Stalker (33 page)

Crazy like a fox
, Cindy thought. “You don’t seem so upset by it.”

“I’m not. And it turned out to be a good thing. Because my little plot actually bisects key parts of Dex’s quarry. Makes it very hard for him to get from point A to point B without trespassing on it.”

“He’s offered you a premium price for it, then.”

“Many times, Cindy, many times. But I don’t believe in gouging the man. Instead, I just charge him a
tiny
bit of money every time he crosses my land.”

“Just a tiny bit.”

“A tiny, tiny bit,” Harper said.

“How many times does he cross your land a day?”

“’Bout two hundred.” Harper burped. “Those tiny bits do add up.”

“Aren’t the others resentful?”

“Mebbe a few. More are impressed with my real estate savvy.” He took his feet off the table. “Are you impressed?”

“Yes, I am.” Cindy looked at the ceiling, then said, “You wouldn’t, by any chance, have a list of Crayton’s investors…would you?”

“If I had a list, that would be a confidential thing, young lady.”

Cindy looked at Harper, but said nothing.

Harper said, “Course we could negotiate a price.” His smile widened. “And it doesn’t have to be money.”

Cindy said, “What do you have in mind?”

“I could relax my impeccable standards for…say, a quick blow job.”

Cindy pulled out her badge. “You’ve just solicited a police officer.”

Harper’s grin remained in place, but it lost its wolfish leer. “Ah, you can do better than that, Cindy Decker. We both know you have no authority here.”

“I could still make trouble for you, Elgin.”

“Nah, you don’t understand the system.” Harper got up. “I got
friends
in the department.”

Cindy supposed that was true enough. She moved in close, then gave him a peck on the cheek. She whispered, “Please?”

“Give me tongue and we might have a deal.”

“Elgin, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for your infarct.” She beamed. “Be a love and help me.”

Harper sneered. “I suppose it won’t create much of a problem if you take a quick peek at it here in the office.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We’re back to ‘sir,’ are we? I liked it better when you called me Elgin. You know why I’m doing this for you? You didn’t wrinkle your nose at my cigar. City folks can stuff pounds of cocaine up their noses, but a little tobacco smoke riles them into hysteria. You’re okay, Cindy Decker. You know how to work people.”

“Why thank you, Elgin. It was very kind of you to say that.”

Harper yanked out a drawer from his ancient file cabinet. It squeaked when it opened. “I’ll have to get organized one day.”

“What for?” Cindy asked. “You seem to know your way around your paperwork.”

“More or less.” Harper rooted through sheaves of multicolored papers—yellow, pink, white, blue-lined paper, graph paper,
newspaper
. It was a total mess. But a minute later, victory was his. “Here we go.” He handed her the list
and looked at his wall clock. “I’ll give you thirty seconds, young lady. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough, Elgin.” Cindy gave the list a quick once-over. She didn’t even need the thirty seconds. Since the names were in alphabetical order, Richard Bederman was placed almost at the top.

Having the information
but not knowing what to do with it. Yes, Rick Bederman had been one of the investors from the ill-fated Desert Bloom Estates, but Cindy had nothing to connect him to any crime. And why would Bederman, more than anyone else on the list, enact revenge on Crayton and Bartholomew? Lastly, what, if anything, did that have to do with her recent problems?

It was after seven, dark by the time she got home. She pulled into her outdoor parking space and checked her rearview mirror before she unlocked the door. All was quiet. She quickly got out of the car and climbed up the two flights of stairs to her unit. But before she went inside, she checked the bottom of her door. She had strung a tress of her hair from the edge of the door to the frame. It was still there and that was encouraging. Unlocking the door, she stepped into the living room, then bolted the lock. To her delight, the place was undisturbed. Even the magazine she had left on the coffee table was still open to the same page—a Lexus advertisement. Things were looking up.

She put on a pot of decaf and checked her phone messages. The longest one was from Mom telling her how much she’d enjoyed dinner and would like to do it again when Cindy
had more time
to stay and chat awhile. That was okay. Mom’s complaints were normal, and normal was good. There were other communications including two from Scott (
Hi, how are you? Are you okay? Things are going well. Call
.), two from Dad (
Just tell me you’re
okay
!), and one from Hayley Marx (
Call when you get a minute
). There had also been several hangups. Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t have given them a second thought, but the events of the past week had magnified every seemingly potential threat.

What she should have done was return the calls to assure everyone that she was okay. But she was entirely spent, most of the fatigue coming from a lack of nutrition. The doughnut from the Belfleur coffee shop had done little to tide her over. Perhaps after dinner she’d have more energy to make chitchat.

She made a sliced smoked turkey sandwich with tomato and lettuce, smearing on generous amounts of mustard and mayo. Putting down the place mat, she set up a table for one, tucking the napkin under the flatware. She swiped the countertop while the espresso bean blend was brewing away, leaking its heavenly aroma. When the coffee was ready, she sat down for a solo dinner. She was becoming a regular domestic animal, and this made her happy. Just last week, she was feeling sorry for herself. Now she was thrilled with the privacy and the ordinariness of the situation: eating dinner unmolested.

