Stalker (20 page)

Slowly, she neared him, emphasizing each step—one, two, three, four, five, six. Until she was right in front of his face. Until she could see every pore oozing brine from his face. Until she could almost taste the salt of his sweat. Until she smelled the anxiety in his sour bad breath. She whispered, “I know where you were. You were at Hayley Marx’s apartment. You were fucking her, weren’t you? So why didn’t you just come out and say, ‘I was at Hayley Marx’s apartment,
fucking
her!’ Huh? Why didn’t you just say that?”

Oliver felt his face go hot. He chuckled and shrugged,
his eyes darting about the room. “Okay. I was out fucking Hayley Marx.”

She threw back her hand and smacked him across the face. “You
bastard! You fucking asshole bastard
!” She slapped him again, catching his nose against the palm of her hand. Immediately blood began to pour from his nostrils. Instead of deterring her actions, it heightened them. She slammed her fist into his shoulder. Then she started pummeling him. Punching him until it made her hands hurt; he made no effort to block her jabs. “
You filthy, rotten son of a bitch
—”

The phone rang, shocking her into passivity. Sobbing, she jumped back and hugged herself. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Scott. I’m so sorry, I’m so very sor—”

“It’s okay,” he croaked out, holding his hand over his nose. “Your phone’s ring—”

“I am so, so sorry—”

“Cindy, your phone—”

“Oh God, oh God, oh God—”

“Shhhh…”

“So sorr—”

“Quiet!” Oliver barked. “I’m trying to hear your machine…” He swabbed his bloody nose with his shirt. “It’s your dad. I’ll get—”

“No!” She grabbed his arm. “
No, no, no
!”

“He wants to know where you are—”

“
No
!” Cindy dug her nails into his arm. “If you tell him about this, then he’ll know I lied about the car.”

He yanked his arm away and rubbed his forearm. “What car? What are you talking—”

“I’ll have to tell him that the Camry was following me instead of me following it. And then he’ll know I lied. And he’ll never, ever trust…and I signed that statement—”

“
The Camry was tailing you
?” Oliver asked. “
You didn’t tell your father that there was a car tailing you
?”

“You don’t understand!” she wailed. “I couldn’t, Scott! I just couldn’t. If I did, he’d take over and—”

“Cindy, you’ve got to—”

“No!”

“Then let me—”

“No, no, no! You can’t tell him, Scott. You’ve got to promise me that you…just promise me—”

“Cindy, at this point, we have no choice—”

“Then he’ll know you’re here—”

“Cindy, I don’t fucking care if he knows I’m here. You
need
him, baby. As a matter of fact,
I
need him. I could do with a little professional input.”

“
You can’t tell him
!”

“
I’ve got to tell him
!”

Again she hauled back and attempted to slug him. But this time he grabbed her wrists. “Stop hitting me!”

“Let me go!” she screamed. “Let me go, let me…” Suddenly, she wilted against his chest and started sobbing—big, deep, uncontrollable wails. Oliver released his grip on her arms, then hugged her tightly.

“It’s okay!”

“It’s
not
okay!”

She was right. It wasn’t okay. He felt his skin prick with anger.
Who the fucking hell did this
? “I am so fucking
sorry
…” Again the phone rang. Oliver started, jumped back, breaking the contact. Sweating with a spasm in his right eyelid. Not to mention his nose, which was still leaking blood. Yet he could keep his voice controlled and even. “That has to be your dad again. He’s worried that you didn’t make it home. If you don’t tell him you’re okay, he’s going to call out the National Guard. Or, at the very least, come over here.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Cindy said.

“You’re in no state—”

“I’m
fine
! Just let me calm—” Three rings. “I can do it!” A fourth ring. Now or never. She picked up the bedroom receiver. “I’m fine. Stop worrying, Daddy.”

A long pause over the line. Then Decker said, “You don’t sound fine.”

“I’m tired.”

“It took you long enough to get home—”

Her voice cracked. “I drove slowly. Carefully. Just like you like.”

“Cindy, I know something’s wrong. If you don’t tell me—”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she shouted. “Nothing is wrong except you bugging me.”

“Cindy—”

“
Just leave me alone
!” She hung up with a loud thump. Her body was trembling as if grabbed by seizures. Then her head went light and her knees became weak. Short of breath, she succumbed to her panic and stress, buckling under her own weight. Oliver caught her, then wondered where to put her. Certainly not on the bed next to the shit: The entire fucking room was a stinking trash heap. He looped his arm under her shoulder, then picked her up, carrying her across-the-threshold style into her living room. He found a soil-free spot on her torn sofa and laid her down.

