Stalker (18 page)

Rina locked eyes with her husband. “Besides, Peter is dying to talk about work—”

“No, no, no!” Decker took Rina’s pile of dishes and stood. “Don’t blame this on me.” He carried the china to the kitchen, then returned to the dining room. “All’s peaceful for the moment.”

Rina had an armful of serving plates. “I can take it from here.”

Decker watched her disappear into the kitchen, then said, “Tell me about Bartholomew.”

Marge recapped her afternoon interview. Talking about suspects, she was on firm ground. It amazed her how she could be so professionally competent and so parentally incompetent.

“He wouldn’t let you speak?”

“Not a word.”

“His manner, or was he hiding something?” Decker asked.

“I think both,” Marge said. “I don’t know if he had anything to do with Crayton’s death, but I’d betcha what he did with Crayton businesswise was shady.”

“What was the business? Land flipping?”

“Maybe…in an obscure place called Belfleur—off the 10 near Palm Springs. I wanted to ask Bartholomew about it, but I never got that far.”

“Didn’t Bartholomew break business ties before Crayton died?”

“Only a few months before,” Marge answered. “I’m thinking that if someone was seeking revenge against Crayton—and Dex had been involved—then maybe that someone would also seek revenge against Bartholomew. But he couldn’t get to Bartholomew because he was too well protected. So he took his revenge via the wife by jacking her car.”

“If he was only out for monetary revenge, there are easier ways than carjacking.”

“So he was out for more than monetary revenge,” Marge replied. “Steal the car
and
freak out the wife. You know, nothing gets to a man like freaking out his wife. Although I have a feeling that Dex doesn’t give a shit
about his wife. But that doesn’t mean a guy like Dex would put up with someone else messing with his wife.”

“Weren’t we supposed to interview Elizabeth Tarkum?”

“Scott’s been trying to set one up, but she hasn’t been available. He’s not home, but I left a message on his machine to call me when he gets in. But knowing Scott, that may be a while.”

Cindy walked into the room. “A while for what?”

“For Scott to get home tonight,” Marge said. “I want to find out if he interviewed Elizabeth Tarkum.”

“The jacked red Ferrari,” Cindy said.

“The very one,” Decker said.

Cindy felt her nerves jump. “Why? Did another jacking go down?”

“Lord, I hope not,” Decker said.

Cindy tried to be casual. “So this is just follow-up?”

Decker regarded his daughter’s face, going from being concerned to suspicious. “You seem tense, Cindy. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“No,” she lied.

Silence.

Decker said, “Because if something was amiss, you would tell me.”

“Dad, it’s been a hard week. You should know.”

Decker
did
know. He also knew that this was more than the usual “hard week.” He hoped it was only personal problems.

Cindy said, “Hannah’s asking for you. She wants you to tuck her in.”

Without a word, Decker got up and left.

“Talk about being tense,” Cindy stated. “I think Dad’s the one who looks drained.”

“The jackings are taking their toll on him.”

Cindy lowered her voice. “Marge, does the name Roseanne Barkley ring any bells?”

Marge narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“Don’t get overly excited.” Cindy had been planning her cover all night. “On the way over here there was a red
Camry driving erratically. I called in the plates and they were stolen. When I tried to pull the car over, the Camry rabbited. Rather than chase it in a civilian car, I called it in to the RTO. Very professional of me, don’t you think?”

“I’m reserving judgment,” Marge answered. “Have you called back to find out if anyone’s spotted the car?”

Cindy nodded. “No luck.” She swirled her finger in the pile of bread crumbs. “I’ll call again when I get home. I don’t want to do it here. They don’t use the phone on their Sabbath. I don’t want to be disrespectful. So you’ve never heard of Roseanne Barkley?”

“Never said that,” Marge answered. “Barkley was one of our first jacking victims—six months ago roughly. She was assaulted in an underground parking lot. Pushed down and kicked, but otherwise okay. She had been with her kid. They were returning from the pediatrician.” She examined Cindy’s face. “Okay, kiddo. Your dad isn’t here. So what aren’t you telling me?”

“You think I’m holding back?” Cindy acted indignant. “I have to defend my actions to my superiors, not to my friends.” She regarded Marge. “At least, I thought we were friends—”

“Don’t divert the issue with platitudes about friendship,” Marge said. “If something serious is going on, I should know about it. Your father, too.”

