Kevin O'Brien Bundle (104 page)

He videotaped Lester stepping inside his house. The results on these night shots always left a lot to be desired, but the picture quality didn’t have to be perfect for Lester the Letch.

The camera panned across the house, then tracked down a slope and past a gate to a side garden. Through various windows, snippets of videotape caught Peeping Tom shots of Lester moving about the house. He took off his jacket, shirt, and some kind of corset to hold in his girth. Then he walked around in his slacks and V-neck T-shirt.

In the back, a row of bushes against the house provided some camouflage, while sliding glass doors offered a view into Lester’s recreation room—with a state-of-the-art entertainment center, a fireplace, and bar. No family pictures. The guy was probably divorced. His place looked too much like a bachelor pad for any woman to be living there.

Lester made a couple of phone calls, poured himself a drink at the bar, and finally settled down in front of an adult movie on his flat, wide-screen TV. The camera zoomed in on the girl-on-girl action. It must have been from his private DVD collection. Through the glass doors, the audio caught muffled purrs and moans from the two porn actresses pleasuring each other.

The camera’s audio also captured the sound of a car pulling up the front drive. Lester Hall must have heard it, too. He switched off his movie.

The next image caught on video was a tall brunette taking a duffel bag and a large folded-up case from the backseat of a cab. She wore tight jeans, a stylishly torn sweatshirt, and heels. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Her hair was pulled back in a small ponytail. She’d overdone the mascara, and her maroon lips appeared swollen by collagen. She paid the cab driver and carried the bag and bulky case to Lester’s front door. The audio picked up the curious click-click of her high heels on the pavement.

Lester greeted her at the door, then ushered her inside. A series of shots into the windows along the side of the house yielded nothing but images of empty rooms. It was back in the large recreation room that Lester and his guest settled. He didn’t bother helping her with her case or the bag. But he did fix her a drink at the bar.

The woman opened the oblong case, which turned out to be a massage table. “I almost thought you weren’t gonna call,” she said, the words barely audible through the glass doors.

“It’s every Tuesday night,” he said, handing her a drink. “Shouldn’t be too tough to remember.”

“I remembered. I thought
you’d
forgotten.” She pulled out a folded sheet from the duffel bag and spread it over the table. Lester Hall grabbed the remote and clicked on some jazz music; then he began to undress.

So did the girl. Lester stopped to watch her shed the torn jersey top, then peel down her jeans. For a moment, she posed for him, running her hands up and down her tanned body, stopping to caress her breasts. All she wore was a red thong. She pointed to the table, whispered something, then sauntered away—most likely to the bathroom.

While she was gone, Lester finished undressing. With his barrel chest, protruding gut, and spindly legs, he didn’t look good naked. Despite the porn earlier and the girl stripping for him just now, Lester’s penis looked small and flaccid. He sipped his drink before laying facedown on the table.

A minute passed before the tall brunette returned. She pulled down the flimsy thong, then reached for a bottle of oil. She started massaging his back.

The camera zoomed in on her face. It caught a flicker of sadness in those heavily made-up eyes.

As was now his custom, Paul Gulletti took the empty seat beside Hannah in class that Thursday night. Hannah furtively glanced at his assistant, Seth, who rolled his eyes and smirked at her. He was standing in his usual spot by the windows. He strolled over to the projector and switched on the movie,
Chinatown
.

Ben Sturges sat in the back of the room tonight. At the beginning of class, Hannah had peeked over her shoulder at him, but he didn’t seem to notice her. The tall, black transvestite, Dede or Dodo or whatever her name was, had been bending his ear about something.

During the movie, Paul leaned over and asked if she was free for dinner one night during the upcoming week. “I was thinking of the Hotel Monaco,” he whispered. “They have a wonderful restaurant there. You’ll love it.”

Hannah tried to smile. “Well, Paul, I’d like go over my notes with you on movies that broke the blacklist. But I think the Hotel Monaco is a bit too fancy for something like that.” She shrugged. “I’ll have my notebook and a couple of library books with me. Maybe we can meet someplace for coffee instead, a Starbucks or—”

“Hannah, I’m trying to ask you out for a lovely dinner,” he whispered. “We can discuss the blacklist project some other time. I think we both owe ourselves a nice evening out.”

Hannah glanced up at the movie for a moment; then she turned to Paul again and leaned closer to him. “Um, Paul, I want to help you with your project, and I’ll gladly meet you for coffee or something. But if you’re asking me out on a date, I don’t date married men.”

