Night Vision (23 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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“It doesn't happen every night,” said David.
“Doesn't matter. The overnight exam is still part of the process of determining what's wrong and how to treat it.”
“So there is treatment available,” said Jane.
“Absolutely. Sometimes it's as simple as a pill.”
“When can I do it?” asked David.
“When I talked to my friend at the U this morning—his name is Dr. Terrance Connor—I asked if he had any openings in his schedule. He didn't, but based on my personal request, he agreed to see you. Today is what, Tuesday? He can see you at his office on Thursday morning at eight A.M. You'll be doing tests all day, with a sleepover in their clinic that night.” She wrote the address on a slip of paper and handed it to David.
“Thanks,” said Jane.
“You may have just saved my life,” said David, rising and shaking her hand.
David led the way out of the office, with Jane and the doctor following several paces behind. Before Jane entered the waiting room, Dowd put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. Quickly touching the bruise near Jane's eye, she whispered, “Do us both a favor. Stay away from him when he's asleep. He's dangerous, Jane. Enough said?”
As David got to the door, he turned around to look at them.
“Yes,” said Jane, smiling at the doctor. “This has been great. Thanks.”
 
They stopped for lunch at a café along Hennepin. Jane needed to get a sense of what his reaction had been to Dowd.
Over bowls of beef barley soup and slices of French baguette, David seemed upbeat, talked eagerly about what the doctor had said. Jane wasn't entirely sure he felt as positive as he sounded. He could easily have been putting on a happy face just for her benefit.
“Will you tell Diego what Dowd said?” she asked, breaking off another piece of bread.
He shrugged. “I think I may see what this Dr. Connor has to say first. I don't want Diego to get his hopes up if it turns out I'm actually a psychopath after all.”
“You're not a
psychopath.
”
He grinned. “Okay, let's get this straight. You don't approve of words like ‘nuts' or ‘crazy.' On the other hand, it
is
my mind that's disintegrating. I should be able to call myself a nutcase if I want to.”
She grimaced. Glancing up from her bowl of soup, she caught a fleeting look pass across his face. It might not have been panic, but it was close.
“Will you come with me on Thursday?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then you can tell the doc that in the distant mists of prehistory, I used to be a pretty swell guy.”
“You still are,” she said, her throat tightening.
When David finally left to run over to her house and check on the repairs, Jane returned to her car. She sat in the backseat for a few minutes, cuddling Mouse against her. She needed the feel of another warm body because, inside, she felt deeply, depressingly cold. No matter how hard she tried to put a confident spin on what Dowd had said, an undertow of anxiety still tugged at her.
“Some vacation,” she said to Mouse, scratching his belly.
Mouse had an odd habit of looking up at her, then letting his head drop against her. It was an incredibly sweet, intimate gesture that never failed to touch her. He did it now. In response, she kissed the top of his head, resting her mouth next to his ear.
“To think I almost lost you.”
Mouse seemed to understand. Very softly, he began to lick her hand.
“I love you too, Mouse.”
Finally, removing her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans, she pressed a number. She had Nolan on speed dial. After a couple of rings, he picked up.
“Nolan.”
“It's Jane. Any news on the dredging?”
“Nothing yet. I'm standing about a hundred yards down the beach from Luberman's property.”
“He there?”
“He was this morning, but he left around noon. Hasn't been back since.”
“Did he seem nervous?”
“Not in the least. He stood on his dock with a mug of coffee and
watched for about an hour. He even waved at me. Classic, just fucking classic.”
“But you've still got a man on him, right?”
“I haven't talked to Irv today, but yeah. He's there.”
“You don't think Luberman would run, do you?”
“Anything's possible. Look, let me talk to Irv, see what's going on. I'll call you back.”
“Great. Thanks.”
After hanging up, Jane sat and stared at the traffic buzzing by outside the car. It didn't take long for the cell to ring.