Predictably, the phone rang. Scott tiptoed over the trash and picked up the receiver. “It’s Oliver. She’s fine physically, but her place has been tossed and trashed. It’s bad. You’d better get over here.”

Decker was not one who was easily shocked. Still, it took him a couple of seconds to find his voice. “But she’s okay?”

“She’s okay. She wasn’t assaulted. She just came home and found her place wrecked.”

“Did she call the cops?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t, either.”

“Don’t. Wait till I get there. You need evidence bags?”

“Lots.”

“I’m out the door.”

Oliver heard the line break. He hung up the receiver. That was Deck to a tee. Whatever he was thinking, he was way too much the pro to start asking questions.

When Decker knocked
on the door, it opened by itself, revealing a slice of jaundiced light. Using his handkerchief, he pushed the wooden barrier and exposed the mess, eyes attempting to process the disgust and violation. But his rage interfered—deep, primal
rage
!

“Careful where you step,” Oliver said to him. “I haven’t gone over any of this.”

“Where is she?” Decker’s voice came out a growl.

“Taking a bath.” Oliver sneaked a sidelong glance at his boss; Deck looked glazed, eyes frozen and without light. “I told her to soak for a while. She had a Polaroid camera, so I took pictures and drew sketches before I wiped down the tub. The bathroom snapshots and sketches are on the mantel. Next to the figurines—which someone arranged in obscene positions.”

Decker stepped inside and shut the door. He didn’t go over to the mantel. Instead, he honed in on Oliver. Scott wore gloves and a face mask. When he saw Decker staring at him, he removed the mask. “What?”

“You tell me,” Decker said.

“I got here around one-thirty. Apparently, she came home ten minutes earlier and found it like this.”

“Does she have any ideas about this?”

“I think she does, but we didn’t get that far.”

Choose your words carefully
, Decker told himself. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you…in this apartment.”

Oliver tried to appear casual. But sweat dotted his upper lip. “I was here with you and Marge a couple of nights ago asking her questions—”

“Oliver—”

“Once before that,” Oliver broke in. “I took her home from Bellini’s. You familiar with the place?”

“Should I be?”

“It’s a cops’ bar in Hollywood. When I went out to meet with Osmondson—to get Hollywood’s carjacking files—I saw her there. She was piling on the beers pretty heavily. When she got up to leave, she looked unsteady. I didn’t want her driving, so I drove her home. You can guess why I didn’t tell about it.”

Cindy had asked him not to
. Decker kept calm. “She was drunk?”

“Actually, she was more sick than anything else.”

“That’s not like her.” Although Decker realized that he knew little about his daughter’s personal life. “Was she upset about something?”

Oliver shrugged. “She’s the new kid on the block and Hollywood’s a tough division…very established in the old school. Hard place to break in. I’m sure she was upset about lots of things.”

“Was she getting flak from someone?”

“She’s young, she’s female, she’s smart, and she has a big mouth. I’m sure she’s getting lots of flak. Did she give me any specifics? No. I was simply the taxicab that night.”

Decker said, “Did she call you to come by tonight?”

“No, I just…happened to be in the area. I’d thought I’d stop by.”

No one spoke. The seconds dragged on, the silence more accusing than words. Oliver bumbled on.

“Marge called me around twelve-thirty. She told me about you three going out and investigating a Camry that went over a mountain cliff in Angeles Crest. Apparently, Cindy was tailing it and lost it somewhere up there.” He looked at Decker for confirmation.

“And?” Decker asked.

“Marge wanted us…meaning her and me…to go
out there tomorrow. Which is technically today. Since I dropped my date off around ten minutes from here, I thought I’d ask your daughter a couple of questions—”

“At one-thirty in the morning,” Decker said flatly.

“I saw the light on in her place. I figured she was up.” Oliver stuck his gloved hands in his pockets. “What are you asking me? Did I come here with designs? No, I didn’t. But even if I did, that isn’t any of your business.”

“On the contrary, my daughter’s welfare is very much my goddamn business—”

“I didn’t say goddamn—”

“It was implied.” Decker felt his fingers tighten into fists; an involuntary action because Scott was right. Cindy’s personal life was hers to mess up as she saw fit. As for Oliver, he wasn’t exactly a stand-up guy, but he’d always been out front. And he was here, in Cindy’s apartment, helping her out, sorting through the muck when he could have jumped ship using any one of a variety of excuses. Still, Decker couldn’t let go, his voice ripe with anger. “You know anything about this?”

