Blind Witness (9 page)

She was deep in her music when the phone rang. She picked it up on the forth ring hoping to hear Britt’s voice on the line.

“Were you resting?”

She recognized the voice immediately though it was muffled. She sank to the couch, then remembering the recorder the police had put on her phone and searched for the button to turn it on.

“No, I was playing the piano.”

“You’re feeling better.”

“Yes.”

“You went to the doctor.”

“Yes, how did you know?” She was taken back.

“I know everything.”

A chill of fear raced through her.

“Did you like my flowers?”

“Your flowers?”
She stammered, turning toward the table.

“The roses, didn’t you get them? They were long stemmed red roses,” he said, with unmistakable pride.

“I didn’t know they were from you. There was no card, and the delivery person said that Mr. Clairbourne’s name was on the receipt.”

“Yes, I told you I know everything. He paid for them. Though, he doesn’t know it yet.” The voice changed to a laugh. “I put them on his credit card. I told you he would pay.” The laughter
was harder this time. It stopped abruptly and the voice drop to what almost sounded like a low purr. “Did you like the flowers?”

“They, they smelled beautiful.” Her voice squeaked.

“That’s not an answer. You didn’t like them.” There was no missing the anger.

“I d-didn’t know they were from you.” She stammered over the words. “The delivery boy said they were from Mr.
Clairbourne. I took them to a couple of older widow ladies.”

There was a pause. “You gave them away?”

“I didn’t know,” Rachelle said back, now very frightened.

“You thought they were from
Clairbourne.” The voice was back to its eerie calm. “You gave them away. That’s good. That’s so good. Too bad you didn’t throw them away. I can’t wait to tell him you threw away the flowers you thought were from him. That’s good, so good.”

“You’re going to talk with him?
When?” Rachelle felt a stronger burst of fear.

“Soon, but first we’re not done playing. He hasn’t begun to hurt. I want him to hurt. I want him to be alone.” The haunting voice caressed each word.

“You still haven’t told me about her. Why don’t you tell me now? I’m not at work so I have time to listen.” Rachelle forced herself to be calm and think. “What was her name? Tell me about her?”

“She was so beautiful. She smelled so nice, like roses. That’s how I knew you’d like roses. She liked them. She got them all the time.”

“Did Mr. Clairbourne give her roses?”

“No, but she wanted him to. She pretended he would. She would sit and have conversations with him as she stroked her long hair. Like yours. She would wear these soft little things with these bows on. Do you wear those?”

Rachelle felt a wave of sickness. “No, I don’t.”

“Of course not, you’re an angel. Angels don’t wear red or black. They wear white. They’re innocent − sweet and innocent. I will protect you my angel.”

He was gone.

Rachelle’s hand trembled as she put down the phone and turned off the recorder. She had to fight to control her breathing to keep from crying. Forcing herself to stand, she walked back to Ruth and Mabel’s apartment on shaky legs.

It was Ruth who opened the door.

“Rachelle, back so soon.”

“May I use your phone, please?”

“Yes, of course dear. Are you all right? You look terribly pale.”

“I’ll be fine, if I can use your phone.”

“Of course, of course.”
The woman took her hand leading her to it. “Would you like me to dial?”

“Yes, please.” She gave her the number then accepted the phone with still trembling fingers. “Is Detective Todd there?” she asked, when a voice came on the phone.

“Not at this time.”

“Is there someone I can talk to about a case he’s working on?”

“Detective Adams is. He’s Todd’s partner.”

“That would be fine. Thank you.” And the call was transferred.

“Adams,” a deep masculine voice answered.

“This is Rachelle Harris.”

“Yes, Miss Harris.”

“He called again, this time at my apartment. I did like Detective Todd said and recorded it, and then went to neighbors to call.”

“I’m on my way right now. Why don’t you wait at your neighbors, and I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“All right, I’m in 3D.” She put down the phone. “Is it all right if I wait here?” she asked, feeling Ruth’s presence hovering near her.

“Certainly, is someone threatening you?”

“No, he’s threatening someone I know. He just likes to call me and talk.”

“Heavens, is this the guy doing the bombing at your work?” the woman gasped.

“Yes, but you can’t tell anyone except Mabel.”

“I’m here, dear.” A similar sounding voice came from a few feet away.

Rachelle nodded. “The police are trying to keep it secret, so he doesn’t quit calling.”

“They’re hoping he’ll tell you something that will help them?” Mabel surmised.

“Yes.”

“We’ll keep it secret, but how frightening for you. No wonder you’re so pale. Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll make you a nice soothing cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. But I would like to sit down and relax. The officer will be here soon.”

“If you’re certain, it’s no trouble.”

“Yes.” She was feeling a little steadier.

Having him call her at home was more unsettling for some reason. Thankfully, Detective Adams knocked on the door in under ten minutes. After Mabel checked his ID, Rachelle accompanied him back to her apartment. First, he tried the call back and was surprised when it went through. It was a pay phone number. The other surprise was that the recording had both sides of the conversation.

“Our guy is getting sloppy in his need to brag to you. We’ll get him.”

“I wasn’t able to get any information out of him.”

“You did well. Besides, every bit of information helps. We just have to figure out how.”

“Like her favorite song, he wanted me to sing,” she exclaimed. “That was the most personal information I’ve gotten so far.”

“Yes, it all ties in,” the detective said.

