And now she thought, this perfect house she’d built in Venice, with all the homey touches from the Midwest: was this a nest for Clark? Is that where the energy had come from? Because he’d like it. No—he’d love it. She’d been obsessive about it, all the small touches, the quilts, the rag carpets on the wooden floors, the folk art, the pottery.
Was that what she’d been doing? Building for a man who’d engineered a break that had hurt her worse than anything since the death of her mother.
‘‘Bellagio,’’ Louis said.
Anna frowned, missing it. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘The body was found off Bellagio.’’
‘‘Over a fence?’’ she asked, sitting up.
‘‘Yeah.’’
‘‘Get an address,’’ she snapped. To Coughlin: ‘‘If it’s over a fence, it could be the Bel Air Country Club. Get up on the freeway, let’s go . . .’’
The body was on the golf course, but so were the cops, and they couldn’t get close. Coughlin edged the truck up to a cop car and the cop said, ‘‘Get the fuck out of here.’’
‘‘Hey, I’m just trying . . .’’
‘‘Didn’t you hear me, dummy? Get the fuck out of here,’’ the cop said. He was young, with a pale, Nordic face, untouched by any apparent emotion other than irritation.
‘‘All right, but I gotta go up there to turn around.’’
‘‘Hey! You ain’t coming through here,’’ the cop said. ‘‘Just back it up.’’
‘‘I can’t back it up.’’
‘‘Back the fuckin’ truck up or I’ll have your ass out here on the street, wise-guy.’’
Coughlin backed the truck up, muttering under his breath, Anna and Louis watched in amusement, and when they finally got turned, Louis said, ‘‘Fuckin’ pigs.’’
Coughlin looked up into the mirror and said, ‘‘I shoulda kicked his ass.’’
‘‘They would have thumped you like a tub of apple juice,’’ Anna said.
Coughlin continued on down the street, paused at the corner, snarled, ‘‘Little fuckin’ Nazi rat.’’ And then: ‘‘You gotta put up with this all the time?’’
‘‘All the time,’’ Anna said. ‘‘The cops see the dish on the roof, and it’s open season.’’
‘‘You cause us a lot of trouble,’’ Coughlin said.
‘‘No, we don’t,’’ Anna said. ‘‘You cause yourself a lot of trouble. Like your little Nazi back there. He could have been polite; instead, he treats us like dirt. So . . . why should we be nice?’’
‘‘Shit.’’ Coughlin put the truck into a driveway, backed up, turned around.
Anna said, ‘‘What’re you doing?’’
‘‘Going back.’’
Louis and Anna sat in silence as Coughlin took the truck back up the road, then slowed as he came up to the cop car blocking access to the body. The young cop saw them coming, put his hands on his hips, shook his head and then jabbed a finger at the curb. Coughlin pulled over and rolled the window down.
‘‘Are you deaf or stupid?’’ the cop asked, looking up at Coughlin.
Coughlin stuck an ID card out the window. ‘‘I’m a sergeant with the Los Angeles Police Department, working an undercover detail, is what I am. And what I feel like doing is coming out there and kicking your ass up around your neck, you little prick,’’ he said. ‘‘But I can’t because I’d be breakin’ cover. So what I’m gonna do instead is, I’m gonna call my buddy down in personnel and see if we can fuck with your records. See if we need anybody directing traffic around sewer projects about sixteen hours a day . . .’’
He went on for a while, while the young cop opened and shut his mouth like a dying fish. Then Coughlin threw the truck into reverse, backed into a drive, and headed out again.
‘‘Feel better?’’ Anna asked.
‘‘Much.’’ Then: ‘‘First time I’ve ever done anything like that.’’
‘‘You oughta do it more often,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Good for everybody’s souls.’’
She’d liked him before. Now she liked him better. After a while, she said, ‘‘You might be able to make a living at this.’’
‘‘Yeah?’’
‘‘Maybe. You got the first part of the attitude.’’
But that was it for the night. The following cars waited at both ends of Dell, watching cars, and for people on foot; Coughlin walked her down to her house, where a light showed in the window. Harper came to the door.
‘‘Anything?’’