“Not a clue,” Scott shot back. “Why the hell would I know anything?”

Decker could barely refrain from punching him. “Stop being defensive. I just thought maybe she told you something she hasn’t told me.”

Beneath his solid fury, Decker sounded hurt. Oliver said, “Actually, she did babble out that the Camry was following her and not the other way aroun—”

“Good grief!” Decker slumped against the wall, feeling a mixture of hot indignation and failure. “God Almighty, I
wish
she would have told me that. It certainly puts a different perspective on the situation.”

Oliver said, “Look, can we leave aside the personal garbage for a moment and concentrate on the crime scene—”

“I never did like you.”

“I don’t like you, either,” Oliver said. “I think you’re arrogant and smug and egotistical and full of yourself because you had the dumb luck to marry a beautiful young
woman who you blindsided into thinking you’re someone you’re not. And you probably think I’m a superficial, callous, badly behaved, pathetic, aging baby boomer with an unhealthy obsession with youth and young girls in particular. But I’m a good cop and so are you. Can we move on now?”

“Go on.”

“You can’t tell at first glance…well, at least, I couldn’t tell at first glance.” Oliver looked around the room. “There’s a lot of mess, but not much actual damage. Her expensive things made it through without a hitch.”

“Not the couch.”

“Even the couch isn’t totally demolished. It’s ripped, but nothing that couldn’t be handled with a strong needle and thread. Her TV’s whole. Even the remote works. I know ’cause I tried it. Her stereo’s intact. Her jewelry’s all there—”

“It wasn’t a robbery,” Decker stated. “So what was it?” For the first time, he took in the room like a cop. “Looks like someone was looking for something. She hint at that?”

“Not to me.” Oliver’s head did a one-eighty turn about the room. “It’s something personal, Deck. Take a look at the figurines on the mantel.”

Decker did a two-step around the fallen picture frames and broken shards of glass, Hannah’s little face peering out as if trapped in a fish tank. Without thinking, he picked it up and pocketed it. Then, with hesitancy, he went over to the fireplace.

Cindy had always collected animal figurines. What sat on the ledge of her mantel constituted only a portion of her menagerie. Some pervert had turned it into a bestial orgy. Pigs atop pigs, missionary style. Horses humping one another from the back, two cows nosing the butt of another. Typical animal behavior actually, except the way it had been set up, it was anything but innocent.

“Creative sort.” Decker was fuming, but he managed to keep his voice even. “More original than writing threatening words in lipstick on the bathroom mirror.”

Oliver stopped what he was doing. “Did you ever come across anything like that?”

“No.”

“Me, either. He did leave a calling card; shit on Cindy’s mattress.”

Decker stared at him. “Shit metaphorically or literal shit?”

“Literal.”

“Good Lord!” Decker grimaced. “Human?”

“I’m no shit expert, but I’m thinking canine variety. I bagged it and took it outside because it was stinking up the place.”

“That’s damage.” Decker rubbed his forehead. “Disgusting damage but not expensive damage. Someone wanting to frighten her. My poor little baby.” He suddenly felt old, as if his life had been an erosion of years, wearing him down like tides against the mountains. Studying Oliver, Decker realized he was just as weary. He wondered if Cindy’s vibrant youth only emphasized to Scott his own steady, inescapable march toward death.

Oliver stroked his chin as if he needed a shave. “Anyway, I didn’t powder anything for prints. You have a print kit?”

“In the trunk. I’ll do what I can, but eventually we should call in some techs. We should give Cindy the courtesy of letting her know our plans.”

“Good idea. I left a checklist for the bedroom on the dresser,” Oliver said. “You want me to call Marge?”

“Let her be with her daughter.” Suddenly, Decker squinted and frowned. “What the hell happened to your nose?”

Gingerly, Oliver touched his face. “Your daught—Cindy got mad at me. Actually, it was more like she was angry with this and took it out on me. That’s okay. I knew where she was coming from.”

Decker winced. “Does it hurt?”

“Hell, yeah, it hurts. Cindy’s strong. She punches like she means it.”

Wearing her fuzzy pink bathrobe, Cindy trudged out of the bathroom, her feet housed in slippers with soles that scuffled against the floor. She stopped when she saw her dad, unsure of how to engage him. She tried out a smile, but it quickly faded, settling for a dispirited “Hi.”

