Stalker (38 page)

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all—”

“
Now
you don’t think I’m stupid.”

Again, Cindy was quiet. She should have been trying to figure out a mode of escape. What to do if he pulls the car over, takes her for a walk in the woods, and plans to shoot her dead. Maybe she should think about how to fake a death or how to escape. Or maybe he’d push the car over the side railing and off the cliff with her in it. Maybe he’d
make the engine explode and burn her to a crisp. Thinking about those kinds of things filled her with panic and dread. Those kinds of things would make her lose control of her mind as well as her bladder and bowels. Right now, with a swollen face, a bullet graze wound at her temple,
and
aching sides and bound arms
and
feet, a split lip
and
being slightly high as well as nauseated, she didn’t want poop in her pants.

So instead, she thought about Tropper, trying to bring some logic to his demented thinking. Tropper had seen her talking to Scott. Scott and Dad were working the Crayton case. So Tropper must have thought that she was kissing up to him, trying to get information about him only to fink to her dad or Scott. But how in the world was she supposed to associate Tropper with Crayton in the first place?

Obviously, he thought she was on to him when she went to Belfleur. But his crazy thinking had started before the trek. He had admitted to being behind the Camry incident. No doubt, he vandalized her apartment.

But why would he think that she knew about him? Just because she was talking to Scott? Maybe that was enough for a guy as paranoid as Tropper.

Unless…
unless
Tropper had been the sniper a year ago. He had seen her with Crayton as they walked out of the gym.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

Almost where
? “Okay.”

“You know where we’re going, right?”

“Should I know?”

“Yeah, you should know, Decker. It’s his final resting place. I’m sure you’ve come here before to throw off some flowers or something.”

So she figured it out; good going, girl. Unfortunately being clever wasn’t going to help much right now. “He was never my boyfriend, sir. I know you thought that when you shot at us, but I swear to you he was just a friend. Not even a friend, Sergeant. He was more like an acquaintance. He was friendly to me like he was to every
one because he wanted money out of me, like he did out of everyone he met. I thought he was—”

She stopped herself. She wasn’t about to tell Tropper, who had invested his hard-earned cash with Crayton, that she knew better than to fall for Armand’s pitch. That she thought Armand a con man from the start.

“I didn’t have any money to invest with him. Eventually, he stopped being so friendly.”

Tropper’s laughter was hard and mean. “You expect me to believe you? He probably gave you a cut.”

“Sir, I wish he had. Unfortunately, all he gave me were half-truths and downright lies. I don’t care what Lark told you. I wasn’t his lover, thank God!”

“It wasn’t Lark.”

Cindy was quiet. “Lark didn’t hire you to shoot at us?”

“No.”

“Ah…” Cindy nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,
what
?” Tropper exclaimed.

“If it wasn’t Lark, it had to be Dexter Bartholomew. What did he have against Crayton? Was Crayton messing with Bartholomew’s wife?”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t a sore point because Bart was messing with Lark. Bart was pissed because Crayton had stolen the deposit money from escrow. Money that Bart was going to use for building and financing. But I think you know that.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” Cindy said. “Maybe I don’t want to know so much.”

“What difference does it make, Decker? You’re dead either way.”

The coldness in his voice shot ice water through her body. She shivered, but willed herself to keep going.
Above all, show no weakness
. To a guy like Tropper, weakness was probably an aphrodisiac. “I heard that Bartholomew actually made money on Belfleur because Crayton went bust. I heard that Bartholomew bought back the parcels at deep discount. It was Crayton who lost out.”

“You got it the wrong way, lady. Crayton bought back the parcels at deep discount.”

“Sergeant, Bartholomew owns the land down there,” Cindy said. “I know that for a fact.”

“Sure he owns the land,” Tropper said. “Now that Crayton’s dead, he owns the land. Crayton’s dying solved everybody’s problems. Lark would eventually get the insurance money, Bartholomew got his land, and I got my money back and then some.”

“By doing Bartholomew a couple of favors—”

“By doing everyone some favors. Crayton was a piece of shit. He deserved what he got.”

“Lark was in on his death?”

“We gave her a couple of choices. She could help out or she could die with him. She was more than happy to cooperate especially when Bart threatened to expose the affairs. It would make the cops very curious.”

“Affairs? As in more than one?”