‘‘Nothing,’’ Coughlin said.
‘‘All quiet here,’’ Harper said.
Anna said, ‘‘It was absolutely flat. No feeling of anything. I think the guy has backed off.’’
‘‘No. He’s fixed on you. He can’t help himself. He’s hanging around, but he knows we’re here, too. He’ll try to figure something out.’’
‘‘Nobody’ll get in or out of here,’’ Coughlin said. ‘‘We’ve got vans at both ends, night vision gear, the whole works.’’
‘‘Just gotta wait,’’ Harper said.
When Coughlin was gone, Harper asked, ‘‘Do you want something to eat?’’
‘‘I usually have soup, or something light,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Something to get the buzz off.’’
‘‘Got chicken noodle soup in the kitchen,’’ he said. ‘‘Go wash your face; I’ll get it.’’
They sat at the table, eating the soup and soda crackers, and she talked about the night with Coughlin; and as they talked, she felt looser and easier, and suddenly was enjoying herself. The time of the early morning, coming down, had always been one of her favorites; sharing it suddenly seemed to make it even better.
Then Harper said, seriously, ‘‘I’m not very romantic.’’
That had nothing to do with the night. She said, cautiously, ‘‘What?’’
‘‘I don’t know how to talk about this—I didn’t know how to talk about it with my wife, but I . . .’’ He seemed embarrassed. ‘‘I sort of . . . hunger for you.’’
‘‘We could probably think of a way to take the edge off,’’ she said, lightly, instinctively deflecting him.
‘‘I’m not talking about sex; or I am, but not only sex,’’ he said. He looked around the kitchen. ‘‘I’m just, right now, eating soup, having the best time I’ve had in fifteen years. And I just don’t want it to stop.’’
‘‘That’s pretty romantic,’’ she said. He flushed, and then she did, sitting with the soup, and then Harper said, ‘‘Eat your soup.’’
‘‘I am.’’ ‘‘Well, hurry.’’
Before she went to sleep, Harper a weighty lump on the other side of the bed, Anna was suddenly suffused with a sense of sadness and fear: she’d missed this, but she was also afraid of it. Afraid that it would end; afraid that it wouldn’t end. Afraid that she could lose control.
Harper got up in the morning. Anna made a few noises at him as he crept out of the bedroom, then went back to sleep. The phone rang just after one, and she crawled across the bed to pick it up.
Creek. ‘‘How’d it go last night?’’
‘‘Okay,’’ she said. ‘‘You don’t have to hurry and heal up anymore. This cop is a great cameraman.’’ There was a second of silence and she said, ‘‘Jesus, Creek, that was a joke.’’
‘‘Pretty fuckin’ funny,’’ he said.
‘‘God, you get shot a little and people start having to be sensitive around you . . . what’re you doing?’’
Another second of silence. ‘‘I was thinking about Clark again. And if you say he’s not the guy, then I believe you ninety-nine percent: I’m serious. But since we’ve got people being killed, you’ve gotta check the other one percent.’’
‘‘I’m not talking to the cops about Clark,’’ she said.
‘‘I understand that,’’ he said. ‘‘You’ve got to get Harper to check—Pam will help. She’s got a badge, Harper’s a lawyer, they could find out all kinds of stuff. And it’d all be in the family that way.’’
She thought about it for a few seconds, then said, ‘‘He didn’t do it.’’
‘‘I believe you,’’ he said. ‘‘But.’’
‘‘I’ll talk to Jake,’’ she said.
• • •
270 john sandford
Harper was on the tiny strip of canal-side lawn with a golf club, making slow-motion swings. Anna looked out over the sink, saw him, and when he turned, waved, and he twirled the club like a baton and headed for the door.
‘‘Morning,’’ he said. ‘‘Or good afternoon.’’
‘‘Want to run?’’ she asked.
‘‘Love to, but I’d probably have a heart attack,’’ he said.
‘‘Well, I’m gonna go down to the beach and run.’’
‘‘No, you’re not,’’ he said.
‘‘I am, too.’’