“I don’t think I’ve the patience to be a detective.”

“A lot of people don’t. It’s been glamorized on TV for too long, making it look exciting, but in actuality, it can be quite a long tedious process, putting together bits and pieces. Like the song, it was done by David Gates and Bread. That gives us a possible idea of age,” Adams pointed out.

“Unless they liked oldies or soft rock.”

“Still, it’s information,” he returned.

“Maybe they just like the name Aubrey. You know the song, and Aubrey was her name …” Rachelle sang the words, “I loved her …” she petered out. “That’s it.” Rachelle rose with excitement. “Aubrey is her name, the name of the woman.”

Detective Adams stopped, going over it in his mind. “Yes, you could be right.”

“I know I’m right. It’s like he said about the roses. She always got them from men. Like she was selfish, self-centered may be a better word for it. She didn’t care if it hurt him that she had flowers from other men. So it makes sense her favorite song had her name.”

“All right, you convinced me. We’ll check on it. See if Mr.
Clairbourne knows any Aubreys, or if there have been any employees by that name. It sounds as if she’s dead. So we’ll even check deaths in the past year or two.”

Rachelle nodded. “You might want to tell Mr.
Clairbourne the guy has his credit card number. He charged the roses to him. Who knows what else?”

“I’ll let him know immediately,” the detective agreed. “You might want to consider spending the night with a friend or a neighbor.”

“I’ll be fine,” Rachelle said, though inside she felt a quiver of fear. She walked him to the door, closing it behind him. It seemed eerily quiet in the apartment. Stopping to turn on one of her CDs, she went to the couch, sitting back so she could take in the comforting smell of the sweet peas.

****

Britt had only been in his apartment a few minutes when the doorbell rang. “Detective Adams,” he greeted the detective who had more gray in his hair then its natural dark brown. “Don’t tell me there are any more problems tonight.”

“Yes and no. Nothing bad to do with your company has happened, but there are some things you’ll need to take care of, and I have some questions for you.”

“Can I get you something?” Britt asked, leading him into the living room.

“No, thanks.
Do you know or have you dated any women with the name of Aubrey?”

“Aubrey,” he paused to think. “There’s an Aubrey in the cafeteria. That’s the only Aubrey I can place.”

“You’ve never dated one?”

“No, I’m certain of that. What is it? Do you have a lead?”

“Just a hypothesis, but we might have a little more to go on. Our guy called again. This time at Miss Harris’ apartment, and though he muffled his voice, he didn’t use the scrambler. We were able to trace the call to a phone booth. We have a crew going over it as we speak.”

“Is Rachelle all right?” The need for the answer burned in him.

“Yes, it was a call to brag. He sent her a bouquet of roses. Two dozen, long-stemmed, red, impressive.”

Britt felt ill. The man had sent two dozen roses to his little sweet peas. Then next words hit him hard.

“He charged them to your credit card. So you’ll want to call right now and cancel that.”

He nodded. “Well, at least I hope Rachelle enjoys the roses.”

“Actually, she gave them to a couple of older widow women that are her neighbors.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, she had these two big bouquets of bright colored flowers. The way she fidgeted with them, I’d say she preferred them.”

Britt felt like letting out a whoop. She kept his flowers. Instead, he calmly said, “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll call and cancel the card that was used and put a password on the other.”

“Good, the question remains how he got it. If you’ll check when he used it, it might tell us about when he got it.”

“I’ll get that.”

A few minutes later he turned back to the detective giving him the information. “Was Rachelle able to record all the conversation?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get me a copy?”

“Sure, I’ll stop by your office tomorrow about nine.”

“That’ll be good. Are you certain Miss Harris was all right?”

“She seemed so, though it upset her a little. She was quite concerned about you,” the detective added.

Britt ignored the words. “She doesn’t need to worry. I’ll have a security guard outside her building and one in her hall.”

“You should tell her. It might make her feel better.”

****

The phone rang six times, and he was about convinced she wasn’t going to answer when she picked it up. Her voice was strained with obvious tension when she said, “hello.”

“Are you all right?”

“Mr.
Clairbourne.” Her formal address caught him off guard.

“Britt,” he said firmly. “Now answer me.”

“I’m just fine. His voice can’t hurt me. He wasn’t here.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about him. There are two security guards at your place. So don’t panic. You’ll probably never know they’re there.”

“But,” she started to object.

He cut her off. “It’s that or a hotel room.” He left no leeway in his voice.

“All right, as long as they stay back.”

“They will,” he promised.

“I thought you weren’t going to have any contact with me. It’s too dangerous.”

“This phone can’t be tapped or traced. I’m using my own technology back against him, but I’ll keep this short. I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you to worry, but if you need anything, call.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well, good night.”

“Thank you for the sweet peas.”

“You’re welcome. Rachelle, I’m trying to do what’s best.”

“I know. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He heard the line cut off.

****

Rachelle picked up one of the bouquets and took it along with her to her bedroom, placing it on the nightstand. She readied for bed then laid back, letting the sweet, gentle smell comfort h
er as she drifted off to sleep.

****

Britt sat at his desk with the two detectives and his chief of security, staring at the small listening device they had located.

“I want this room, my outer office, and the executive answering checked twice a day. This guy has too much access. I can’t believe it.” He felt more frustrated than ever. “We have to tighten security.”