She was ravenous, each bite awakening her taste buds. She forced herself to eat slowly, to savor the moment. After she was done, she wiped her mouth, cleared the dishes, and then treated herself to a glass of white wine for dessert—an imported Vouvray given to her by an old high school friend after she graduated from the academy. It was lemony and light. As she sipped her drink, she washed her dish, her cup, her fork and knife. When she had finished with supper, she took out a piece of paper and a pencil, then sat down at the table, and began making diagrams—the who, what, and where.

No matter how she mutated the possibilities, she kept coming back to the same obvious conclusion: After Bederman got burned, he kidnapped and killed Crayton for revenge, and carjacked Dex’s wife to pawn her Ferrari and recover some of his lost money from the Desert Bloom project. What would make a person go to such extremes?

Theory A: Bederman invested all his money with Crayton and was now broke. He needed cash to survive.

Rebuttal: If Bederman was going to resort to crime to solve his financial problems, there were ways for a cop to get instant money—lean on a dealer or a pimp or, like Scott said, just skim a couple of ounces from the supply room. Far easier methods than kidnapping a prominent citizen’s wife for ransom. But maybe because of the scandals, lots of cops were looking over their shoulders. Maybe the supply room wasn’t an option anymore.

Theory B: He not only wanted the money, he wanted to teach Crayton and Dexter Bartholomew a lesson.

Rebuttal: Murder is one hell of a lesson, not to mention tricky business. Especially knocking off someone like Crayton. Armand’s life and finances were bound to be scrutinized, meaning the Desert Bloom fiasco would come out. But, then again, just
how much
would really come out? Because here she was—a novice—finding out things that the original teams hadn’t. True, it could be that at the time of Crayton’s murder, the people in Belfleur hadn’t been so forthcoming. Perhaps they had been so overwhelmed or scared by the killing that they had hidden, forgotten, or repressed crucial information. Certainly, Cindy couldn’t picture Elgin Harper just handing over the list of investors. She had gone in a year after the murder. By then, people felt safer talking.

But since there was no statute of limitations on murder, the killer could always be brought to justice. The killer would always be fair game. Bederman would know that. Would he be willing to take that big a risk, seeking revenge while knowing he could be hauled in at any moment?

Theory C: Bederman wanted the money, wanted to teach Crayton and Dex a lesson,
and
he didn’t care about the risk. Again, her thoughts kept coming back to all the recent scandals. The phony setups with cops thinking they’re above the law because they put their asses on the line every night. So what if they pick up a little drug money, or grab a little hooker pussy, or pocket a little graft to look the other way
just this one time
.

Bederman could have been one of those. And maybe he had thought he beat the system, because the crime was still unsolved an entire year later. But there was a kicker. None of the big-time spender shtick seemed to apply to Bederman. So far as
she
knew, he hadn’t been taking any expensive vacations, or bought any designer duds, or leased any fancy cars. His idea of recreation was drinking at cop bars after work or Sunday barbecues, watching the game with the guys. As for mistresses, Bederman didn’t need money to get a woman on the side. There was a subspecies of the feminine sex who gravitated toward anything in power and/or in a uniform.

She doodled on her paper, making swirls and whirls, doing her name in bubble letters. She felt like a kid struggling to write an in-class essay.

Did
Bederman have a woman on the side? Was that why he changed to the night shift? Lark had mentioned an ace in the hole. Scott felt that Bederman was as good a candidate as any.

She needed help in sorting out the information. She needed Scott or Marge or Dad. They’d know what to do with the data. But that would mean explaining to them how she
got
all this information. Not that she did anything illegal, but she was still uncomfortable about it. She was supposed to be working as a uniform cop, not as a detective.

The flip side was that Crayton was
Dad’s
unsolved case. She’d be doing him a big favor, giving him the information, not to mention the possibility of reeling in a dirty cop.

The door knocker interrupted her thoughts, the loud thumping making her jump. She sprang up, and peered through the peephole, shocked to be looking at Rick Bederman’s face. Panic swelled in her body as she gave him a curt “Just a minute.”

Had he followed her home?

No, she was
sure
he hadn’t. She’d checked. She’d
checked
!

Quickly, she picked up her notes and stuffed them into the kitchen drawer. Then she took out her gun, gripping it tightly in her hand. She forced herself to inhale, then
exhale slowly. She did unlatch the bolt, but kept the chain on when she opened the door.

“What do you want?”

Bederman seemed annoyed. “Uh, can I come in, please?”

Instantly, Cindy sized up her options, deciding that fear not only lowered her Q as a cop, but also immediately stamped her with a big V for victim. She couldn’t allow him to see her as a victim. She took off the chain and swung open the door, trying to appear peeved but casual at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

Bederman’s eyes fell to her gun. “Planning on shooting someone?”

“Hope not.” She stepped away from the threshold. “Come in.”