‘‘No.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘If I’ve got to run you down— and I could—and carry you back to the house, I will. You’re not going to run on the beach. I couldn’t keep up with you, and that’s something he may have been watching you do. If you want to run someplace else, I’ll take you there.’’
She put her hands on her hips: ‘‘Now you’re messing with me.’’
‘‘Damn right,’’ he said. ‘‘What do you want for breakfast?’’
She ran on the beach, but not on Venice Beach. Harper drove her to Santa Monica, parked on the bluff across from an art deco hotel, and they walked down an access stairway, across the highway, and onto the beach a few hundred yards from where Jason had been found.
‘‘I didn’t see any cops following,’’ Anna said.
‘‘That’s good,’’ Harper said. ‘‘But they’re there.’’
She ran most of a mile north, turned, ran back past him to the pier, then back. The beach was nearly empty, and Harper could see her all the way; and she could see everyone around her.
‘‘Not the same,’’ she said, when she got back. She was barely breathing hard. ‘‘I felt like I was wearing a leash.’’
‘‘Gonna have to do for a while,’’ he said. He mussed her
hair, kissed her on the lips, and put her in the car. The feeling of being on a leash had been unpleasant; the feeling of being squired about was not. ‘‘We’re not trying to run your life,’’ Harper said. ‘‘We’re just taking care for a few more days.’’
‘‘Did you think about Clark?’’ she asked. She’d told him about Creek’s phone call.
‘‘I’ll talk to Pam—there are a few checks we could get done right away, through the cops, without talking to Wyatt. See if he had any problems with the police back east. I can get credit reports, see if I can find a guy to look around Harvard.’’
‘‘That’ll take forever.’’
‘‘Not with computers—we’ll have most of the paper in an hour or two,’’ he said. ‘‘Getting a guy to look around
Harvard—we could hear something tomorrow, if I can find the right guy.’’
‘‘I don’t want him to know about it,’’ Anna said.
‘‘He won’t feel a thing,’’ Harper said.
‘‘Still . . . Ah, God.’’
‘‘Up to you.’’
On the way back, she decided: ‘‘Go ahead with the calls on Clark—but you know what? I want to see him. Let’s see if we can find him.’’
‘‘Today? We oughta get some paper on him first.’’
‘‘So you said it’d take a couple of hours; so do it. We’ll go look at him tonight.’’
‘‘What about going out with Coughlin?’’
‘‘I’m thinking about putting him off. He’s a good guy, but I don’t think it’s gonna work . . .’’
‘‘Wyatt seems to . . .’’
‘‘Maybe Wyatt’s not thinking about him as much as I am,’’ Anna said. ‘‘If you put yourself in his shoes, why would he follow me on the job? There’re cops everywhere I go. There are two guys with me, everywhere I go. I’d more
expect him to try my place, or your place. Follow us when we’re alone, like at the driving range.’’
‘‘Or at the beach, this morning.’’
‘‘Except that we’ve got escorts,’’ she said. ‘‘Unless . . .’’
‘‘Unless what?’’
‘‘Unless he’s lost interest. I just can’t understand this thing, why he’d be so interested in me.’’
Harper looked at her. ‘‘You don’t understand because your mind isn’t fucked, and his is. Maybe he’s still got enough control to lay back, just long enough to loosen you up, and get you thinking that you can go out on your own again. And when you do, he’ll be there.’’
‘‘Yeah?’’ The thought scared her, but the fear wasn’t blinding.
Because when he found her—she’d have found him.
twenty-four
Anna called Wyatt to tell him that she wouldn’t be going out with Coughlin that night. Wyatt wasn’t in, but she left a voice-mail, and added that she’d be at the hospital visiting Creek. Pam Glass was already at the hospital, and Anna called to ask her about an FBI check on Clark.
‘‘I could do it in a few minutes, from here; I’d need his full name and date of birth,’’ she said.
Anna gave her the information. ‘‘Get it as quick as you can. I’m coming down to see Creek.’’
‘‘I’ll have it by the time you get here,’’ Glass said. ‘‘We have a new room, by the way.’’
Anna took the new room number, and when she got off the line, Harper asked, ‘‘Do you think you’ll be okay on your own? You’ve got the escort out there.’’