“You surely can’t think that Bart was the only one.”

“Who else?”

“You tell me, Miss College Graduate!”

“Bederman?”

“Very good.”

“How about his partner?”

“Beaudry’s a straight arrow—”

“Not Beaudry. Sean Amory.”

Tropper smiled. “Yeah, that’s right. Bederman’s with Amory now. Yeah, he was screwing her—”

“How about yourself, sir? As a matter of fact…” Cindy tried to sit up, but of course, couldn’t move. “Didn’t you get a divorce about that time?”

Tropper didn’t answer.

Cindy smiled for the first time. “What happened, sir? Did she make some fancy promise to you that she couldn’t keep?”

Tropper turned around and punched her in the jaw. Cindy’s face exploded into thousands of tiny stars as pain shot through her head. Her and her big mouth…always getting her into trouble. But what the hell! Like Tropper said, she was dead anyway.

Being stubborn did
have its good points. Like when every pore of the body was in excruciating pain and the most sensible thing to do was to pass out cold. But Cindy refused to slip into the netherworld for much the same reason that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut—sheer force of mulish will. Tropper was screaming at her, but it was all one big aural blur since her head was ringing bells. Finally, he stopped talking. A few moments later, the tinnitus abated, and all that was left was her wracked body. Her bowels cramped and her bladder leaked, but she somehow kept rudimentary control over her basic functions.

His tantrum being over, he was now quiet. Cindy was silent because she couldn’t talk. Remarkably, she still could hear, and hear well. Slithering through the wilds of the mountainous roads for the last umpteen minutes, she analyzed the sounds of nature’s spooky orchestra—hooting, fluttering, whistling, and the occasional piercing howl that sent a shiver down her spine. There was also the car’s purring engine, which served as background noise. She had gotten used to the rhyme and rhythm, so she was shocked when she heard what she thought
might
be some distant mechanical rumblings. Something that
might
indicate another car in the mountains.

Her fantasies soared. Maybe, just maybe, Hayley Marx had followed her again! She became elated at the idea, although her rational side argued it was too much to hope for.

What would she have given to see that Mustang again?

Perhaps she was dreaming about the engines, her grip on reality rather tenuous at best. But then suddenly Tropper was squirming. Cindy could tell this because the back of the driver’s seat—which she had been staring at for the entire ride—was suddenly full of activity, moving as if the leather covering encased a living being.

And then the noises became…not loud, but
louder
.

“Shit!” Tropper announced.

So, he had heard something, too! Okay, Cindy thought. Someone was out there. But so what? Why should Tropper be worried? What harm could another car do to him, and what help could it give to her? She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move. Cars in the area were irrelevant.

The thought was utterly depressing!

But then she began to reason a bit.

The fact that Tropper had said, “Shit,” meant that he was concerned. So maybe he was seeing things he didn’t like. Like another…cop car?

Again her hopes flew upward.

After all, hadn’t she called Rina at around nine and told her that she’d be at her dad’s in around an hour? And when Cindy didn’t show up, wouldn’t Rina do something?

Of course, she’d do something!

Rina was all action! She would have called her dad! She would have called the police! She might have even gone out looking for her in her own car!

Oh my God! Cindy finally figured it out. Maybe someone was actually out there looking for her!

Through swollen lips, she mumbled, “Sir, do you have the time?”

“Shut up!” Tropper barked.

Be that way
! She’d figure it out for herself. She had stalled on the freeway around ten-thirty. Then Tropper showed up, they made scary chitchat, he ordered her in his car…she jumped the rail and ran from him. That had to have taken at least fifteen, twenty minutes. Then they had struggled. Maybe another twenty minutes. Eventually, he had knocked her out, tied her up, and dragged her into his
car. Figure a half hour for that. So maybe he hit the road again around eleven, eleven-thirty. They’d been driving for at least an hour, maybe longer. So it was probably around one-ish.

Yes, Rina would have done something by now. And definitely people would be out looking for her.

But why in this area? If they found her car on the 405 coming out to the Valley, why would they look for her here?

Then she thought some more, imparting reason to circuitous logic to keep her spirits up. Weren’t they near the area where the Camry went over the railing? Didn’t it make sense to look around here again?

She sure hoped it did!

She
prayed
it did!

