by J. V. Speyer
“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume it was this Jack guy.” Mark held up a hand. He’d known Abby too long. He must have known Abby was going to go on a rant about secure convictions and rights of the accused. “Just brainstorming here. I know we can’t prove it yet, so we’re not arresting him yet. But let’s face it, the it’s not looking good.”
Abby grimaced. “It’s not looking good for him, no.”
“Why go after the art?” He tapped his fingers on Abby’s desk. “Why bother? It’s small. It’s petty. And it’s way out of his way. Lowell isn’t easy to get to from where he lives, you know?”
“No, it isn’t.” Abby chewed on the end of a pen. “It isn’t, and considering what he had to do when he got there it took advanced planning. Which, if I’m being honest, makes him a more likely candidate. No one else we’ve looked at has such a good motivation.”
“But these guys don’t de-escalate. They don’t kill someone and then turn around and steal some pictures.” Mark slumped in his seat.
“No. But it wasn’t about Connolly. Not for Kavanaugh.” Abby shuddered. “For a stalker, everything is about him. He sees Paige as someone who is being recalcitrant. He needs to bring her to heel. In order to do that, he’s got to take things away—like a parent does with a toddler, right?”
“Ugh.” Mark screwed up his nose. “Don’t remind me. So he thinks he’s being loving.”
“No. I don’t think there’s anything resembling love here. It’s about ownership. But maybe he doesn’t know how to separate the two. I’m not a shrink. I’m just saying, if we’re trying to get into his head and figure this crime out, we’ve got to find a way to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense.” She steepled her fingers. “He doesn’t understand that Paige doesn’t view her friends as objects. For Jack, if it’s him, this isn’t a de-escalation.”
“That’s kind of sick.” Mark pushed his chair back toward his own desk. “What do we do next?”
“We wait until we get that video. With any luck, some of our image analysts can prove it was Jack who did it. That’ll give us some ground to get a warrant and we can move on from there.” Abby tried to massage the back of her own neck. “And in the meantime, I find myself some more coffee.”
She needed the caffeine. She’d made a huge blunder, acting like Paige needed her in any kind of personal way. The only way Paige, or anyone else needed her, was when she was helpful.
You’d better earn that roof over your head. I didn’t marry your mother to take on a parasite. Her stepfather’s harsh words echoed in her head, like they’d been spoken yesterday.
Okay, fine. She was only welcome as long as she was useful. She would be useful. She had a job to do. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known getting attached to a witness was an exercise in futility anyway. She could admire Paige from a proper distance, the way she was supposed to.
And she could help make sure Paige was safe from this monster hunting her. Whether the killer was Jack as she suspected or someone else, today’s break-in proved Paige was the real target. Abby would do anything to keep her safe.
* * * *
Paige’s phone buzzed with another incoming message. She wanted to believe it could be Abby, on her way over to give her the comfort she’d all but promised on the phone earlier. Even before she looked at the screen, she knew it was Jack.
Not that Jack used his own phone. No, that would be too easy. Jack was texting her from one of those cheap phones people picked up at the bodega and tossed near a barrel on their way to the T. Paige hadn’t mentioned the texts to Abby, except in passing. She knew there was no way for anyone to prove they’d come from Jack, just as she knew there was no way they could have come from anyone else.
I told you not to bother showing anywhere.
Paige put her phone down and stepped away from the kitchen table. She had a powerful urge to smash the phone, and she couldn’t afford to replace it right now.
She leaned against the windowsill instead, staring out of the dirty window at the typical Allston street scene below. Students dodged shift workers and homeless people as they all tried to go about their daily routines. It wasn’t hard to tell who was who around here. She hoped she could get out of Allston someday, but for now she was happy to afford an apartment of her own. It might be tiny, too small for more than a guest at a time, but it was all hers. Most people her age couldn’t claim that in Boston, especially not without a four-year degree.
She reminded herself she was lucky, several times, and headed back to the table. She had three new messages from Jack. He’d burned the photos. Of course he had. Why wouldn’t he? He hadn’t taken them because they meant something to him. He’d stolen them to punish her for daring to try to show them at all, after he’d told her not too.
She almost couldn’t get mad. Almost.
She had a message from Abby, too. I’ve got a few details. Not much. Do you want me to come to the bar or just send you an email?
Paige almost told her to send an email. Jack was watching. Jack watched all the time. The last thing Paige wanted to do was put Abby or anyone else in danger. At the same time, sitting in the apartment by herself was making her crazy, and she couldn’t bring her mother into this mess. Not, she recollected with a grimace, that her mother had been helpful the last time.
She shouldn’t be bitter. Her mother had few choices. With eight kids to care for and recovering from her first stroke, Channary Lim couldn’t have done much to help Paige even if she’d wanted to.
Today’s my off day. Why don’t you come by here? Paige hit send before she could chicken out. The apartment was in decent shape, for a studio. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
I’ll be over in about an hour, depending on traffic.
Paige resolutely ignored the butterflies in her stomach. She had too much to do to give time to gastrointestinal insects. Her apartment was in passable condition, but Paige had to do a quick once over anyway. Maybe it was stupid to want Abby to think well of her. Stupid or not, she wanted the house to be in decent shape.