‘‘I’ll be fine,’’ she said. ‘‘Where’re you going?’’
‘‘I’ve gotta make it down to the office, sign some paychecks. Make some calls back to Boston.’’
‘‘Remember . . .’’
‘‘Yeah. I’ll go easy.’’
Anna never saw her shadow on the way to the hospital. She knew they were there, because she’d called to tell them she was leaving. Which car they were, or van or truck, she could never decide. Inside the hospital ramp, she saw no one: but she kept her hand on the pistol in her jacket pocket as she walked to the entrance.
‘‘Paranoid,’’ she thought, as she went through the doors.
Creek was just outside the new room, walking down the corridor in a flimsy white hospital gown. Anna caught him just outside his room and put her hand through the slit in the back of the gown and squeezed his butt. Creek jumped, then limped into the hospital room, while Anna followed, laughing.
‘‘Goddamn sexual harassment from the boss,’’ Creek told Glass, who was reading the style section of the
L.A. Times
. ‘‘And I’m hurt.’’
‘‘Be brave,’’ Glass said.
‘‘Like he’d never grabbed a butt,’’ Anna said.
‘‘I do it in a spirit of tenderness and multiculturalism,’’ Creek said indignantly.
Anna, watching him in amusement, suspected that he was actually offended. She momentarily considered an apology, then decided that he’d have to live with it. No apologies.
Creek sputtered, ‘‘I’d never just sneak up on . . .’’ and then his eyes went past Anna, and she turned.
Wyatt, wearing his raincoat, stepped into the room. ‘‘Hello.’’
‘‘Hey . . .’’
‘‘I came to see if I can change your mind,’’ he said to Anna. His eyes drifted toward Glass, who was sitting on a
chair next to Creek’s bed, her bare feet curled beneath her, looking frankly domestic.
‘‘I don’t think so.’’
Wyatt brought his eyes back to Anna, and they squared off.
‘‘I can’t order you to go, because you’re a civilian,’’ Wyatt-said, grimly patient. ‘‘But the shit is gonna hit the fan pretty soon, when the media gets this. When the word about China Lake gets out, they’re liable to drive this guy out of sight. We’ve gotta work everything we can, while we can.’’
‘‘It’s not working,’’ Anna said flatly. ‘‘If he comes after me, it won’t be on the job.’’
‘‘He doesn’t have to come after you,’’ Wyatt insisted. ‘‘All he has to do is cruise you. And if we keep you out of sight, except when you’re working—he’s gonna cruise you. He’s gonna want to see you. We ran a dozen cars last night.’’
‘‘And got nothing,’’ Anna said.
‘‘But he’ll come.’’
They went on for a few more minutes, Wyatt pressing, Anna resisting, until Glass said, ‘‘If you saw me in the truck . . . I could be Anna.’’
Anna and Wyatt both turned toward her, and she uncurled her legs and stood up. ‘‘We’re about the same size and weight, and our hair color’s the same,’’ she said. ‘‘I could get a pair of wire rims at Woolworth’s and take the lenses out. I’m not doing anything now, except listening to Creek pissing and moaning.’’
Anna looked at her, then at Wyatt, then back at Glass, tilted her head. ‘‘If you’re willing, that’s a possibility.’’
Wyatt was skeptical, but finally agreed: ‘‘If that’s the only way we can do it. Damn it, though. What’re you gonna do, Anna?’’
Anna smiled, just a turn of the lips: ‘‘Jake and I have been
trying to spend a little time together, in peace and quiet.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Wyatt nodded. Behind him, Creek rolled his eyes.
When Wyatt had gone to call the task force leader, Anna asked Glass, ‘‘What’d you get on Clark?’’
Glass shook her head: ‘‘Nothing. He had his driver’s license suspended for three speeding tickets in three months. That’s it.’’
‘‘Yeah, I knew it,’’ Anna said. ‘‘He’s out of it.’’
‘‘He’s not out of it,’’ Creek insisted.
‘‘Creek . . .’’
‘‘Let’s see what Jake gets,’’ Creek said.