“And if something serious is going on, I’ll tell the both of you.”

“Were you planning on telling your dad about the Camry?”

“Eventually. I decided to ask you first because you react without anxiety or rancor. With Dad, nothing is ever simple.”

“So what can you tell me about the Camry?”

“At least five years old. Dent on the right-hand side. Faded red paint job.”

Decker came back into the dining room. Marge stood up. “I’m going to go into the kitchen and make sure Vega hasn’t bored your wife and son to tears.”

“While you’re there, tell Rina to go say good night to Hannah. She’s waiting for her mommy.”

“Will do. I also have to make a phone call. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Decker said. “What’s wrong?”

“Ask your daughter.”

After Marge left, Decker looked at Cindy. Using a nondescript voice, she related her Camry story. It took her around thirty seconds. By the time she was done, her father’s eyes had darkened. Rina chose that moment to pass by. She took one look at her husband, another at her stepdaughter, then shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask.”

Decker forced out a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

Rina said nothing, happy to flee to the safety of Hannah’s room. As soon as she left, Decker said, “A bravura performance, Cynthia. Now try the truth.”

“Nothing to add. Sorry. I could embellish—”

“Cut the crap,” Decker whispered fiercely. “Rina told me your car was smoking badly. That, in conjunction with what you just told me, you know what that says to me?”

Cindy felt her stomach churn, but she didn’t answer.

Decker said, “One of two things: Either you were chasing the Camry or the Camry was chasing you. I hope it was the first scenario, that you overestimated your ability as a cop and decided to apprehend the car single-handedly. But then you lost the car. Being as you’re a rookie, you were too embarrassed to admit it. See, that’s what I’m hoping it was. But if it was the second option, that someone was chasing you, you damn well better tell me right now. Not only because you’re my daughter but because it’s your duty as a cop. Because this may have relevance to the jackings that are going on.”

He was glaring at her…downright smoldering. Cindy tried to maintain her composure. He had touched upon the truth, but hadn’t quite nailed it down shut. The Camry wasn’t technically chasing her…just tailing her.

“This is why I don’t talk to you,” Cindy remarked.

“Because I know a bullshit artist when I see one?” Decker ground his teeth together. “Okay. You’re pissed at me, I’m pissed at you. That’s not going to change. But you are going to tell me what really went down before I lose it, right?”

Cindy averted her eyes, hoping they weren’t watering. She said, “The car was driving erratically. I was following it at a safe distance, doing all the things I was taught.”

“So you didn’t call the plates in—”

“Will you let me finish?”

“Go on.”

“I was about to call in the plates, but the car bolted. Obviously, my tail stank, and I gave myself away. Once I was going at high speeds, I couldn’t call it in. I didn’t have a radio transmitter mike, only my cell phone, and who the hell punches numbers on a handheld cell doing eighty-five?”

“You lost sight of the Camry.”

“I did.”

“Where’d you lose him?”

“North Valley, near your old house.”

“On the surface streets?”

“No. In the mountains near Angeles Crest. I was too spooked to go it alone up there.”

“So you pulled back. That was smart. So why didn’t you call it in as soon as you pulled back?”

“Because I was embarrassed by my incompetence, if you must know. Besides, I was very unnerved by the incident, my car was overheating, and I was alone. My main goal was making it to your house without breaking down. As soon as I got here, I called it in. That’s when I found out about the stolen plates and this Roseanne Barkley woman. Now you’re up-to-date. I have nothing to add, and glaring at me won’t help.”

Decker let out a deep sigh. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Cindy’s voice was flat. “Just hound dog from my ineptitude. I’ll tell you what I know about the car. But I don’t want to discuss me.”

“Fair enough.” Decker attempted a conciliatory look. “Friends?”

“Always, Dad.”

Decker said, “We should find out if someone’s spotted the Camry.”

“Marge is calling the stationhouse.” Cindy licked her lips. “I’m sorry I lied to you. But even if I hadn’t lied to you, that isn’t a promise to tell you everything that goes on in my life.”

“Your personal business is none of my business—”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“I just want to know you’re safe,” Decker said. “Like when you were sixteen and first started driving…you’d come home late at night. I wanted you to call me—”

“I’m not sixteen anymore, Dad.”

