Riptide

twenty-four

At home, she reviewed her notes from the interview with Sandra Price. She detached the pages from her notepad and spread them across the living room floor, organizing the cases by type: homicides, assaults, disappearances. The first homicide was eighteen months ago. That was around the time Richard stopped driving and sold his car. He had retreated into his apartment, or so she’d believed. But maybe not. Maybe even then he had started riding the bus or walking the streets.

But was it possible for someone without a car to carry out a series of attacks in different parts of town?

Of course it was. Edward Hare never had a car in London, and he’d done just fine. The Devil’s Henchman was believed to have traveled on foot, as well.

A man dripping with blood could hardly board an MTA bus. But these crimes weren’t bloody. Mary Ellison was dropped with a blow from a blunt instrument. Elizabeth Custer was strangled. Marilyn Diaz was asphyxiated by a plastic bag.

She still didn’t think the Diaz case was related. The other two were more worrisome, as were the assault on Ann Powell and the disappearance of Chatty Cathy.

It was possible that all four women were victimized by the same assailant. But nothing definite linked the cases. At times she almost thought she saw a pattern….

The phone shrilled. Richard could be calling again. She snatched the handset from the cradle on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Maura’s voice.

“Oh…it’s you.”

“You know, with greetings like that, a girl could get the feeling she’s not wanted.”

“Sorry. I’m kind of distracted.”

“Just messin’ with you. By the way, our surfer busboy hangs ten in the sack. And I mean that literally. I measured.”

Despite everything, Jennifer laughed.

“That’s it,” Maura said, “chortle at my love life.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it love.”

“It’ll do till the real thing comes knocking. Look, I just got a call from Harrison. He would’ve called you, but he misplaced your number. Which is typical. He can remember every detail of the Hillside Strangler case, but not where he left his car keys.”

“Why did he want to reach me?” she asked warily.

“Why the note of suspicion?”

“It’s just-I’m not sure I want to see him again.”

“You’re kidding. He’s a hoot.”

“I think by the end of our interview he was trying to feel me up.”

“Oh, sure, he’s a lech. But harmless. Anyway, this wasn’t a booty call. Whatever you told him got his curiosity piqued. He did some research and found disappearances of local gals in the right time frame.”

“Really?”

“He’ll be at the TV studio from eleven to two, taping his show. Said you should stop by, and he’ll hand over the goods. Be warned, through. He’ll probably grill you for more info. He’s like a bloodhound on a scent.”

Or a shark in the water, Jennifer thought. “What studio does he work at?”

“Some independent facility at Sunset and Cahuenga. If you don’t mind, I’d like to tag along. I want to see what Harrison’s found.”

“Okay. I’ll head over. But there’s a stop I have to make first.”

“Anyplace exciting?”

“Richard’s apartment.”

“To check on him?”

“Not exactly. He’s…well, he’s run away. I think he’s living on the street.”

“Then why are you going to his place?”

“There’s something of his I need to look at. Family papers. I’m hoping he keeps them there.”

“You have a key to his apartment?”

“No, he’s too paranoid to share. But I can get the manager to open up. At least I hope I can.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making people cooperate. The manager will be happy to let you in when I’m through with him.”

Jennifer gave her the address, hearing a sad little sigh. Maura had recognized it as an address in Dogtown, of course, and if Richard was living there, it meant he had fallen farther than she’d feared.

“You know, kiddo, I understand your feelings and all, but you do spend a hell of a lot of time looking after your brother.”

“And you think I shouldn’t?”

“I’m just saying family loyalty is not a suicide pact. At some point you have to live your life.”

Jennifer felt something inside her pull tight. “What do you know about loyalty? You abandoned Richard as soon as he started having problems.”

“Whoa, hold on.”

“I guess it wasn’t convenient for you to be with him anymore. His illness was cramping your style. What the hell, there are always more busboys to fuck.”

“Calm down, Jen. You don’t know what went on between your brother and me.”

“I know you walked out on him.”

“It’s not as if he didn’t give me a good reason.”

“What reason?”

“Look, I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”

“Are you saying he abused you?” Until this moment the idea had never occurred to her.

“He never hit me, but…”

“But what?”

“There are other kinds of abuse.”

“What does that mean?”

“Why don’t we talk about it when we get together? That is, if you want to talk about it at all.”

The words lingered in Jennifer’s mind as she fixed breakfast, showered, and changed. She checked yesterday’s mail and found two business matters that required her urgent attention. She ignored them.

She was on her way out when the doorbell rang. Casey, in his street clothes.

“Hey.” She smiled, hoping his resentment had ebbed by now. “Shouldn’t you be at work? Or is this your day off?”

He didn’t return the smile. “I’m working the mid-PM watch. Ten to six-thirty.”

“Come on in.”

“No, thanks, Short Stuff. I don’t think I’m very welcome in your house.”

“Casey, I already apologized. And don’t call me Short Stuff.”

“I’m just here on business. Got two pieces of news. One good, one not so good.”

She felt awkward, talking to him on the porch. “Give me the not-so-good first.”

“The forensic anthropologist under contract with the county is away till tomorrow. Digging up Indian burial grounds or something.”

“I didn’t think you were allowed to do that.”

