Authors: Peter Robinson
‘Kill you? I don’t understand.’
Arvo told her about the attempt to set fire to his house.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah said. ‘I’m glad you weren’t hurt. I wasn’t trying to say I didn’t think he was dangerous. I know he is. I mean, just look what he’s done. Jack and all . . . It’s just that . . . he could have taken me easily last night, but he didn’t.’
‘Then he’s not reached that part in his script yet. Listen, this man is so completely self-centred that he has his own explanation for everything, and it doesn’t involve any fault on his part.
He can’t be put off
. If you slam the door in his face, then you’re only being careful; if you insult him, it’s only for show; if you shoot him, it’s because you want him to enjoy the afterlife. Do you see what I’m getting at? Whatever you do to oppose him simply means you’re not ready yet to recognize how much you love him. And he knows there are certain things he can do to help you come to that realization.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, murder is obviously one of them. Beyond that, we don’t know how far he’ll go to make you see that you love him, that the two of you are meant for one another.’
Sarah swallowed. ‘He’s not just crazy, he’s very clever, too, isn’t he? Do you really think you can stop him?’
‘We’ll stop him.’
‘How long?’
‘I wish I could say. At least we’ve got some strong leads now. We’re not just whistling in the dark any more. The more disorganized he becomes, the more he acts out of panic, then the more mistakes he’s likely to make.’
‘Where can I go until you find him? I can’t go home and I can’t go back to Stuart’s.’
‘I think the doctor wants to keep you here a little longer, this morning at least, just for a few more tests. You’re safe here. We’ve got guards on the door. They’ll keep the media away as well as the stalker.’
‘The media? I’d forgotten about them. I suppose they know all about it now?’
‘They monitor the police radios, so they know you were involved in an auto accident last night. I’m sure they’re busy putting two and two together and making twenty-two. But they’re the least of your worries.’
Sarah wrinkled her nose. ‘Do I
have
to stay here? I hate hospitals. I can’t stand the smell.’
Arvo smiled. ‘I suppose I could always put you under arrest, get you a nice comfortable cell.’
‘Arrest? For what?’
‘You’ve got enough traffic violations to get you put away for quite a while.’
‘Swine. What about work?’
‘I don’t know,’ Arvo said. ‘Maybe they can write a black eye, whiplash and a cut forehead into your character. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Things like that do happen to cops sometimes.’
‘It’s not, is it? My eye? Black?’
Arvo nodded. ‘Very.’
She put her hand to it. It didn’t feel swollen, but it was throbbing a bit. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘Not at all.’ Arvo stood up.
‘You don’t look so hot yourself, you know.’
He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I know. I didn’t get much sleep. I got the first flight back from San Francisco after I got the phone call from Robbery-Homicide about what had happened to you and Stu. Look, I mean what I say, Sally. You’ve go to stay here for now. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch soon. This afternoon. We’ll work something out.’
‘You called me Sally.’
‘Did I? I’m getting confused. I suppose it must be because I’ve been talking to people who knew you as Sally. Gets to be a habit. Sorry.’
‘I didn’t say I minded.’
‘Good.’
‘Just who have you been talking to?’
‘Stan Harvey, Carl Buxton, a woman called Candi. She was with Mitch when Gary picked him up in San Francisco.’
‘I hope you don’t believe everything you hear.’
‘I’m a cop. I take most things with a large pinch of salt. There is just one more thing.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘What?’
‘Maybe when all this is over you’ll let me give you some driving lessons?’
‘Bastard!’ Sarah grasped the pillow beside her and threw it with all her might. But she couldn’t move her neck, and her might wasn’t up to much at the moment. Arvo dodged it easily. Then he was gone and Sarah was left alone in the stark white room with her black thoughts.
