighbors across the way.”
The man slumped. “Come in,” he said. Randy followed him to one of the two chairs in the room. “I didn’t want to do it. But he knew about me and Trixie.”
“Let’s back up,” Randy said. “Who’s ‘he’?”
“Some guy. Said if I’d keep an eye on the comings and goings in the apartment over there”— he pointed to Sarah’s kitchen window— “he wouldn’t tell my wife about the affair with Trixie.” He gave Randy a pitiful look. “A divorce would kill me.”
Yeah, he’d probably have to get a real job. “Who called you?”
“Someone called Adams, I think.” He thought a moment. “Yeah. Andrew, maybe. Mostly it was Mister Adams.”
“Can you describe him?”
“I’ve never seen him. It was all done by phone. Said he worked for Consolidated and would get me this assignment and the money was good for sitting around. Then he mailed me pictures of me with Trixie. I had to do what he asked.”
“You have the pictures? The envelope?”
“Are you kidding? I burned them.”
“What about his phone number?”
“You’re not going to arrest me, are you?”
Randy shook his head. “Give me the number. And who gave you the equipment?”
“It was delivered last week. All new, in factory boxes.”
“You have the boxes?”
“No, they went out with the trash. But look, you can have all the stuff. I’m out of here tomorrow anyway—the lights and gas are already on, and the furniture’s coming.” He was scribbling something on a scrap of paper and when he finished his eyes finally met Randy’s. “You won’t tell him I squealed, will you? This is the number I called. I left messages. He called me with instructions, and I haven’t heard from him since.” He handed Randy the paper.
“What sorts of things were you reporting to Mr. Adams?”
Mazzaro ran his fingers around the neck of his t-shirt. “I was supposed to listen to phone calls, see who came and went.” He looked up at Randy. “Oh, no, no, I never—I didn’t—I mean, she’s not my type. And she never did anything. Came home, sat at the computer or watched television. I couldn’t see into her bedroom. I wouldn’t.”
“I’ll pretend I believe you, Mr. Mazzaro, and you’re going to go back to your temp agency and ask them for a new assignment.”
“Yes, sir. I’m done here tomorrow, anyway.” He scuttled to the kitchen and brought a large plastic bag to Randy.
Randy packed the gear into the bag and carried it to his pickup, leaving Tony Mazzaro to his misery. On his way back to Maggie’s, he punched the phone number Mazzaro had given him into his cell. One ring and a mechanical voice told him to leave his name and number. He didn’t.
When Maggie opened the door, Sarah jumped from her perch on the couch. “What did you find out? Can I go home yet?”
Randy got the same rush that he did every time she spoke. Or smiled. Or entered his thoughts. He gave Sarah and Maggie Tony Mazzaro’s sob story. “Do you know anyone named Adams?” he said. “Andrew, or Andy?”
Sarah wrinkled her brow. “No, not that I can think of. He’s not one of my artists. It’s possible he was a customer, but definitely not a regular.”
“I’ll look into it. You can go home, but I still want you to be careful. For all I know, there will be someone taking this guy’s place.”
“Stop it,” Sarah said. “You’re acting like I’ve got a mad stalker who’s going to jump out of the bushes and grab me.”
“Why didn’t you arrest that peeper?” Maggie asked.
“He hasn’t broken the law,” Randy said. Much as he wanted to throttle Mazzaro for watching Sarah, his hands were tie
d.
“What about a restraining order?” Maggie said. “Has he done anything that would let Sarah get one of those?”
“No, there are no grounds for a restraining order.” Randy fumed inwardly. Hell, he didn’t even have legal grounds to look for this Adams person. He’d have to bend the rules a little.
Sarah’s eyes flashed bright blue. “No matter who’s behind all this, he’s trying to hurt people I’m close to, not me. Face it—the one hurtful thing he’s done has been to the cats. Maybe you should be the one looking over your shoulder all the time.”
He wanted to wrap her in his arms. Forced himself to be the cop instead. “You win. Sticking to your normal routine is probably the best way to go for now.”
“Thank you very much, Detective.” She looked at him, then at Maggie. “And if the two of you don’t mind, I have a normal routine to return to. Good night.” She pushed past him and flounced out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
Randy looked at the clock again. Six forty-five a.m. After a fitful night, filled with erotic dreams quashed by visions of tortured cats, he had given up on sleep at five. He emptied the remains of the cats’ food and water dishes into plastic containers, scouted the house and yard for their toys, bagging everything. He stopped short when he saw an unfamiliar stuffed mouse. He was sure he knew every feline plaything in the house. It went into its own bag. He wondered if he should send them to the police lab for testing, or if the vet might be able to run tests at her clinic.
Seven-thirty. He called the vet. She was with a patient, but she’d call him back when she was free, her assistant said. Randy placed all the cats’ things behind his seat in the truck before driving to work.
He grabbed a cup of coffee in the break room, took a sip and grimaced. All these years and he still couldn’t get used to the sludge at the station. He brought his cup to his desk and turned on the computer.
“Hey, Detweiler. How’s it going? You gonna shoot me?”
Randy looked up to see Colleen standing in his doorway. “No, I’m not going to shoot you. You did good.”