Casey shrugged, irritated. “I don’t know what the hell he’s digging up. I just know he’s out of town. Can you stand another night with a cellar full of bones?”

“Guess I’ll have to.”

“It won’t be so bad. You’d rather sleep with the skeletons than with me, right? Isn’t that how you put it?”

“I was joking.”

“Sure you were. Okay, the good news. We got a break in the Diaz case. And before you ask, yes, your document analysis, or whatever the hell it is you do, played a role. It got Draper looking at the people who worked in Diaz’s office complex.”

“Who’s the suspect?”

“Mortgage broker. He came on to Marilyn a few times and she blew him off. Her coworkers forgot about it till Draper started asking questions. Best guess is she assumed the note was from him and didn’t take it seriously. He’s a nerdy little guy, seems harmless. But here’s the thing. He was convicted in Phoenix six years ago on a stalking charge. Another office situation.”

The suspect dovetailed with her analysis. He worked in a financial field and was rejected after making a romantic advance. “Has he been charged?”

“No, but we’re leaning on him. He says he’s being railroaded because of his prior. That’s what they always say.”

“So we don’t know for sure he’s the guy?”

“Draper thinks it’s a pretty safe bet.”

“I saw Draper last night. He didn’t mention any of this to me.”

“We were waiting for the guy’s records to come in from out of state.”

“He still could have said something.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or maybe he wasn’t thrilled about you hanging out with Sandra Price. I saw you leave the gym with her. Two gal pals chatting it up.”

“I live in this community, Casey. I have a right to take an interest in local affairs.”

He produced a noncommittal grunt. “How’d you hook up with Draper, anyway?”

“We didn’t exactly hook up. I ran into him at the restaurant where Sandra and I were eating.” She didn’t say she thought Draper had followed them, spied on them. It sounded like something Richard would say.

Casey gave her a hard stare. “You two are getting pretty close, I guess.”

“I hardly know Sandra Price.”

“I meant you and Draper.”

“Oh. Close?” She thought of the impromptu kiss on the sidewalk. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”

Another grunt. “Well, my advice, you might want to keep your distance. Roy’s a good cop, but he has issues.”

“Everybody has issues.”

“His might be more serious than most. His girlfriend-well, maybe I shouldn’t be talking out of school.”

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

He snagged his thumbs in his belt loops. “Okay, it’s like this. When Draper broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago, he told everybody it was the usual story-he’s a workaholic, no time for her, blah blah. But I’ve got a friend in Devonshire who has a different take.”

“Why would a Valley cop know anything?”

“Because Draper’s girlfriend lives in the Valley. One night she calls nine-one-one, reports a domestic abuse incident. Responding unit finds her with a black eye and a bloody nose. Draper’d smacked the shit out of her.”

“You’re saying Roy is violent?” It seemed impossible. Yet she remembered the surprise of his touch as he pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. A romantic impulse, she’d thought. Or was it? A move like that could be seen as controlling, even aggressive.

“It’s not the first time the issue has come up,” Casey said. “When he was working patrol, there were excess force complaints. Of course, anybody can throw a brutality charge. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But sometimes where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“His personnel records are confidential. And the girlfriend didn’t press charges. The officers had the impression she was afraid of Draper. Of course, him being a fellow cop, they weren’t too keen on bringing him up on charges anyway, so they probably didn’t push very hard.” He paused, then added with a note of finality, “She and Draper broke up right after that.”

“I find this pretty hard to believe.”

“Why? Because Draper’s never hit you? You’re not his girlfriend.”

“He just doesn’t come across…”

“As a guy who’d beat up a woman? Can’t always tell about people. You know that. You deal with enough threat messages from guys who seem normal.”

“Yes. I do.” She was thinking of the quiet schoolmaster, Edward Hare.

“Anyway, just wanted to give you a heads-up. Draper’s a good guy and all, for the most part, but maybe not the best person to get close to.”

“I haven’t gotten close to him. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your undies in a knot. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Well, quit it.” She was tired of being told who she could talk to. “I can look out for myself.”

“Right. You don’t need me. You don’t need anybody. I got it.”

He started down the sidewalk, then glanced back. “Oh, by the way, it’s probably not the greatest idea to leave the backyard gate open in this neighborhood. Not that you need my advice.”

He got into his car-his civilian car, a Mustang-and drove off, the engine burring angrily.

She didn’t know what that last crack had been about. She always kept the gate shut and locked. But when she checked, she found the gate hanging ajar, creaking softly in the breeze.

The lock had been forced. Someone had inserted a screwdriver or similar tool into the keyhole and jimmied it open.

She entered the yard, passing the lawn mower, which sat amid clumps of tall grass in need of trimming. She saw no signs of intrusion at the back door and the rear window, but on the steps to the deck she found a clump of damp earth from the garden.

The intruder had climbed the steps. Had been on the deck, directly outside her bedroom.

Last night he must have tried entering the house from the rear, but finding no windows unlocked, he’d gone around to the side. There he’d found the one window with the broken latch.

It changed nothing. She’d already known he had been in the house. But somehow the thought of him on the deck, so near to her bed…

She thought of Marilyn Diaz, surprised in her bedroom. Marilyn, who’d kept her problems from the police, who’d been so sure she could handle things by herself.

Marilyn, plucked from the surf with a plastic bag pasted over her unseeing eyes.