The sounds became more distinct. They were car engines, and more than one of them. Cindy felt a lopsided smile spread across her face.
Knowing Dad, he had sent out the National Guard
.

“Shit!” Tropper exclaimed once again. “We’re going to have to speed things up!”

Oh God
, she thought.
I hope the bastard doesn’t shoot me on the spot
.

“This changes things.” Tropper paused. “But not too much.”

He took a sudden series of turns and soon Cindy could feel the vehicle bumping and bouncing. He had taken his car off-road, or at the very least onto an unpaved road.

Tropper said, “You ever go camping?”

She knew he was waiting for her to answer. She managed to slur the words out. “Yeah, I’ve been…camping.”

“I used to go camping all the time,” Tropper said. “That was when I still had a family. That was before Crayton and his cunt wife and all those dick people infected my life.”

Several silent seconds ticked by.

“Yeah, I went camping a lot,” Tropper said. “I know this place like the back of my hand.”

Goody gumdrops for you, she told herself. It wasn’t
common sense that prevented her from saying those words out loud. It was physical discomfort.

“We’re not too far away from it now,” Tropper said. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Cindy didn’t answer.

“The spot!” Tropper said. “Where the Corniche made its fateful plunge…how’d you like to join your boyfriend?”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Cindy muttered.

He turned around and peered down at her. Even in the dark, she could make out his big ugly face.

“What’s that you say?” Tropper said. “You’re not talking too good. Did I knock out your teeth?”

She ran her bloodied tongue over the tips of her incisors. They were not only ragged but also a bit shorter of length. Still, they were in her mouth and that counted for something.

“It would save me some work if I did knock them out,” Tropper said. “I’m gonna have to smash your face in. Otherwise, forensics will have something to work with. Don’t worry. I promise that you’ll be out after the first swing.”

The engine sounds had grown louder. That gave her courage.

She murmured, “Hard to smash me up when they’re out there looking for me.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah…” She tried to steady her breathing. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Tropper spoke calmly. “See, that’s why I took this baby off-road. Hell, they can look all they want. They’ll never find us.”

Oh yeah
? she thought.
They’ll find us
.

Please let them find us
!

But how? Being a lone car hidden in thousands of acres of woods, how in the
world
would anyone find them? Tropper’s car wasn’t very loud and they were deep in the bowels of the forest. She could tell by looking out the window. The foliage was as thick as fog.

Wait a minute!

Wait a friggin’ minute!

She could actually
see
the foliage! Which meant that Tropper was still driving with his lights on! A faint glimmer of hope, but one that she clung to. As he continued to drive, the car bounded as they traversed uneven road, its sides scratching against the thick brush as if someone were raking his nails against the blackboard. It gave her chills and that astounded her…that she still had any nerve endings left that weren’t causing her pain.

Tropper announced, “We’re just about there!”

Cindy’s heart slammed against her chest, her breathing quickened until she was almost choking. All this time, no matter how much she hurt, no matter how bleak the situation, she had never given dying an actual thought.

Now, as the car began to slow, mortality slapped her in the face!

This was it! She was going to die!

At last, her bladder gave way. The stream of warm liquid comforted her…that her body at least was still alive.

The car slowed—slowed, slowed, and then stopped! He turned off the motor and sat a moment. With his car engine shut down, all she heard were ambient forest voices and faraway rumblings.

So much dashed hope.

She heard the squeak of an opening car door. By the movement of the seat, she knew he was getting out. A moment later the back door opened. She had been pushed against it for so long she almost fell out of the newly expanded space.

He bent down until his face was atop hers, his dark eyes burning hellish holes in her own orbs, his smelly breath smothering her own. “Man, do you look fucked-up!”

Her bladder may have exploded, but she had enough rebelliousness left to keep her eyes dry.

“I’d like to say I’m sorry, Officer Decker,” Tropper commented, “but you’re a wiseass, and it’s just as well for it to end this way. You just hang on tight for a sec. I’ll be right back.”

She heard his footsteps crunch dry leaves as he walked.
A moment later, she heard the trunk pop. He took something out that lightened the load of the car. Then he walked back to her and held the object aloft.

It was a sledgehammer!

If there were an appropriate time to panic…to cry and beg and plead and make false promises, this would have been the perfect moment.