“Bad news,” said Nolan right up front. “Irv's lost him again. His truck is parked outside his business in Chamberlain, but he's gone.”
Jane's frustration hit overdrive. “How the hell is that even possible? Is this Irv completely inept?”
“Not usually. He's been working for me for five years and Luberman's the only guy who's ever lost him. Look, I'm as upset about this as you are. Do me a favor. Make sure Joanna stays inside the Linden Building today.”
“I don't think she's going anywhere.”
“I'll be in touch.”
Jane flipped the cell phone closed and was about to get up when she got another call. Checking the caller ID, she saw that it was Cordelia.
“Hi, kiddo. What's up?”
“Janey, God I'm so glad you answered. You've got to get back here right away!”
“Why? What's wrong?”
“It's Hattie. Just come, okay? I'm dying here!” She cut the line.
A
round three on Tuesday afternoon, Brandy sat on her living room couch, staring at the phone in her hand, trying to make sense of the last few days. After the conversation she'd had with Gordon on Friday night, she was more up in the air about him than ever. He'd been so kind and gentle with her when he'd finally brought her home. He apologized for losing his temper. They'd stayed up until nearly six in the morning, drinking lemonade and talking about their childhoods.
As she'd already begun to suspect, Gordon's childhood had been loveless. His parents had died when he was a small boy and he'd been raised by an aunt, a cold woman who disliked children in general, and him in particular. As an adult, he'd had relationships with several women, but none of them had been happy, not until he'd met her. He emphasized again and again that his relationship with Joanna Kasimir had been completely consensual. He'd been her gardener when she'd seduced him. The relationship hadn't lasted more than a few weeks. But when he cut it off, she not only fired him, she pursued him legally. He never entirely understood her reasoning, but then she had money, power, and privilege on her side, while he'd been basically penniless. And so he'd gone to jail. Sure, it wasn't fair, but he'd put it behind him long ago. But now Joanna was back, pursuing
him again. He begged Brandy not to let Joanna destroy what they'd built together.
Brandy wanted desperately to bring peace and love into Gordon's sad life, but she couldn't exactly forget what that woman had told her. She couldn't remember the woman's name, and Gordon had taken her card, so she had no way to contact her. Even if what the woman had told her turned out to be false, it would still take time for her to completely trust Gordon again. She'd been honest with him about her feelings on their way to Minneapolis on Sunday afternoon. He insisted he understood, that he'd do everything in his power to win her trust back. When they'd stopped for lunch, they'd walked hand in hand through a little picnic area along a river. Gordon had taken her in his arms, held her tight. He told her she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known—far more beautiful than Joanna Kasimir—and also the best thing that ever happened to him. He was a hard man to resist.
But the trip to Minneapolis had left a sour taste in her mouth. He'd appeared at her door early Sunday morning soaking wet, explaining that he'd had to swim over from his cabin. It wasn't that far—the lakes were connected—but he was out of breath, and his face was a deep red. He always bragged about being such a good swimmer, but he was in terrible shape. She couldn't imagine why he'd done it until he told her his truck was in for repairs, so the trip was off—unless they could take the Dodge in her garage. It was a simple enough thing to her—she never used it. But the time in Minneapolis had been a bust. She thought they were driving up to have some fun, go to a movie or an art museum, but instead he'd left her in the car in a dangerous part of town, instructed her not to get out or make eye contact with anyone who walked past. Brandy had been terrified. He wasn't gone long, but when he got back, he was in a foul mood. They had dinner at a crummy little restaurant off I-94 in St. Paul and then drove home.
Brandy had worked the day shift yesterday, hadn't seen Gordon last night. And now, today, as she sat with the phone in her hand, the yellow pages open on the coffee table in front of her, she felt guilty, but she needed to call and talk to a police officer, find out if what that
woman told her on Friday night was true. Before she could punch in the number, she heard a knock on the door.
“Brandy?” called Gordon's voice. “It's me. Let me in.”