Decker felt his heart tighten; she looked so young and vulnerable. Her hair was hidden under a mound of piled towel, her face colorless and devoid of expression. Decker put down an evidence bag, noting his daughter’s gaze fixed on the mess in her room, part of the walls dusted with black ink. “What can I do for you?”

“Find any latents?”

“Nothing so far. Oliver and I are thinking about calling in some techs—”

“Sure, let the whole world know I’m a total boob.”

Decker tried to figure out his next move. “So what would you like to do?”

“Is burying my head in an oven an option?”

Decker approached her as one nears a wounded animal. He stopped in front of her. “Can I give you a hug?”

“Sure, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Will it make you feel better?”

“Dad, I think I’m beyond kissing the boo-boo.”

Decker hugged her anyway. “I love you, princess.”

She lay against his chest, her posture stiff and unyielding. “I love you, too.”

“We’ll get through this—”

“Wrong.” She pushed out of the embrace. “
I’ll
get through this. I’m going through it. Not you.”

He knew she was distraught, but how could he comfort her if she refused his overtures? Ironically, it seemed that the more sensitive he was, the more she pounced, interpreting his tenderness as a weakness. If being gentle wasn’t going to work, he might as well be himself. “I’ll need to ask you some questions.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“This time you’ll have to be honest.”

“Not a problem.”

But Decker wasn’t sure about that.

Cindy said, “Thanks for taking the shit off my bed.”

“Oliver did it.”

“Let’s hear it for Scott’s hidden altruism. Rah, rah—”

“Why don’t we go in the living room—”

“More like my former living room.” She took off the towel. Waves of rust-tinged hair tumbled to her shoulders. “Is St. Scott still here?”

Decker nodded.

“Maybe I should get dressed then,” Cindy said. “Ah, forget it. No need to stand on formalities. He’s seen me faint, he’s seen me drunk, he’s seen me barf…more like heard me barf. I suppose he filled you in.”

“He didn’t get into specifics. You don’t have to, either.”

“Just trying to be honest. I’m a real pain in the butt for you, aren’t I?”

Decker put his arm around his daughter. “I love you. Stop diluting that fact with self-pity.”

“Viewing the current circumstances, I think my self-pity is excusable.”

“Indeed.” Decker guided her into the living room. Cindy’s eyes jumped about, surveying the mess. “It’s not as bad as I remember. I think St. Scott cleaned up.” She shouted, “Hey, Oliver. Is janitorial work part of the job description?”

From the kitchen Oliver shouted back, “I don’t do windows, but I do do coffee. You want some?”

“Do I have a coffeepot left?” Cindy asked.

“You do.”

“Do I have coffee?”

Oliver opened the fridge, then wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “I’d say the ripper left about half a bag of Peet’s for you.”

“I’d love some coffee,” Decker said.

“It’s regular, not decaf,” Cindy answered.

“That’s all right,” Decker said.

“It’s more than all right. At this hour in the morning, it’s a necessity.” Oliver poured tap water into her still-standing
coffeemaker. “Besides, I’ve been known to exist days without sleep. Although, I suppose being in a drunken stupor could be considered a subcategory of sleep.”

Cindy smiled and leaned against her father. Decker hugged her shoulders. “Sit down, sweetheart.”

“Where? My couch is a mess.” Cindy looked around and settled atop an intact, upholstered arm of her couch, her limp hands settling into her lap. “The floors are cleaner. What’d you do with all the garbage?”

“Bagged it.” Oliver came back into the living room. “Your dad and I will sift through it later on. Marge’ll probably help out as well.”

“Does she
have
to know about this?” Cindy moaned.

“Cin, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t bring this on,” Decker said. “The more heads we have working for us, the better off we all are.”

“As long as you don’t call in Culver City police. This is still my place and I have the right
not
to report it—”

“What if it’s some serial burglar or rapist?” Decker said. “It’s your obligation—”

“If you really think that’s what
this
is, then call them up. And if you do that, then don’t ask me any more questions about Armand Crayton. Besides, Crayton’s been dead for over a year. I don’t see how this could have
anything
to do with him.”

“Then why’d you bring him up?” Decker said.

“
I don’t know
!” She shook her head. “You said I didn’t bring this on. But I keep thinking that maybe I
did
bring this on…that maybe I offended someone.”

Oliver said, “Like who?”

“That’s a problem,” Cindy said. “I offend lots of people.”

Decker took out his notebook. “I know you have suspicions. You’ve been troubled for a while.”

“That was just self-centered angst. Up until now I never felt troubled about being in
physical
danger.”