She checked herself over in the mirror too. Abby had seen her after sobbing her eyes out, so it didn’t make sense to want to pretty herself up. Paige had made a lifelong habit of honoring her instincts, and she wasn’t going to ignore them now. After all, the only time she’d ignored them, she’d wound up dating an apparently homicidal stalker.
She looked at herself in the mirror again anyway. Was she being ridiculous? Maybe. This wasn’t the time to start something new, not while Jack was still running around and messing things up for her. And killing people. Her own voice brought her up short. It was about more than messing things up for Paige, even if Paige was at the center of it. It was about the danger Jack presented to other people because of Paige. She needed to remember it.
Her buzzer rang before she could text Abby to cancel.
She let Abby in and ushered her to a seat. She didn’t ask if she could make her a drink. After that depressing thought, Paige needed one herself. She ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a shaker, some gin, some Maraschino, and some crème de violette. It only took her a few seconds to whip up drinks for both of them. She arranged the glasses and a couple of glasses of water on a tray and brought them out into the room.
Abby widened her eyes when she saw the arrangement. “Fancy.” She grinned, just a little, and helped Paige lower the tray to the table. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
Paige blushed and looked down. She had to sit next to Abby. There wasn’t anywhere else. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was putting a big target on Abby’s back. Did Jack have a place across the street? She could do a lot with a telescoping lens. Jack could afford a better one than she could.
“It wasn’t any trouble, trust me. I got a text from Captain Charming.”
Abby shook a finger. “That’s Private First Class Charming, thank you very much. The army takes rank personally, you know.”
Paige had to laugh. “Oh my God. So he
never got a promotion or anything?”
“No. We did ask for his service record. Some parts they weren’t willing to share without a subpoena, and some they were. The fact that there were parts they weren’t willing to share without a court’s permition, tells me an awful lot, by the way.” Abby pressed her lips together, and then she picked up one of the glasses.
She sipped from it and closed her eyes. “You really have a gift for this, you know.”
Paige looked away. “I don’t know about that. I’ve been well trained is all. And I like a good gin drink myself. So what did you find in his service record?”
“Well, his discharge wasn’t voluntary, for one thing.” Abby put her drink down and turned to face Paige. “I couldn’t get the details, but it was definitely a conduct violation. We’re looking into whether or not those creeper shots he’s been taking can be used as proof of stalking. The DA can then use it to get a search warrant.”
Paige shuddered. She didn’t even try to repress it. “Can I tell you how creepy it is knowing how he’s made however much money off of me without my say so? I don’t know if I can sue or what. I can’t afford to sue, I can tell you that much.”
Paige bit her lip. “When this case is over, I might be able to help out with that.” She looked down into her glass for a second. “Not because I’m trying to hold something over you or concoct excuses or anything. But I can’t risk the case against him by appearing to bribe a witness.”
Paige tried to ignore the little flush of warmth that spread through her body. “I get it. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to risk the case against him. I trust you to know what would and wouldn’t do that.” She took a drink from her own glass. “I’m not a legal scholar. I’m a photographer and bartender.”
“Right.” Abby squirmed a little. “I spoke to Detective Nguyen. Lowell is cooperating with us on the investigation. They’re sympathetic to what happened. The thing is…”
Paige pressed her lips together and turned her head away. “The Center is upset and doesn’t want to show my work again.” She ran her tongue against her teeth and took another sip from her drink. The Aviation had a strong enough flavor to mask the bitter taste of disappointment. “Yeah, I figured they would be. They rely entirely on donations, and they can’t afford to have to clean up from stunts like this.”
“I’m so sorry.” Abby hung her head.
“I shouldn’t have tried to show my stuff.” Paige straightened her back. “He told me, when we split up, I’d better not try to ‘infringe’ on his work. When he couldn’t blackball me, he did this.” She gestured toward her phone.
Abby held her hand out, and Paige unlocked her phone without thinking. She passed it over.
Abby scrolled through Jack’s messages. Her face stilled as she read, and once she finished, she reached for her drink. She took a much deeper gulp than she had before. “Paige, I’m going to have to ask you not to delete these. And I’m going to need to ask you to swear that these came from Jack.”
“No one else could have sent them. He’s the only person who ever had the unmitigated gall to tell me not to show my work.” Paige sniffed. At least Abby had a strong reaction. Jack’s psychopathy wasn’t a figment of Paige’s imagination.
“Well, I’m going to need you to tell the DA that. And we’re going to need to use these texts as evidence. They might want you to testify in Lowell, too. I can drive you up there and back. That’s not a problem. These messages are evidence, though. I’m sorry.”
Paige stared into her drink. “Well, it’s not like I could just block him, right?” She looked back up into those striking pale eyes. “I’d love to just block every number I don’t know, but I’m still submitting to competitions, galleries, and publications. I can’t just block strange numbers.”
“So he does this a lot?” Abby tilted her head. “I know you said he was contacting you from time to time. I didn’t realize it was a frequent thing.”