She was seized by a moment of panic. The guilt she felt about calling the police was probably written all over her face.
“Brandy?” He pounded on the door. “Come on!”
When she let him in, he gave her a quick kiss, then crossed into the living room. He looked so sweaty and tired that she glanced outside.
“Where's your truck? I thought you were getting it back today.”
“It's still not fixed. I walked over from my office.”
“That's five miles!”
“I know. Look, I need to borrow the Dodge again. But I've got great news.” He turned around and smiled. “I want you to pack your bags. I've got to get out of this town for good, and I'm taking you with me. Anywhere you want. We could go on a cruise before we settle somewhere. Or maybe Paris.” His eyes dropped to the yellow pages.
Oh, Lord, she thought. She'd circled the sheriff's number.
He sat down on the couch, pulled the yellow pages onto his lap. When he looked up at her, he saw the phone in her hand. All expression died on his face. “What are you doing, Brandy?”
“I, ah … there were some teenagers going door to door. They were demanding money. I gave them ten dollars because they frightened me. I thought I should call the police, let them know about it.”
“I didn't see any teenagers.”
“It was a while ago.”
“You're lying.” Something in his eyes had turned bitterly cold.
She backed up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I hate liars. Are you going to turn on me now, too? Just like Joanna and all the other women I've loved?”
“Gordon, please. I'd never turn on you.”
“Then why do you need to call the police?” He stood, moved toward her. “This was supposed to be my lucky day. Today would be payback for everything I've suffered. Now you've gone and ruined it.”
“I didn't mean to,” she said, backing up several more steps.
“What am I going to do with you?”
“Gordon, don't. Please don't hurt me!”
He grabbed her and dragged her into the kitchen. She struggled, but it was like trying to fight off King Kong. Before she knew it, he'd found some duct tape in one of the drawers and bound her hands behind her back. He forced her down on a chair, then wound the tape around her again and again, finishing with her ankles.
“While I'm gone, think about what I should do to you for betraying me.” He stood over her, sweat beading on his forehead.
“When are you coming back?”
“You don't deserve an answer. You don't deserve
me.
”
The last thing he did before he left was to tape her mouth. She heard the car start up and drive away, heard the clock ticking on the wall, measuring the last moments of her life.
 
 
Bel Air, California
Spring–Summer 1989
 
 
O
ver the next few weeks, wherever Joanna went, Gordon was there. Sometimes he was watching from a balcony, sometimes from a seat at the same restaurant or theater. When she was at the studio, he sat in his truck across the street and waited for her. He never tried to approach her, but his presence was pressure enough.
One month to the day after Joanna had thrown him out, the phone calls began. They came at all hours of the day or night, entreaties to take him back, to give him another chance, to see for herself that he'd changed. He promised that if she'd just talk to him, have lunch or coffee, she'd realize they were meant to be together. The fact was, what Joanna
could
see was that Gordon was coming apart mentally.
As the months dragged on, Joanna no longer answered her phone. But that didn't stop Gordon. He'd leave long rambling messages for her, talking about his childhood, his wrestling championships, his ex-girlfriends. Or he'd talk about the future, how he was planning to landscape her place, how they could then sell it for big bucks and move to Texas together. He'd always wanted to live in Texas, on the gulf, and knew Joanna would love it there, too. He begged her to call him back, or have coffee with him. And he continued to send roses every week like clockwork.
Gordon was like a piece of gum Joanna couldn't shake off her shoe. In mid-July,
she talked to a friend of hers, a cop, and made him listen to some of the messages, but he said there was nothing he could do. He suggested that she get a restraining order against Gordon, just in case things turned nasty. So that's what she did. The day he was served, he called and left a message. The words were still beseeching, but the tone was slightly different. She could tell his frustration was at an all-time high. He was growing angry, and that anger made him seem ten times more dangerous. She began to wonder if the restraining order had been a mistake.