38
At eleven-thirty that morning, Arvo sat with Joe Westinghouse in a greasy spoon near Broadway and Fourth watching the seemingly endless parade of panhandlers and street people. It was probably happening in most big cities these days. Mixed in with the tall shiny office towers, the food courts, delis, pretty girls sitting by fountains, you also got the homeless and the crazy. You could always spot the crazies, he thought; they’re the ones who wear woolly hats and tattered overcoats when it’s eighty-five degrees and sunny out there. Maybe they have to keep their brains at a higher temperature than the rest of us.
Having eaten nothing that morning but a bag of salty pretzels on the plane, Arvo tucked into his ham and over-easy eggs with a total disregard for their cholesterol content. So, maybe he should have gone for the fresh fruit and bran special even the greasy spoons offered in LA these days. So what? He mopped up runny egg yolk with his enriched white-bread toast and enjoyed every mouthful.
Joe sat wedged in the booth opposite Arvo, shoulders taking up so much room no one could have found space next to him. He was wearing a neatly pressed brown suit, dazzling white shirt and muted tie. Arvo hadn’t been home yet and was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. They’d been to San Francisco and back on him, and they felt like it, too.
Joe held a sheet of paper in front of him and read as Arvo ate, pausing only to sip his coffee every now and then. He seemed able to do that without taking the toothpick out of the corner of his mouth.
‘We got this from the Social Security number. Mitchell Lorne Cameron. Born January 3, 1967, Bakersfield, California.’ Joe looked up and grinned. ‘Well, what do you know? Looks like the little slimeball has a birthday today. I dug out the state birth records. Mother, Marta Cameron; father unknown. After that it got easier. According to the Bakersfield PD, Marta used to run with the local biker crowd, real motorcycle mamma, had a few run-ins over drugs, fights and the like, but nothing serious, no dealing or trafficking as far as they know.’
‘What happened to her?’
‘OD’d on heroin, July 21, 1972.’ Joe sipped some more coffee. ‘But not before she’d had three kids to three different fathers. Mitch was the middle one. He’s got an older half-sister, called Marianne, and a younger half-brother, Mark. After Marta OD’d, a distant relative in Eureka took them all in.’
‘Did you talk to this relative?’
‘Nope. She’s been dead five years.’
‘Anything on the other two kids? They might be able to lead us to Mitch.’
‘We’re trying to trace them. It’s early days yet.’
‘Bar manager in San Francisco said something about the brother being disabled. She thought he was blind.’
‘That’s something we can check. Got to be registered somewhere.’ Joe made a note.
‘Anything else?’
‘Sure. Plenty. Listen, while you’ve been having fun up in San Francisco watching strippers and sitting around here talking to pretty starlets, I’ve been on the phone, fax or computer. All morning.’
‘Okay, so give me a hard time, why don’t you.’
Joe grinned. ‘I checked with ATF. No firearms registration.’
‘Huh. Like half of LA. Doesn’t mean he’s not carrying, though, does it?’
Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘He hasn’t used a gun so far.’
‘True,’ said Arvo. ‘But I don’t think it’s because he couldn’t get hold of one. For some reason it’s just not part of his scenario. Anything from DMV? I was going to call in from the hotel last night but I got the message about the accident first.’
‘Yup. Drives a red 1990 Honda Civic. I got the number out on the street. The black-and-whites are keeping an eye open.’
‘Photo?’
‘Uh-huh. Driver’s-licence photo. Not much good. Could probably be any blue-eyed blond kid in LA. After a while they all get to look the same to me.’ Joe’s eyes sparkled for a second and he flicked the toothpick towards his nose. ‘The lab phoned and told me they
did
find some blond hairs at the Marillo scene. Dyed blond hairs.’
Arvo pushed his plate aside and sipped some coffee. ‘It’s looking good, isn’t it? If only we could find the bastard. What about the address on the driver’s licence?’
Joe put down his toothpick and lit a cigarette. ‘Eureka. And I mean the place, not the classical allusion. The distant relative’s address. It’s a dead end. The people who live there now never even knew the old lady.’
‘Shit.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
‘What about the phone company, utilities?’