They talked for a few more minutes, then Wyatt returned: ‘‘It’s all set, but Pam has gotta get to your place without being noticed.’’
‘‘I’ll drive her,’’ Anna said. ‘‘She can leave her car here in the hospital ramp.’’
‘‘All right. Coughlin will be there at nine.’’ He looked at Glass. ‘‘You be careful.’’
Glass kissed Creek good-bye, and she and Anna left together, Glass carrying the remnants of the newspaper. Anna caught their reflection in the elevator doors as they waited: side by side, with the slight blurring in the stainless steel, they could have been mistaken for each other. Glass was perhaps an inch taller, Anna had just slightly wider shoulders. Both had short, efficient haircuts.
So what if the guy came for her, and they took him down, and she wasn’t even there to see it? Anna touched the gun in her jacket pocket, then shook her head. No. They wouldn’t take him that way.
‘‘I’d hate to deal with this guy one on one,’’ Glass was saying. ‘‘Most guys, you can manipulate. But you get a guy like this . . . have you ever gotten tangled up with a guy who’s nuts?’’
‘‘No.’’ They got in the elevator and pushed a button.
‘‘When I was on the street, we got a call about a guy in a halfway house: he’d done some time on some sex offenses, mostly exhibitionism, most of it aimed at little girls,’’ Glass said. ‘‘Anyway, he was drunk, out on the street, flashing everybody who came by. When we got there, we couldn’t find him. He’d walked off. He wasn’t supposed to be dangerous or anything, so me and my partner split up, trying to find him. I walked down to this ice cream shop and stopped to ask some people at a bus stop, and he came out of the shop behind me and saw the uniform and freaked out and came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me and picked me up off the ground and started squeezing.’’
‘‘Jeez.’’
‘‘Yeah. He was huge. Strong. I felt like an egg, I felt like he could crush me. I couldn’t move my arms, I just kept trying to talk to him, but he was nuts: he had a mind like a little mean kid having a temper tantrum. I couldn’t get him to put me down, and the more I struggled, the tighter he squeezed until I couldn’t breathe.’’
‘‘How’d you get loose?’’
‘‘My partner came along, called for backup and started whacking the guy with his baton. But the guy kept turning in circles and squeezing me, and then the backup arrived and the three guys got us all down on the ground and pried his arms off. I was black and blue . . . my ribs looked like the American flag, where his arms were. Great big stripes.’’
The elevator door opened and Anna said, ‘‘It’s a weird thing, men and muscles. It’s like they think about it all the time.’’
‘‘What makes me mad is that some wimpy little jerk who never lifts anything heavier than a fork can whack me around because he’s got fifty pounds on me and he’s twice as strong, and he’s not even trying. It’s all hormones.’’
‘‘Yeah, but . . . that’s why God made us smarter,’’ Anna said.
‘‘That’s true,’’ Glass conceded.
Glass lay in the back seat of Anna’s car, reading the comics, as Anna drove back home. Harper’s BMW was squeezed into a tight space in front of the house, and Anna had to maneuver the car to get it into the garage. They went inside, and found Harper at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of Golden Crisp with milk.
‘‘What?’’ he asked.
Anna gave him a quick rundown, and he looked at Glass. ‘‘Put on the right clothes, at night . . . it’ll work. Keep
moving, though.’’
‘‘Anything at all on Clark?’’
‘‘Mmm,’’ Harper said. He quickly finished the cereal and carried the bowl to the sink. ‘‘Just a little thing.’’
‘‘He won’t find out . . .’’
‘‘No, no. I’ve got a friend in a law firm there, they’ve got a researcher on staff. She walked over and talked around the music department. She said she was checking on a mortgage history.’’
‘‘So what’d she find?’’ Anna asked impatiently. ‘‘The little-thing.’’
‘‘There’s a rumor of a sexual harassment complaint made by a graduate student—a woman graduate student—in a composition seminar. Apparently nothing was ever filed, no legal action, but there was . . . something.’’
‘‘Just a rumor,’’ Anna said dismissively.
‘‘No. There was something,’’ Harper said. ‘‘We can’t really find out what, unless we ask more directly. And he’d most likely hear about it.’’