Joanna didn't understand it at first, but the restraining order did mark a sea change. Gordon's messages grew more testy, more demanding. When he followed her, he'd move up as close to the back of her car as he could without actually bumping into her. He'd honk his horn, scream at her, make obscene gestures. She could see it all in her rearview mirror. One day, on her way home from a hair appointment in Beverly Hills, he tried to run her off the road.
That was it. She called her cop friend again, but when she explained that there hadn't been any witnesses to Gordon's attempt to kill her—and that's what it was in Joanna's mind—he said there was nothing he could do. He was sorry. She wasn't the first celebrity to have this kind of problem, nor would she be the last. He suggested a bodyguard. She suggested something sexual and highly unpleasant. That was the end of her friendship with the cop.
The phone calls continued, but now they were harassing. Gordon called her filthy, vile names. He blamed her for ruining his life, said she was a closeted lesbian and that's why she could never love him. He said he planned to give an interview to
The Pasadena Star,
let everyone know what the real Joanna Kasimir was like. But Gordon wasn't stupid. He might slander her on a taped phone message, but he knew enough not to do it in print.
One night she came home and found the word “lesbian” spray-painted in red on her garage door. She quickly had it repainted. Two days later, while she was eating dinner, a brick was hurled through her front window. She moved to a hotel until it was repaired. The phone calls kept coming, as did the roses with pleading messages of love and forgiveness. She felt as if she were living inside a fun house mirror. Everything felt off-kilter, stretched, or compressed. She was starting to limit everything she did, evaluating if the event was worth the risk. Shadows in the house terrified her.
One night she lost electric power. She ran to the front window and looked
out at the house across the street to try to determine if the grid in her area had gone down. When she realized it was just her house, she called an ex-boyfriend—a professional stuntman—and told him what had happened, asked him to come over right away. And then she sat in her bed, holding a kitchen knife in both hands, waiting for Gordon to break down the door. He never did. When the stuntman arrived, he found the spot where the lines had been yanked and called to have them repaired. He spent the night. The next day, Gordon's message went on and on about what a slut she was. Feeling unhinged and at her wit's end, she called her security company and asked if they could install an electrified fence around her property.
They couldn't.
Joanna was growing increasingly desperate. She hired a bodyguard to live in her house, but after he walked in on her in the bathroom while she was taking a shower, she fired him. She didn't trust anyone anymore. Her one prayer was that Gordon would eventually grow tired of his game and leave her alone, but if anything, the harassment seemed to be growing worse.
By September, she didn't even want to leave her house for fear of what he might do. Not that she felt safe at home. As far as she could tell, he was watching her almost all the time. In the last few days, he'd started commenting on her clothing, down to the last detail. She assumed he must have bought himself some high-powered binoculars. She pulled her shades and drew her curtains and lived in the dark.
And then the worst phone call came. It was the middle of the night. She listened to the message as he spoke it into the machine. He talked about the gun he'd bought, how he'd been practicing with it at various shooting ranges around L.A. That he was a surprisingly good shot. And he said he'd found a new bookstore that carried some fascinating books. He mentioned a couple of the titles by name, telling her that she might like them, too. She had a girlfriend run down and pick them up the next day. They were all about bondage, about sexual torture. Again, he hadn't threatened her, but the message was clear.
The following night he called and said he planned to see her soon, that she should put a light on in the window for him, that he missed her and still loved her—and that he intended to show her how much the next time they were together.
Joanna freaked. She packed a bag and left the house. It was already dark, so
it was easy to tell if someone was following her just by watching for headlights. Nobody was. She made it all the way to West Sunset before she even saw a truck, and this one was red and much smaller than Gordon's white Ford. She checked herself into a bungalow suite at the Beverly Hallmark, exhausted and nauseous with fear. She had no intention of telling anyone except her agent, Marybeth Flagg, where she was until she'd talked to her lawyer. The police could go to hell as far as she was concerned. But there had to be some way to stop this harassment.

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