Kevin O'Brien Bundle (112 page)
Read Kevin O'Brien Bundle Online
Authors: Kevin O'Brien
“Yeah, guess I’m not much use to you in here. Sorry to let you down.”
“Oh, skip it. Just get well, sweetie.”
“Would you do me a favor, Han?” Scott asked. “Could you check on Britt for me? My buddy has left her a bunch of messages since early this morning, and he hasn’t heard back from her.”
“Well, I talked with her around nine o’clock last night, and she was all right. She’s supposed to be with Webb, the Wonder Creep. I might have his number. I’ll check, and keep you posted. I’m pretty concerned about her myself.”
“Thanks, Hannah.” He scratched his arm and frowned. “Listen. There’s something you should know. After you left last night, a woman came into the store, wanting to rent
Psycho
. When I went to get it for her, the case was there, but the tape was missing. Someone ripped it off, just like
Casino.”
Gazing at him, Hannah slowly shook her head.
“It could be nothing,” Scott said. “But I figured you’d want to know. Be on your guard, okay? Your—um, secret admirer might soon be sending you another video valentine.”
Outside Scott’s room, Hannah shed the smock and the surgical mask, then dumped them in a waste bin labeled “Biohazard.” Starting down the hall, she saw someone by the nurse’s desk, and she stopped dead.
Ben put up his hand in a sort of half wave.
Hannah took a deep breath and walked up to him.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding glumly. “I followed you here from the store.”
“Do you have any idea how creepy that is?” Hannah asked pointedly.
“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. Can we please talk?” He pulled out a folder he had tucked under his arm. “I have something I want to show you.”
Hannah just sighed and started toward the elevator.
Ben came up beside her. “I’ll go away and not bother you again if I’m wrong,” he said. “When that man was murdered the other night, did you know in advance something like that was going to happen?”
Hannah stopped. Her eyes searched his.
“Did you see it happen beforehand—in a video?”
Hannah kept staring at him. She swallowed hard. “Where do you want to talk?” she asked.
The woman in the picture was blond and pretty, with a round face and large blue eyes. Hannah guessed she was in her late twenties. Ben Podowski had his arm around her in the photo. They stood in front of a reservoir. Ben hadn’t aged much since the snapshot was taken. His golden hair was now a shade darker and not quite as curly.
The girl in the photo was Rae Palmer. Ben said the picture was six years old. He’d taken it with a self-timer in Central Park one afternoon. It had been the last time he and Rae had seen each other.
“I think I’ve seen her somewhere before, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out where.” Hannah handed the photograph back to Ben.
They sat at a window table in an upscale bohemian coffeehouse called Victrola, down the block from Group Health Hospital. Ben had the folder open on the little cafe table between them.
“Rae and I were together for eight years,” he explained, gazing at the photo with a trace of sadness in his eyes. He tucked the picture under the papers in his folder. “We started dating in college. She was a good person, very conscientious—socially and politically. She was arrested at least a dozen times while we were together—always some protest march or demonstration to help the downtrodden. She was a champion for the underdog. And
underdog, underachiever
describes me during my first few years out of college. Then I became an overachiever, and we didn’t really need each other so much anymore. Anyway, in a hundred words or less, that explains Rae’s and my relationship. We stayed friends after the breakup. In fact, since then, she never really got serious with anyone else.”
Hannah stirred her latte. “Are you trying to tell me you’re irresistible?”
With a strained smile, Ben shook his head. “No. I just want you to understand that we stayed friends. I felt responsible for her, and I know Rae pretty much considered me one of the most important people in her life—even after I got married, and she moved away.”
Hannah shifted in her chair. “Are you still married?”
“That’s a whole other story,” he replied, frowning. “Anyway, Rae and I kept in touch, mostly phone calls and e-mails.”
“How did your wife feel about that?” Hannah asked.
“Well, she didn’t feel threatened or anything,” Ben said, fingering the straw to his Italian soda. “It wasn’t as if Rae and I were corresponding every day. It was more like every few weeks. Rae had her own life in Seattle, working as a hotel events coordinator.” He took some of the papers from his folder. “Before I came here last month, I pulled some of her e-mails from my computer records and printed them out. I think you should see them.”