Paige bristled, but she forced herself to calm down. She’d let Abby think that. She’d chosen to steer attention away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have downplayed anything, but I didn’t want you think I was weak, for not making him go away.”
Abby shook her head. Her smile was small, but it was still there. “Paige, I don’t know many people of any gender who would have made it this far dealing with everything you’ve been going through. And, from what I’m seeing, with so little support. Or did you let the case drop against him when you turned eighteen because you didn’t think you needed to pursue it anymore?”
Paige gaped. “Are you psychic now? Did you just read that in the stars or something?”
“No. I just noticed it stopped around your eighteenth birthday, which is when your address changed.” Abby toyed with her glass for a second. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. Plenty of people get stalked. It’s nothing you did. And I sure as hell don’t blame you for not trusting us to keep you safe. The laws aren’t written in a way that let us do much until the worst happens. But all of that’s unimportant right now. What is important is that we’re going to keep you safe until we can get Jack out of your life. Even if he’s not the killer, he’s making you unsafe. We’re going to keep your co-workers and customers safe. And we’re going to make sure Jack doesn’t get to hurt anyone else again. Okay?”
Paige knew she shouldn’t trust Abby’s promises. She might mean well. She might have every intention to keep Paige and everyone else safe, but she didn’t know Jack. No one had ever been able to do anything about Jack before, and here he was murdering people he imagined had the temerity to be involved with her. Abby might want to help, but she wasn’t going to risk her life to save her, and it would be wrong to ask it of her.
At the same time, Paige heard the sincerity in her voice and found herself almost believing every word.
Chapter 4
Abby stared at her screen like she could burn a hole though it with her eyes. A week of monitoring this jackass, and so far they hadn’t turned up anything the judge would accept. The rational side of her understood why. They needed the conviction to stick. They didn’t want the narrative to be that the Boston Police Department was running around framing folks for murder.
The side of herself that had a frightened, strong, talented, and beautiful woman depending on her to keep her safe was incensed. Neither side could do much about the problem. Apparently, Jack needed to attack Paige in front of multiple witnesses—preferably white male witnesses of impeccable character with no history of drug or alcohol use whatsoever—before Judge Harris would consider signing off on a warrant.
Eric, the DA, shared Abby’s frustration, but his hands were just as tied. “Look, I can tell you we’re not looking at anyone else for this right now, okay? I think he’s just as guilty as you do. But I’m pretty sure this judge actually presided over Mary Dyer’s execution. He’s not about to be swayed by little things like stalking.”
Abby rolled her eyes, but she knew Eric was telling the truth. She’d had to deal with this particular judge before. They could be as frustrated as they wanted, but their frustration wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Jack would have to stand on a table, declare his intentions, and then act on them before the judge would lift a finger to help, and that was that.
Abby tried to explain all of this to poor Paige in one of their meetings. To say Paige was unimpressed would have been like saying the Boston Tea Party was like a kegger that got out of hand.
“Are you telling me you’re not going to do anything about a stalker that’s actually killing people?” She grabbed the edges of the dark granite bar, like she needed to hold herself down or something. Maybe she did, or maybe she was trying to flip the bar like a table. “You have got to be shitting me.”
A couple of customers glanced their way, and Abby winced. She hadn’t wanted to make a scene at Paige’s workplace.
“It’s not like that. Not exactly.” She sighed and made a detailed examination of the etching on her coupé glass. It was simple, but elega
nt, in a kind of geometric Art Deco type of pattern. “The problem with the law enforcement system is that we rely on humans, with human judgement, to make things happen. Sometimes the humans are deeply flawed people. I know I am. This particular judge doesn’t see stalking as an issue, and he’s one of those old school sexists who thinks women should just stop complaining.”
“So why is he a judge again?” Paige grabbed a cocktail shaker.
Abby watched her shake whatever the drink might be. It was easier than having to look her in the eye. “Because it’s nigh impossible to get rid of judges once they’re in there. And because politicians would rather err on the side of people accused than on the side of victims these days. Which—well, police have gotten a lot of bad press and plenty of it has been deserved.”
Paige dumped lemon juice, gin, and what Abby thought might be simple syrup into the shaker and pumped it angrily. “And women’s safety is just a big whatever.”
“Pretty much.” Abby made a face. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but if I go, kick down his door and arrest him, then he walks. And that is the absolute last thing any of us wants. He has to screw up so badly that even Judge Harris has to open his myopic little eyes and see what he’s doing.”
Paige strained the mixture from her shaker into an old-fashioned glass filled with crushed ice. “Awesome. How many people is this so-called judge willing to sacrifice until he’s willing to say Jack’s a danger to all of Boston?”
“I have no idea.”
Abby’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out and looked at it.
Stay away from her.
Paige carefully poured a dark red spirit straight from the bottle over the crushed ice in the old-fashioned glass, like a vendor at a fair preparing a snow cone. “Another murder?”
Abby opened and shut her mouth a few times. She had no idea how to respond. Not yet seemed too flippant. She couldn’t say she was afraid. She’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan, she’d been a cop for years, and she’d seen a lot worse than some twerp who couldn’t understand the word ‘no’ applied to him.