“Okay. So it was a bad example—”

“It was a
telling
example. You love me, I know you want me to be okay all the time—”

“Not okay. Just safe.”

“That’s impossible. Especially considering the field I chose for myself.”

Marge walked in from the kitchen. Her expression was flat. She said, “Think Rina will mind watching Vega?”

Decker stood. “What is it?”

“They found the Camry,” Marge answered. “More like they found the license plate. The car is now toast.”

She’d expected their
common professions to bring them closer. Instead it appeared to be driving a wedge between them. Cindy stared out the window from the backseat of Rina’s white Volvo V70 station wagon. Marge was driving, Dad sat shotgun. The car had been a recent purchase and not a cheap one. Cindy supposed that between Dad’s new house and all the remodeling, his bank account wasn’t being fully funded. If you added the jackings to empty wallet syndrome, Dad had to be completely stressed out. He certainly was acting like an obsessively driven man, underscored by the fact that he was with them, working on his Sabbath, when nothing really
demanded
his presence.

She continued to sit with her nose pressed against the glass.

If Rina had objected to Dad’s decision to work on the holy day, she did so in private. Probably an unwritten law between them: Dad’s work lay entirely within his domain, and his decisions regarding his job were immutable. When Rina had kissed him good-bye, she didn’t seem angry. But then again Dad was trying hard to work within the letter of the law if not the spirit. According to their beliefs, turning electricity on or off desecrated the Sabbath. So Marge had opened the car door to prevent Dad from turning on the interior auto lights. It was probably the reason she was driving now.

They were now at the base of the mountains, heading into Angeles Crest National Park.

Decker turned his head to face her. His eyes were focused and intense. “You followed the Camry up this particular road?”

“Yes.” But Cindy was less than positive. There were many pathways into the mountains and at night the roads looked different, more isolated and forbidding. Darkness in the woods was more than just lack of light; it was something tangible. It enveloped and smothered. “I lost him farther up.”

“How much farther up?”

“I’d say about a mile, mile and a half. After the road turned steeper.” She tried to sort out her thoughts. “It was so strange, Dad. I know I lost visual contact with the car. But I was behind it the entire time. I wasn’t going much slower than he was. Then the road dead-ended, and the car wasn’t anywhere in sight. A Camry’s not an off-road vehicle. Where could it have gone?”

“Over the ledge of the mountain,” Marge said wryly.

“Not while I was there,” Cindy said. “I think I would have heard two thousand tons of steel colliding with solid bedrock.”

Decker said, “After you lost sight of the vehicle, it probably hooked a turn somewhere and ditched you in the process.”

“I looked for turnoffs from the main road. I really, really looked. I couldn’t find one.”

“The forest is dense,” Marge said. “He could have taken the car off-road for a tiny bit and hidden in the brush, waiting until you came back down.”

“I would have noticed a smoking car—”

“It was smoking?” Decker asked.

She sighed. “Maybe not. I guess I said that because my car was smoking. All I know is when I came back down, I didn’t
see
any turnoff. I certainly didn’t see or hear any crash.” She shook her head, glad that the car was dark so they couldn’t see her embarrassment. “I should have called it in as soon as I suspected something. Maybe if I had, someone with more experience would have stopped
the Camry before it took a five-hundred-foot nosedive. I feel indirectly responsible for the death of the driver.”

“Who says the driver’s dead?” Decker said. “You told me you didn’t hear a crash. Maybe the car was pushed off the ledge after you left the scene.”

Cindy sat up. “You think so?”

“Did the investigators mention a body?” Decker asked Marge.

“I didn’t talk to anyone on-site,” Marge said. “The deputy I spoke to said they were in the process of sorting through the wreckage.”

Marge rolled the windows partway down. A musty fragrance wafted through the car—thick and moist. The rumble of the engine was artificial and pronounced when contrasted with the sounds of nature’s nighttime. Shifting into low gear, she started crawling up the hill. Her headlights, even with the brights on, did little to illuminate the utter blackness. She turned on an interior car light and handed Decker a sheaf of paper. “Can you read me the directions?”

“Against the law to drive with interior lights.” Cindy quoted the penal code number. “I should have gone to law school.”