He frowned a little. “Funny, I thought you were serious about wanting that job at my newspaper.”

“I’m very serious about it,” Hannah replied.

“Well, you sure fooled me,” Paul grumbled. Then he settled back to watch the film.

Hannah turned toward the screen. She yearned to tell him,
You’re the one who’s not serious about this job possibility. You just want to get me into bed, you sleaze-bucket.
But she didn’t risk saying it. What if he really did intend to help her out? Maybe socializing a bit with him was a part of that.

When the movie ended and the lights came on, Paul said to her under his breath, “Listen, stick around after class, okay? We should talk.”

With a sigh, Hannah nodded, then retreated to the hallway. She bought a box of Milk Duds from the vending machine.

“How are you doing?”

She turned to see Ben Sturges smiling at her.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Hannah coolly replied, taking a little step back.

He leaned against the vending machine. “I want to apologize for acting like such a horse’s ass last week. It’s really none of my business whether or not you’re—ah, involved with the teacher. I was way out of line. I’m sorry.”

Hannah glanced down at the box of Milk Duds in her hand. “Well, for the record, I’m not involved with Paul Gulletti. He’s married, and I don’t date married men.” She shrugged. “So, would you like a Milk Dud?”

He held out his hand. “Yeah, thanks.”

Hannah shook a couple of Milk Duds into his palm. She had a hard time looking directly at him. His apology was endearing, and she found him very attractive. Maybe that was why she couldn’t really trust him. It was part of her history that she had lousy taste in guys.

“Great movie, huh?” he said. “Have you seen any other Roman Polanski movies?”

“
Knife in the Water, Tess
, and
Rosemary’s Baby
.” She popped a Milk Dud in her mouth. “In fact, someone just loaned me a video of
Rosemary’s Baby
last week.”

“That’s weird. You have people loaning you videos? I figured you could rent them for free.”

Hannah stared at him, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you work in a video store, don’t you?”

“Yes, but how do you know that? I didn’t tell you.”

“I asked around.”

Hannah frowned. “Were you at the video store last week,
asking around
about me and my son?”

He shrugged. “I—I came by looking for you. I wanted to apologize—”

“And you asked about me and my little boy?” she pressed, a sharp edge in her tone. “Do you know how creepy that is? Are you following me around?”

His back against the vending machine, Ben glanced at the other students in the hallway. Hannah now noticed a few of them staring.

Ben shook his head at her. “No, I’m not following you around.”

She didn’t believe him. She stared into those cold blue eyes of his. “You’re lying,” she whispered. “I can tell. Listen, I don’t know what you want or what kind of game you’re playing. But you need to leave me alone.”

He let out a little laugh, and kept shaking his head.

“Understand?” she said loudly. “Leave me alone!”

She ran back into the classroom, and grabbed her coat.

Sitting on the edge of his desk, Paul glanced up from the
Film Comment
magazine he was reading. “Hannah? What’s wrong?”

Ignoring him, she hurried out to the corridor, then down the stairwell. She didn’t look back at Ben Sturges—or at the others who were staring at her. She just kept running.

He didn’t follow Hannah home from the community college. But he came by her apartment building around ten-thirty that night. From the parking lot of a neighboring building, he had a good view of her door and the living-room window. For nearly an hour, he watched. It was a beautiful, unseasonably warm night, with a smell in the air of impending rain. Her windows were open. From the flickering light inside, he could tell she was watching TV.

Her door opened. He hadn’t expected her to be stepping out at this time of night. Hannah came out to the balcony walkway for a minute. She retreated back inside, then reemerged with a straight-back chair and a glass of wine. She wasn’t going anywhere after all. She sat down, gazed out at the Space Needle, and sipped her wine. He saw her wipe her eyes several times, and he realized she was crying.

It began to rain, yet he remained, hiding behind a minivan in the lot. For a moment he thought she’d noticed him, but it was a false alarm. Around midnight, she finally went back inside, taking her chair and wineglass.

Ben stayed until he saw the light go out in her window.

He caught the bus back to his studio apartment in one of the seedier neighborhoods of town. His place was on the first floor. The iron bars somewhat defeated the purpose of his large picture window, but it didn’t matter. He had a view of a dumpster, an abandoned car, and the dirty street.

Ben didn’t bother turning on the light. He flopped down on the daybed sofa, which wasn’t so bad. The place came furnished—early fire-sale stuff. Kicking off his shoes, he glanced over at his answering machine on the beat-up old desk. The message light was blinking.