Bederman walked into her living room, his eyes still on her revolver. Finally, he glanced around, his gaze settling on a lone spring poking out of her sofa cushion. “I think you need new furniture.”

“My furniture was fine until someone vandalized my apartment this weekend.”

Bederman’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding!”

“No, I’m not. Have a seat.”

“Is that why you’re holding your piece?”

“Probably. At the moment, I’m not a trusting person.”

“You opened the door for me.”

“Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

Bederman smiled. He wore a tweed jacket over a white shirt and jeans. Cowboy boots on his feet. “Take it easy. You sound very uptight.”

“I call it businesslike. What can I do for you, Officer Bederman? You’re still welcome to sit down, you know.”

Bederman stalled, then finally sat down on one of her chairs. More like sank into it. He placed his hands underneath his neck, and spread his legs wide open. Like he expected a blow job. But his face was tense. “I didn’t come here to make time with you.”

Silence. Cindy waited for the explanation.

“Actually, I came here because I wanted to…you know, dispose you of that idea.”

Dispel
, Cindy thought. Or maybe he did want to dispose her. She remained silent.

Bederman leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m a confident person. I come on strong. Too strong, some say.” He unbuttoned his jacket, showing her his filled holster. “I was talking to Graham this afternoon—”

“At your barbecue?”

“Yeah, how’d you…oh, you heard me and Tim talking last night.”

Cindy nodded.

“Yeah, it was at the barbecue. Graham was there. I somehow got to telling him about what I told you…about Hayley Marx making mistakes…and that you shouldn’t make those mistakes.” He scratched his nose. “Graham told me that what I said…it could leave you with the wrong impression.”

“Meaning?”

Bederman gnashed his teeth, causing his cheeks to bulge. “Meaning that I got a solid marriage and I want to keep it that way. I don’t want any rumors that could be of the nasty kind.”

“Most rumors are nasty.”

“Yeah. Right. Anyway, I’d like it if you’d just forget about what I said. I’m the first to admit that it wasn’t very smart of me to talk like that.”

“Far as I’m concerned, it’s forgotten.”

Bederman fidgeted. “All right. Good. Forgotten. Not that I think I did anything wrong…just that I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Cindy stood up. “I know what you mean. You can go now. Mission accomplished.”

Slowly, Bederman got to his feet. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“Bederman, I don’t know you well enough to dislike you. And right now, I’m distrustful. Do you blame me?”

“Nope.” Bederman buttoned his jacket. “You don’t think
I
did anything, do you?”

Cindy’s lie was smooth. “Why in the world would I think
you’d
be responsible for trashing my apartment?”

“Just that you’re still holding the gun.”

She looked at her piece. “Figured I might as well clean it. Nothing better to do.”

“Well, I’d better be getting back.” But he didn’t move. “Any ideas about the perp?”

“Some.”

“You want to talk about it? I might be able to help. I’ve been at this kind of thing much longer than you have.”

Establishing his superiority
. If she rejected him, he’d take it personally.
Change the subject, idiot
! “Who won, by the way?”

Bederman made a face. “What are you talking about?”

“The game. Weren’t you guys watching the Sunday Dodgers’ game?”

“Yeah, we were. The Dodgers won. Why are you asking? You got money riding on it?”

“Wish I did because the spread would have been great. I can’t believe they actually won. They must have had an enormous lead because they always blow their lead.”

“They were ahead six-nothing until McGwire hammered a bases loaded into right field at the bottom of the seventh. Then they put in this new kid from the bullpen. Maybe they brought him up…I don’t know, a month ago from Albuquerque. Somehow, he managed to stall the opposition for the last two innings. Not that they didn’t get hits off of him. Just no runs.”

“Amazing.”

Bederman smiled. “You like baseball, Decker?”

“I take an interest in all the sports. It helps me keep up with the guys.”

“That’s important to you?” Bederman’s eyes held her straight on. “To keep up with the guys?”

Cindy kept her gaze steady. “I like to get along, Rick. Just ask Graham. You two are still real tight even after
your breakup. That’s not the usual. Know what it tells me? That you like to get along, too.”

“Sure I like to get along. But believe me, I can hold my ground. You don’t want to mess with me, ever.”

A veiled threat or was it just posturing
? “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Do that.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

But Bederman made no attempt to move. “See, with Graham, it was nothing personal. That’s why we still get along. It was nothing personal.”

“Good to hear—”

“It was no big deal, Cindy. My wife was working a demanding job with early hours, and I decided that I should be there in the morning for the kids. So I transferred to Night Watch. That way I could help while my wife was at work. You know, make ’em breakfast, take ’em to school. Kids have to have a father, too, you know.”

“I know. I adore my dad.”

Bederman stiffened. “That’s right. Your dad is a detective—lieutenant, right?”

Cindy nodded.
As if he hadn’t known
.

“Must be nice.”

“It doesn’t affect me, Bederman. I still get my fair share of shit. When did you sleep?”