‘Still checking. Nothing yet. At least not under his real name.’
‘Why would he use an alias?’
‘Maybe there are people he doesn’t want to find him?’
‘Like us?’
Joe shrugged. ‘Maybe others, too. Maybe he owes money. Who knows? Anyway, all I could find was that he skipped out of San Francisco owing Ma Bell a few hundred bucks and they haven’t come across his name since. Maybe that’s why.’
‘Can you pull the phone records?’
‘Already being done.’
‘Have you checked mental institutions?’
‘Wondered when you’d get around to that. As a matter of fact, I didn’t have to. I ran him through records. Seems he has a history of assault charges, mostly minor stuff, but about ten years ago in Stockton he went down on a felony assault charge. Bar fight.’
‘What happened?’
‘They sent him for psychiatric evaluation. Must’ve checked out okay because after that he did eighteen months in Tehachapi. Witnesses said the other guy started it. That went in his favour. Anyway, we’ve got his prints, for what good they’ll do us.’
‘Have you checked them against the Heimar and Marillo killings?’
‘We got nothing from Heimar and only partials from the Marillo place. No guarantee they were the killer’s, either. We ran a fingerprint check, but we couldn’t come up with a positive match. The lab also found red cotton fibres, which indicated he probably wore gloves.’
‘What about Stuart Kleigman’s car?’
‘I don’t think we’ll find anything there, either, but it’s being done. This guy plans, Arvo, he doesn’t just act on the spur of the moment.’
‘But he’s getting more and more careless. I don’t suppose he’s on parole or probation?’
‘No such luck.’
‘Did you check with the military?’
‘Uh-huh. Drew a blank there, too.’
‘What about the psychiatric evaluation? What were the conclusions?’
Joe stubbed out his cigarette in the foil ashtray. ‘I’ve got someone digging it out for me,’ he said. ‘They’ll fax it to us as soon as they can. I wouldn’t hold out much hope, though. It’ll probably just say Cameron had a short fuse and needed to learn to control his temper.’
‘Probably. But you never know. Now, how do we find the son of a bitch? Anything from the IRS?’
The waitress came by with the coffee pot, and Joe pushed his cup and saucer towards her. Arvo declined. He’d already had too much coffee for one morning. Besides, it tasted like battery acid.
‘You know how close-mouthed those bastards are,’ said Joe, ‘but I did get the date of his last return and the address it was sent from.’
‘And?’
‘Two years ago. An—’
‘Let me guess, an address in the Castro, San Francisco?’
‘You got it. Same one I got from the phone company.’
‘Shit. That gets us no further. It’s like he never got an address in LA at all.’
‘I know. I’ve got a couple of guys back at Parker Center still checking around. You know, Welfare, State Licensing Board, Workmen’s Comp.’
‘I won’t hold my breath. It looks like this one’s slipped between the cracks since he left San Francisco.’
‘Sure looks that way. For what it’s worth, I also got a couple of guys putting more pressure on some of the agencies that sell celebrity addresses. Nothing so far, but you never know.’
‘Right. And now we can try the car-rental agencies, too.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of what happened last night,’ said Arvo. ‘My guess is that Mitch has been watching Sarah’s routine for a few days, just like he did when she was at the beach house. He noticed that Zak, the bodyguard, always went on ahead to check the house before Sarah and Stuart went back there from the studio. Last night, Zak rode shotgun for Stuart to a meeting in Hollywood while Sarah was safe at the studio. The stalker must have followed them and taken his chance on the way back. According to the accident report, there’s at least one witness thinks someone deliberately pulled in front of Zak’s car and forced him onto the hard shoulder. It’s a miracle Zak wasn’t killed.’
‘But why check the rental outlets? We already know Cameron drives a red Honda Civic.’
‘Because Sarah Broughton said she saw Zak’s silver Toyota in the carport at Stu’s house. Since we know it can’t have been Zak’s, Mitch must have gone and rented the same model, same colour.’