With a sigh, Ben pulled himself up and pressed the message button.
“Ben? Ben, it’s Jennifer….”
She sounded as if she’d been crying.

“Are you there? Please pick up. Please? Listen, I’m really worried about you….”

Frowning, he shuffled over to the refrigerator and took out a beer.

“Please, call me, okay? I miss you, honey. I want you to come home. I want to take care of you. We’ll make everything right. I think we should see somebody, don’t you? Get some help? Wouldn’t that be good?”

In the dark, dingy apartment, Ben sat back down on the bed and sipped his beer.

“I have a feeling you’re there, listening to me,”
she went on.
“Please pick up. Ben? Are you there?”

Hannah knew Paul Gulletti taught another film class at the community college on Friday afternoons. But she hadn’t come to the college during her break to see Paul. In fact, she hoped they wouldn’t run into each other.

Sometimes, when she arrived for class early, she’d spot Paul’s assistant, Seth Stroud, in the cafeteria, sitting alone at a table with a cup of coffee and some film book.

That was where she hoped to find him today. She needed Seth’s help with something. And she didn’t dare ask Paul.

The cafeteria, with its two dozen cafe tables, a counter along the wall, and a painted mural of the Seattle skyline, wasn’t too crowded at twenty to three that Friday afternoon. Hannah could see right away Seth wasn’t there.

She slumped against the cafeteria’s arched entrance. As long as she was on her break, she decided to grab a late lunch. Seth could still show up before Paul’s class.

Hannah got a tray and went to the food counter. She was assessing the entrees on display when someone nudged her arm. Hannah turned to see the young man with spiked brown hair and designer glasses. He had a cup of coffee, a donut, and a copy of
Movieline
magazine on his tray.

“Hey, Seth,” Hannah said. “I was hoping I’d run into you here.”

“Yeah? Well, steer clear of the hot dogs. Might as well eat a time bomb.”

“Is the salad safe?”

He shrugged. “They can’t screw that up too much.”

She nodded at the food on his tray. “Is that all you’re having?”

“Yeah, just a snack to get me through the next couple of hours. How are you doing? You left class in such a hurry last night, I thought you might be sick or something.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Hannah said, taking a small plastic container of salad. “Let me pay for yours, okay? I want to hit you up for a favor.”

“Sounds mysterious.” He grinned. “Okay. I’ll get us a table.”

The cafeteria started to fill up while Hannah was paying for the food. She met Seth at a small table in the corner.

“So, what’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s just a little favor,” Hannah said, settling back and opening her salad container. “I was hoping you could save me from going through a lot of red tape. You know Ben Sturges, the tall, blond-haired guy in class?”

“The dude who looks like the Marlboro Man?” Seth nodded over his coffee cup. “Yeah, I know him.”

“Well, I guess he found out I work at a video store. He asked if I knew anyone who deals in out-of-print videos. I found a local dealer who has this video Ben wants, only the guy’s leaving town tomorrow. Anyway, I can’t get a hold of Ben on the phone. I have the information all written down. So I thought I’d go by his place—”

Seth chuckled. “And you’d like me to get his address for you.”

Bewildered, Hannah nodded. “Yeah. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just smart you came to me with this instead of Professor G, because he absolutely hates that guy.”

Hannah nibbled at her salad. “Why is that?”

“Because Paul thinks Ben’s making the moves on you. And the Prof has a thing for you. In fact, he’s really kind of obsessed.”

Hannah shrugged. “Well, I’ve never done anything to encourage him. And I’m not interested in Ben Sturges, either. I’m just trying to do him a favor.” She managed to smile. “So—think you could get his address for me?”

Seth nodded. “No sweat, Hannah. What movie?”

“Hmmm?”

“What hard-to-find movie is Ben Sturges looking for?”

“Oh.
Bonjour Tristesse
.” In the store this morning, Hannah had waited on a customer who wanted to buy the out-of-print video. It was how she came up with the excuse for wanting Ben Sturges’s address.

“Bonjour Tristesse
.” Seth nodded with approval. “Good one. Otto Preminger directed, 1958. I saw an interview with Deborah Kerr about making that. She was talking about how Preminger picked on and screamed at Jean Seberg all during the filming. The critics had roasted him the year before for casting her in
Saint Joan
. She was his discovery, and he was going to show them they were wrong about Jean Seberg—even if it killed her.”

“Interesting,” Hannah said, picking at her salad.

“A lot of great directors put their leading ladies through the wringer, especially when they’ve ‘discovered’ them. You know, the old Svengali and Trilby story. Maybe it’s an artist’s control thing, all part of realizing a vision.”