But stubbornness and a strange, ill-placed sense of dignity kept her quiet. Instead, she offered no resistance, feeling a strange calm come over her.

He waited, expecting her to do something, say something. When she didn’t, he said, “Because you’re a fellow officer…I won’t make you suffer.”

She muttered a serene thank-you, then closed her eyes and waited…and waited…and waited.

She opened her eyes. He was staring at her. What did he want?

What
did
he want?

Slowly, he raised the hammer, then after an interminably long second, he lowered the implement.

“I can’t get any leverage,” he grumbled. “If I do it in this small space, I might ruin the car. Not to mention make you suffer. I wanted to take you out in the first blow.” He tapped his foot. “Tell you what. If you promise not to run away, I’ll take you out of the car. And walk you over to a real pretty spot near the edge of the mountains. That way, you can leave this world while looking at this beautiful, starry sky.”

Cindy felt her lip tremble. She bit it back. “That sounds great.”

“I swear, Decker,” Tropper continued, “if you do run away, I’ll catch you. And then I will make it hurt.”

“I hear you, Sergeant.”

Again he waited a moment. “You sure are calm for someone who’s gonna die.”

“I’m pretty nervous inside, sir.”

“Well, you’re hiding it very well.” He reached over and untied her legs. In one swift movement, he dragged her out
and lifted her up, his hand grasping the ties that secured her hands behind her back. She felt her knees buckle under, but he held her erect by her bound hands. “I just gave you a compliment, Decker. You’re not going to go pussy on me now, are you?”

“Not on purpose, sir.”

“Stand up!”

She stood as erect as possible. “I’m ready, sir.”

“I like your style, Decker.”

“Thank you. Are you sure we can’t work out another solution?”

“I’m sure.” Tropper grasped her idle hands, still bound behind her back, and edged her forward. “Let’s go for a walk until we find a good spot.”

His grip wasn’t all that strong. For a moment, she thought about running. But how fast could her injured body take her? How far could she possibly get? He’d catch up, and be very mad. She really didn’t want to be maimed and tortured.

She must have been walking slowly, because he pushed her forward. This time, he was rough. Dried brush and twigs snapped beneath their feet. The sounds had been so distracting that it took a few seconds before they both heard it—the distinct thwack, thwack, thwack of faraway helicopter rotors. And she didn’t need a working knowledge of physics and the Doppler effect to know that the sound was growing rather than receding in loudness.

They looked up simultaneously. Three or four of them homing in on them.

How did they know?

The headlights! Cindy remembered. Not only had Tropper been
driving
with the headlights, he had parked with them
still
on, never bothering to shut them off. Cindy could see them in the distance, shining like Moses’ rays.

“Shit!” Tropper screamed.

Opportunity had knocked, and Cindy took advantage. Instantly, she sprinted forward. Tropper darted after her, his long stride overtaking her in a matter of seconds. He
leapt forward, grabbing her by her hands, but his unsteady balance made him slam into her body, causing them to stumble and fall. Quickly, he got to his feet, raised the sledgehammer, and slammed it down. She rolled to her side, missing the impact by a fraction of an inch. The swing of the heavy maul had caused him to pitch forward, giving her just enough time to get back on her feet and tear off. Again he caught her, yanking her back by the collar of her clothes, nearly choking her. But by this time, the helicopters had closed in on them, shining their search beams on the ground, lighting up the darkened area like a night shoot on a set.

Cindy allowed herself a half smile as Tropper looked up and let out a string of obscenities. If the sergeant had been a smart man, he would have dropped her and saved his own skin by making a dash to the car. Instead, he tightened his grip on her and tried to run
with her
back to the car. Since she didn’t have much strength to resist him—and fearing that if she did, he’d pound her unconscious—she let her body go slack, knowing that her dead weight would slow him down even further, hoping he would figure out to drop her!

But he didn’t. Instead he cursed her and kicked her limp legs. “Get up!
Get up
! GET UP!” Seeing that his screams had no effect on her behavior, Tropper looped his arms around her waist, squeezed, and towed her back, dragging her legs against the hard, rough ground. Cindy felt her clothing rip, the skin of her calves being scraped raw and red. But his movements were slow and ungainly, giving the air units time to zero in on them, hoping they would stand out like a pimple on a porcelain complexion.