Decker turned around and tried out a sympathetic smile. “As your father, I’d like you to forget about what happened and move on. But as a cop, I’d tell you to think about what went wrong. God knows that self-examination interferes with personal happiness. And God knows, above all, I want you to be happy. But what I want isn’t as important as what you want. You want to be a good cop. That sometimes means being upset with yourself.”

Well, she had the upset part down pat. “Thanks for being straight with me.”

“Thanks for taking it so well.” Decker unfolded the directions and read out loud. “Go up for exactly four tenths of a mile. You’ll have to slow down and look around very carefully. In between two sycamores, there is a rut in the ground. That’s the turnoff…” He turned around and looked at Cindy. “There’s your missing turnoff.”

“Yep.” She was trying to take it with a professional attitude. But in reality she felt doubly stupid. She had blown the tail
and
missed the turnoff.

“Go on the rutted lane for another mile,” Decker continued. “You’ll have to go very, very slow because the lane is very narrow, and there are steep drops—”

“How steep?” Marge broke in.

“It doesn’t say,” Decker muttered. “I should have stayed home. We can barely see in the dark, let alone learn much.”

“I told you I would have handled it alone.”

“
No one
should be driving this alone.”

“I would have paged Scott. He wasn’t talking like he had a hot date. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded subbing so you could have your Sabbath in peace.”

He wasn’t talking like he had a hot date
. Cindy contained a smile, then chastised herself.
Why are you dwelling on him
? And of course she knew why. Thinking about Scott was preferable to feeling inept.

Marge had slowed the Volvo. “I’m four-tenths—”

“There are the sycamores,” Decker pointed out.

“There’s
a road
between those two mothers?” Marge brought the car to a baby crawl and inched the wheel to the left. “If you say so.”

“Are you going to scratch up the car?” Decker asked.

“It’s a possibility.”

“Be careful—”

“Would you like to drive?”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Cindy interrupted.

“What doesn’t?” Decker asked.

“How could a speeding car negotiate such a sharp, unmarked turn?”

“Obviously he knew the area better than you did,” Decker said.

“Even so, Daddy, he was racing and this is nearly a ninety-degree turn. In my humble and often wrong opinion, if the car had attempted the turn going that fast, it would have slammed into the trees.”

“Possibly,” Decker said.

Conceding her a point. Hallelujah!

The car was bouncing wildly as they coursed the pockmarked passageway. With the car’s brights on, the pie-wedge ray illuminated thick foliage and lines and shadows.

“It’s Jurassic up here,” Cindy remarked. “Who reported the accident? Trapper John?”

“Maybe it was noticed by a traffic helicopter,” Decker remarked.

“Yeah, after all, this is a main artery of commuter traffic. I bet the area’s chock-full of sig-alerts.”

“Cindy, you’ve got a sharp wit. But right now it isn’t doing you any good.”

“That doesn’t negate my point. Who reported this?”

Abruptly, the car vaulted upward, causing Decker to hit his head on the ceiling. In deference to the holy day, he swore silently.

“Are you all right?” Cindy asked.

Decker rubbed his head. “I’m
fine
, thank you.”

“Your head took a real knocking,” Cindy said. “I heard that.”

“God is punishing me for violating Shabbat.”

Marge chuckled. “If life were only that simple.”

Decker asked Marge, “Do you know who reported the crash?”

“No, I don’t, although it had to be someone with eagle eyesight. I can’t see a goddamn thing. I’m getting spooked, like any second I’m going over the cliff—”

“I’ll drive if you want,” Cindy offered. “I’ve got excellent eyesight.”

“No, I’ll manage.” Marge’s nostrils suddenly flared. “I just got a sharp whiff of gasoline.”

“Ditto,” Decker replied.

“Acrid,” Cindy said.

An appropriate adjective, Decker thought. That sickening smell of petroleum burning everything and everyone in its line of fire. He’d lived with it daily during his tour in Nam.

Marge squinted. “I see light ahead.” The car bounded
into the air and landed with a thud on its tires. “Ho boy. I hope Rina has plenty of padding on her butt because she ain’t gonna have any shocks left.”

The faint wattage of illumination was rapidly growing in width and intensity. The stench of seared foliage and petrol soaked through the air. Cindy put her palm over her nose. Within moments, she saw the outlines of parked vehicles up ahead.

“Man, it stinks,” Decker commented. “We can park anywhere you’d like.”