Anna shook her head. ‘‘Then don’t.’’
Glass glanced at Harper, then said, ‘‘Anna, this is a little
more important than your feelings. Or his. Remember China Lake . . .’’
‘‘I remember China Lake,’’ Anna snapped back. ‘‘I’m not gonna forget China Lake. But Clark didn’t do it.’’
‘‘One of his students has a recital tonight; he’ll be there. Eight o’clock at Schoenberg Hall,’’ Harper said.
‘‘Yeah?’’ Anna’s eyebrow went up.
‘‘We could pick him up after the recital,’’ Harper said, his voice casual. ‘‘Find out what he does with his evenings.’’
‘‘And we’d have time to stop by Kinko’s first, and talk to Catwell again,’’ Anna said.
‘‘We could do that,’’ Harper said.
Coughlin would pick Glass up at the regular night-crew starting time, ten o’clock. If they left any earlier, they thought the stalker would miss them.
Glass said, ‘‘When we go out tonight, if we don’t find anybody tailing us, we’ll probably cruise just long enough to seem legitimate, then come back here, like I was picking up something. Then go back out again. Give him another chance to pick us up. If we still don’t get anything, we’ll be back around midnight.’’
‘‘So you’re gonna lay low until then?’’ Harper asked.
‘‘I gotta get some sleep,’’ Glass said. She yawned: ‘‘Watching Creek is tiring.’’
‘‘Keep the doors locked,’’ Harper said. ‘‘The guy’s been here at least twice.’’
Anna snuck out to Harper’s car after dark, and curled up on the back seat, out of sight.
‘‘I don’t have much faith in this Catwell thing,’’ Harper said over the seat.
‘‘We just have to keep talking,’’ Anna said. ‘‘The cops keep saying that I know the guy. Sooner or later, I’ll pick him out. I probably should have already.’’
• • •
Bob Catwell was not at the Kinko’s.
An unconsciously beautiful young blonde woman told them that Catwell had ‘‘rented a room in some frat house up on the hill. Down in the basement, you have to walk around the side on this gravel tracklike thing, and you see this door. Like, his room used to be the coal bin or something.’’
She drew a sketch on a piece of copy paper, and Anna thanked her and they headed out.
‘‘Do you think she knows how beautiful she is?’’ Harper asked on the way to the car.
‘‘Somewhere down in her brain she knows that she gets special treatment,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Unless she’s particularly stupid, and she didn’t seem to be.’’
The frat house was built on the side of a hill, with a narrow, rutted drive leading around back. Harper found a parking place and they walked back, and down the drive. Eight or nine feet of old poured-concrete foundation was exposed along the back side. The only window was boarded over with a sheet of plywood, but they could see light through a hairline crack at one edge. And at the door, they could smell the burning dope.
‘‘You could get high standing outside,’’ Harper said.
He turned the knob and pushed: the door unexpectedly popped open, and he stepped through, Anna at his elbow. Catwell was sprawled on a battered green sofa in front of a seventies color television, watching ‘‘Ren and Stimpy’’ reruns. He sat up, scared, when they burst in, dropped the joint he was smoking, recognized them, then scrambled to get the joint out of the couch. ‘‘What the fuck do you want? Did you . . . get the fuck out of here . . .’’
‘‘Gotta talk,’’ Anna said, stepping around Harper. Catwell finally found the joint and then stood there, looking at it, not
sure what to do with it. ‘‘Give me that,’’ Anna said.
He handed it to her, and she took a hit, exhaled and handed it back: ‘‘Now we’re all criminals together, huh? So relax, and we gotta talk.’’
Catwell, uncertain, hit on the joint himself, a last time, then pinched it out.
‘‘Like a doper’s bowling alley in here,’’ Harper said, waving at a layer of smoke that hung two-thirds of the way to the ceiling.
‘‘You don’t like it, get lost,’’ Catwell said.
‘‘Both of you, shut up,’’ Anna said. To Catwell: ‘‘Listen, we need to talk again. We need to know more about what Jason was doing. Not who he bought the dope from, just in general.’’