Ben handed her a printout. He’d circled the date on top:
1/27/02
. He’d also drawn brackets around the paragraph he wanted her to read:
I met someone & I know you won’t approve, Ben, because he’s married & totally unavailable. I decided to take a film class last fall, & he’s the professor. His name is Paul Gulletti. I think every woman in the class has a crush on him. He’s very sexy & charismatic. We started dating in December. It was really sweet. He helped me pick out my Xmas tree & for my present, he gave me roses & we spent the night at a ski lodge. Very romantic. I’m trying not to get too serious, but I think I’m falling in love with him. Don’t be mad, Ben…
Frowning, Hannah handed the piece of paper back to him. “Why did you think I’d be interested in this?” she asked. “I told you already that I’m not in any way involved with Paul Gulletti.”
Ben gave her another printout. “Just keep reading, okay?”
The date on the next e-mail was
4/16/02.
Again, he’d marked the section he wanted her to see:
You’ll be proud of me, because I told Paul I don’t want to see him anymore. In fact, I dropped out of his film class. It was kind of embarrassing. Everybody in the class knew we were seeing each other. Paul doesn’t want to let go, and we’ve had some fights. It’s weird. He keeps saying he’s going to leave his wife for me, but I’ve never asked him to. Anyway, you were right about him. It’s been rough, Ben. I hate the idea that I’ll be alone again…
Hannah could tell this woman was still in love with Ben, from the way she kept seeking his approval.
“I’m sorry.” Shrugging, Hannah set down the sheet of paper. “I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”
Wordlessly, Ben gave her another e-mail to read. This one was dated
6/7/02:
Someone keeps calling me & hanging up. I’m convinced it’s Paul. The breakup was so dragged out & I know he’s bitter. Then again, perhaps he has moved on. It’s been a while since we actually talked, so maybe it’s not him. Don’t think I’m paranoid, but someone has also been following me & watching me. I even caught a glimpse of this person videotaping me last week. That’s right, I have a stalker. For the last few years, ever since we broke up, Ben, I’ve always thought nobody cared enough about me. Now I have someone who cares too much. It’s very weird. I can’t prove it, but I have a feeling he’s been in my apartment…
Neither Ben nor Hannah said a word. He just handed her the next e-mail, dated
6/19/02:
I took your advice and changed my phone number. It’s been a major pain. I had to tell practically everyone I know about the new number, which, of course, defeats the purpose, especially if this stalker is someone I know. Anyway, the good news is that the calls and hang-ups have stopped.
Now for the bad news. The strangest thing has happened & it has me very scared. I almost called you about it, but I feel funny calling, especially when I get Jennifer on the phone. She’s perfectly sweet, but I just feel strange.
Anyway, last week someone broke into my car—in the parking garage at work. They didn’t take anything. They left something. It was a video of that old Hitchcock movie,
Strangers on a Train.
Have you seen it? I took the video home. It was set to start on this scene that takes place at an amusement park. There’s this boat ride to a little island. Robert Walker follows this pretty woman with glasses to this place & he strangles her. Her glasses fall off & we see her being murdered in the reflection of her glasses.
I didn’t know what to think. I suspected Paul again, but now I’m not sure. I reported the break-in to the police. Since nothing was stolen & no damage was done to the car, they didn’t think much of it. Of course, it’s no help that they checked on me when I reported this. They mentioned that I’d been arrested four times in the last five years, twice for participating in antipolice demonstrations. I was like, “Well, duh!” Anyway, I guess I’m labeled a troublemaker and a kook. After a few days, nothing else happened & I managed to put it behind me. I’d nearly forgotten about it.
Then, two days ago, a coworker at the hotel, Lily Abrams, didn’t show up for work. I didn’t give her absence much thought. I’ve never been too fond of her. She’s always been kind of snotty to me. But that doesn’t matter. I found out yesterday that she was murdered. Someone strangled her. They found her body floating in Lake Washington, right by a little patch of land called Foster Island. It’s part of a nature trail near the university district. Lily wore glasses. They found them right near the water’s edge.