Cindy chuckled, but it lacked levity.

“What is it?” Decker asked.

“Just the situation. We’re heading toward the light like moths to a flame. Sure hope the heat doesn’t fry us to death.”

Marge made a face and chided her. “You’re too young to be that jaded and cynical.”

“Chronological age is irrelevant,” Cindy retorted. “It’s time on the street. I’m only twenty-five, but in cop years I’m ready for Social Security.”

They parked at the top of the ledge, behind a tow truck. There were sheriff’s cars, there were highway patrol cars, there was an ambulance, and there were several red county fire department standard utility vehicles used when the area was inaccessible to the traditional oversized fire trucks. Single-file, the three of them slowly sidled down the mountain, using a six-inch-wide dirt pathway that had been recently cleared, and a series of temporary handrails that had been set up by the firemen—the Sherpas of the expedition, Cindy joked. But even with the handrails, the descent was steep and difficult, with torn root clumps undermining Cindy’s footing. To make matters worse, she couldn’t go at her own pace. She was sandwiched between her father, who took the lead, and Marge, who kept sliding forward while she groused about the slippery soles of her shoes. It took them time to make it down without a calamity.

Standing at the edge of the ravaged ravine, Cindy wiped
sweat from her brow as hot white lights spilled out from several spots, illuminating a blackened pit of foliage and a charred car frame. Bits and pieces of strewn metal could be seen, winking in the beams as far as two hundred feet away from the crash site. The main area was roped off with yellow tape. Inside the restricted circle stood a couple dozen men from the various agencies including four firemen wearing jackets emblazoned with arson on the back. There were also a couple of green-scrubbed medicos from the county coroner’s office. The sight made Cindy’s stomach tank. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she had to cope with the fetid stench of gasoline. Normally, her father carried face masks. But because they had gone out in Rina’s car, they were all out of luck.

A man in sheriff’s khakis came out of the inner circle to greet them. Decker stepped forward and held out his badge. “Detective Lieutenant Peter Decker. This is Detective Dunn, and Officer Decker. We’re from LAPD.”

“Detective Deputy Bryant Bowler.”

The man’s forehead was raining dirty droplets of sweat, drawing streaks over his brow. His entire body—clothes, hands, and face—was blanketed with soot. Even when he took off his face mask, his physical characteristics were hard to make out because of the ash. He seemed somewhere between twenty-five and forty with blue eyes. Judging by a glint of orange peeking through ember-coated tresses, the hair was probably flaming red when washed.

Bowler said, “You’re far from your stomping ground. What brings LAPD here?”

“Actually, that’s my doing,” Cindy said. “I was here earlier in the evening.”

Bowler jerked his head back. “You were
here
? In this
area
?”

“Well, not in this exact spot, but yes, in the area,” Cindy explained. “I was in pursuit of the Camry—”

“What? Which Camry? You mean the vehicle we’re working on?”

Decker said, “Perhaps if Officer Decker explained the entire incident, things would become clearer.”

Giving her the opening to tell her tale, because by this time, it was a tale. She decided to be spare with the details because she didn’t remember exactly what she had told her father. She spoke slowly, deciding that her words sounded consistent enough to her ears. Wrapping it up, she mentally prepared herself for the onslaught of questions. “As we were ascending the hill, the Camry continued to travel at dangerously high speeds. So I made a conscious decision to slow down even if it meant discontinuing the pursuit and losing the visual contact of the vehicle.”

“Is that what happened?” Bowler asked.

“Pardon?” Cindy asked.

“Did you lose visual contact?”

“Yes. Still, I kept going until the road dead-ended.”

“At Prenner’s Park.”

“I didn’t catch the name of the grounds. It’s a picnic area.”

Bowler nodded. “That’s Prenner’s Park.”

Cindy said, “The Camry must have used this road to escape. I failed to notice this turnoff both going up and coming down.”

“That would make sense,” Bowler said. “Even in daylight, it’s nearly impossible to find this road. You just gotta know it’s there.”

“I stayed at the site for another ten minutes to check things. I’ll tell you one thing, Deputy. I never heard any crash.”

“What time was this?”

“Around five.”

Decker said, “When she called in the plates, she found out that the Camry’s license plate was pulled from one of our carjacked vehicles.”

“So that’s where you all fit in,” Bowler said.

Marge nodded.