“Or maybe sometimes the director is just a son of a bitch.”

Seth leaned back and grinned at her. “Still, it was a pretty good movie, wasn’t it?”

Hannah nodded. “Actually, I’m a big fan of Otto Preminger’s movies.” She pushed her food tray aside and glanced at her wristwatch. “Anyway, do you think there’s time before class to give me that address?”

“Yeah, come on,” he said, getting to his feet. He grabbed his tray. “Just don’t tell Paul that I gave you Marlboro Man’s address, or he’ll have my ass in a sling.”

Hannah bused her tray after him. “So Paul really has it out for Ben Sturges, huh?”

“Oh, he’d hate any man who got close to you. Hell, he’d put a contract out on me if he knew I was sitting with you just now. Why do you think I picked that corner table? So do me a favor and don’t let on to the Prof that we broke bread together.”

Hannah frowned at him. “Paul really isn’t that bad, is he?”

As they strolled out of the cafeteria together, Seth seemed to ponder her question. He tapped his rolled-up magazine against his leg, and smiled cryptically. “Hmmm, just don’t tell Paul about us talking together today, okay? I don’t want to get into trouble with him.” He pointed to a stairwell entrance. “Why don’t you wait for me over there? I’ll be back in a couple of shakes with that address.”

Hannah retreated toward the stairwell. She watched Seth amble down the crowded hallway, and she realized he truly didn’t want to be seen with her. He was dead serious about Paul.

The Prof has a thing for you,
Seth had said.
In fact, he’s really kind of obsessed.

Hannah stepped back, ducking into the stairwell. She suddenly had a feeling someone was watching.

She got off the bus on Yakima Way, then glanced again at the address Seth had scribbled down for her. He’d said it was a
dicey neighborhood,
and he wasn’t kidding. She’d ridden the El through worse areas of Chicago. Still, it was hardly the place to be alone on foot at nine o’clock at night.

She’d gotten Joyce to stay later with Guy, and taken the bus from work. On the bus, she’d tried to ignore the foulmouthed ranting of a crazy man in the back. She wondered if this attempt to investigate Ben Sturges wasn’t a little misguided. Paul Gulletti, with his movie knowledge and his
obsession
for her, seemed a far more likely suspect. Hannah had to wonder if she’d get mugged tonight, investigating the wrong man.

As the bus pulled away, she felt as if her last chance for safety had just driven off. The lone corner store at the end of the block provided no refuge. Four teenagers, who looked like gang members, loitered by the entrance of the run-down establishment. One of them was tormenting a derelict who had passed out against the side of the store. A pawnshop was located across the street from the grocery, but it looked closed.

Hannah started down the block of dilapidated houses and boarded-up buildings until she found the address for Ben Sturges. The apartment building looked like a big, neglected house and had bad aluminum siding that might have been painted yellow at one time—but now Hannah couldn’t tell. The front door had a faded, handwritten “No Trespassing” sign. On the second floor, two windows had stained sheets hanging up in lieu of curtains. Hannah checked the mailbox for Apartment 1, and saw a new label on it:
B. Podowski.

Frowning, Hannah checked the address and apartment number that Seth had written down. She opened the front door and stepped inside. The dark foyer smelled of cat urine, and there was a stairway with a tattered, thin carpet. On either side of Hannah were Apartments 1 and 2.

The front door opened, and Hannah backed away. A husky young black man ambled in. He wore a sleeveless sweatshirt. He scowled at her, but said nothing. He pulled out a set of keys and started to unlock the door to Apartment 2.

“Hi, excuse me,” Hannah said.

He turned to glare at her. “Yeah?”

“Does a tall, blond-haired man live here?” she asked, nodding to Apartment 1. “He’s about thirty years old.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Moved in about month ago.” The young man started to duck into the apartment.

“Excuse me again,” Hannah said. “Is his name Ben? Ben Sturges?”

The man frowned. “No, it’s Ben Something-else. Some Polock name. I don’t remember, okay? Any other questions?”

Hannah quickly shook her head. “No. Thank you very much.”

He stepped inside his apartment and shut the door. Hannah heard two locks click.

She glanced at the door to Apartment 1. She wondered why Ben Sturges, who always came very nicely dressed to film class, was living in a tenement. And why did he live there under another name? He’d moved in a month ago, the neighbor had said.

A month ago. Give or take a few days, that was when the
Goodbar
video had been dropped off at the store. That was when all this began.

Hannah wandered outside again, then turned to stare at the large picture window on the first floor. It was where he lived. There were bars over the window, and within the apartment, only darkness.

“So what kind of cookies do you think Joyce would like?” Hannah asked Guy. She had him in the shopping cart seat.

“Those! Joyce likes those!” he said, pointing to the Oreos.

“What an amazing coincidence,” Hannah said, grabbing a package of the cookies. “You happen to like Oreos, too, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I sure do.” Guy nodded, very matter-of-fact.

“Well, here, guard these,” Hannah said, setting the Oreos in the cart. “And don’t touch.” She paused to glance at her shopping list.

It was Saturday, her day off. She’d spent it with Guy, buying him a haircut and new shoes, Burger King for lunch, a trip to the park, and now the supermarket.

All the while she was outside with her son, Hannah knew she was vulnerable. She didn’t let Guy out of her sight for a minute. She always felt someone watching. It was bad enough walking to and from work by herself, constantly glancing around for someone lurking in the shadows or behind every corner. But the idea that he might be studying her—with Guy—terrified her.

Even in the supermarket, Hannah didn’t feel entirely safe. Still, she tried not to think about the
Goodbar
and
Rosemary’s Baby
videos and Cindy Finkelston’s death. She tried not to think about Ben Sturges or Ben Podowski—or whatever he was calling himself. And she tried not to think about Paul Gulletti. Either one of them could have been her stalker, playing this deadly game with her. Either one—or neither—could have been the intruder who had broken into her apartment twice. Perhaps it was a customer at the store or a total stranger.

She felt so helpless and frustrated. All she could do for now was make sure Guy was safe, keep Joyce on alert, and hope whoever had been behind all this was finished with her.

She’d rented
Aladdin
for Guy tonight, and they were going to eat in—with the door and windows locked.

“Mom, push me again, okay?” Guy said, kicking his feet back and forth.

“All right, hold your horses, kiddo,” she replied, checking her coupons. “I’m trying to score us some bargains here.”

“Well, hello.”

Hannah looked up to see Craig Tollman, carrying a shopping basket. He wore a sweatshirt and jeans, but still managed to look like a
GQ
model.

Hannah smiled nervously. “Oh, hi. How are you?”

“Great.” He nodded at Guy, then smiled at her. “Looks like you picked up a hitchhiker.”

She laughed. “Guy, say hello to Craig.”

“Hello, Craig,” he said politely. “How are you?” Then he turned to look at the Oreos in the cart.

“Well, I’m fine, thanks, Guy. And what have you been up to today?”

Guy didn’t seem to hear him. He touched the package of cookies.

“I think the ‘hello’ is all you’ll get out of him for now,” Hannah said. “He’s kind of shy around new people.”

Craig grinned at her. “Like mother, like son,” he said. “He has to be yours, he’s a great-looking kid.”

“Well, thanks,” Hannah said. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to thank you for handling that rude customer the other night. After saving my life, you just disappeared.”

“I wanted to make sure he didn’t try to go back in the store.”

“Well, anyway, thanks. I owe you big time.”

“Really? Then maybe you’ll let me take you out to dinner—or lunch?”

Hannah gave him a wry smile. “That was very sneaky.”

“Yeah, do you like how I just slipped it in there?”

She nodded. “Very smooth.”

“Mom, can I get out of here?” Guy asked.

“Here, let me,” Craig said. He quickly set down his shopping basket, then hoisted Guy out of the cart seat.

Hannah automatically reached out to take her son from him. She thought Guy might protest, but he seemed comfortable in Craig’s arms.

“So—you didn’t answer my question,” Craig said, rocking Guy a little. “How about dinner? If you need Guy to chaperon, the three of us could go to a family place, my treat.”

She laughed, then took Guy from him. “How about
lunch?
Wednesday?” Guy wiggled in her arms, and she tried to keep him still. “Um, I get a forty-five minute break at one o’clock, but I can stretch it to an hour. Meet me at the store, and we’ll go from there, okay? And it’s
my
treat.”

Craig nodded. “We’ve got a date.”

Lunch with Craig Tollman; it would be her first date in over five years.

Hannah didn’t linger in the supermarket. She kept thinking she’d run into Craig again in one of the aisles, and she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to make small talk again, and she couldn’t stand the silences—even when they were fueled by an unspoken attraction. If she’d ever had any talent for flirting, she’d lost it long ago. Craig made her nervous. Now they had a date. Well, she’d deal with it on Wednesday, when the time came.