Do you see what happened? Lily got strangled on a little island, just like the woman in the movie. I tried to tell this to the police, and they’re acting like I’m crazy…
Hannah set down the e-mail printout.
Ben dug another sheet of paper from his folder. “One of the first things I did when I got to Seattle was go to the library and look up a few things. My wife kept saying Rae was making all this up so I would come out here, but Rae’s not that scheming. Still, I needed to make sure about what she was telling me.”
Across the table, he slid a copy of a newspaper article, dated June 18. The headline read:
“WOMAN FOUND STRANGLED IN ARBORETUM AREA.”
There was a map of the nature trail near Seattle’s Arboretum, with an X marking off the tip of Foster Island. Beside it, a casual, blurry photo of Lily Abrams, a thin-faced brunette with glasses and a slightly impish smile.
Hannah scanned the article, which revealed a bit of inside information that must have embarrassed the police. Among the baffled authorities, Lily Abrams had become known as “the Floating Flower.” The name, Lily, had something to do with that epithet, as did, apparently, the position of her body when it was discovered. Lily’s bracelet had gotten caught on some pilings in the shallow water off Foster Island, and she remained there, floating within a few feet of the shore, a floating flower.
The article also revealed that Lily’s glasses were discovered on Foster Island, not far from the water. The police also found Lily’s purse inside her unlocked car, parked a block away from her apartment building in Seattle’s Eastlake neighborhood. They were examining the possibility that she’d been abducted there and taken to the Arboretum area, where she was strangled.
“Did you hear about this case?” Ben asked.
Hannah shook her head. “You’d think I would have.”
“I looked at the articles. The press made a big thing out of that Floating Flower business. For a week, they made it out like another Black Dahlia case. Rae mentioned in one of her e-mails that the police must have written her off as one of the many nuts that were calling them with
inside information
about the Floating Flower. They basically blew her off. Anyway, they never solved the case.”
Hannah set down the newspaper article, then sat back. “What happened to Rae?” she asked.
“That’s what I’m still trying to find out,” Ben replied. He gave her another document from his folder.
Hannah stared at the e-mail printout, this one dated
8/3/02:
Thanks again for calling me back the other night. I’m really sorry I woke up Jennifer. I totally forgot about the time difference. Anyway, thanks for caring, Ben.
I took your advice & went out with Joe Blankenship again. So we’re kind of dating now. He’s a nice guy & so what if his kisses don’t send me to the moon? He really seems to care for me. Besides, I don’t want to be alone right now. This stalker person is back. I’ve seen him videotaping me again. I haven’t seen his face. He’s always too far away. I think I figured out what kind of car he drives—a wine-colored Volvo. He paid me a visit last night.
The TV woke me up around one
A
.
M
. I got scared & grabbed this baseball bat I’ve been keeping near my bed lately. (OK, I know you’re thinking I’m a major loon, but having it there makes me feel safer.) Anyway, I recognized what was on TV before I even reached the living room. It’s one of your favorites,
On the Waterfront.
As soon as I realized no one was in the apartment, I figured out that the movie was cued at a scene near the beginning when the mobsters throw Eva Marie Saint’s brother off the roof & he’s killed. The character’s name was Joey.
My Joe lives in a eleven-story apartment building, and I’m certain the same thing will happen to him. He thinks I’m imagining things or vying for more of his attention. He’s almost as bad as the police. He just won’t take me seriously.
I went to Paul Gulletti, because I figure someone with a film background is behind all this. I confronted him, Ben. He tried to pretend he didn’t know what I was talking about. But I could tell he was covering something up, or lying. Unfortunately, I can’t prove anything.
Ben, I feel so helpless & scared…
“She called me a few days later,” Ben said, sliding a copy of yet another newspaper article in front of Hannah. It was dated August 8. She glanced at the headline: