Deadly Interest (25 page)

My car sat thirty feet to my left; the call
box forty feet to my right. And my imagination sat closest of all,
in super-high gear.

The noise again.

It came from the pillar just past my Escort.
If someone stood behind it, no way would I beat him to the car, get
my keys out and get safely inside before he got me.

But, was anybody there, or was I just being
foolish? Right about now, I knew I’d rather be safe and feel a
fool, than be brave and find trouble. I inched closer toward the
call box, trying to keep my shoes from making tell-tale noises,
while digging my right hand into my purse, searching for my pepper
spray, hoping my shallow breaths and pounding heart wouldn’t give
me away.

Tip-toeing, I kept my eyes trained on the
far pillar. Nothing. No movement, no sound. Small backward steps,
slow steps, they brought me closer to the call box, and took me
farther from my car.

My fingers finally wrapped around the black
plastic handle of the pepper spray, and I used my thumb to release
the sliding safety device. “Okay,” I whispered, more to affirm my
bravery than anything. “Almost there.”

Still keeping close watch on that far
pillar, I switched the pepper spray to my left hand and reached
around with my right to grab the phone. When I encountered nothing
but cold metal, I looked over in fear. “Shit,” I said, louder than
I intended. The phone had been ripped out of box, leaving a mass of
multi-colored wires extending out into the dark like so many
helpless arms.

The elevator was no more than fifteen steps
away. The stairs—adjacent. And maybe, just maybe, I’d simply
imagined these noises. My hand back in my purse once again, I had a
fleeting giddy thought that my purse was like Batman’s utility
belt, and all I needed to do was reach the right tool. My cell
phone, this time. I hit the power button as I moved toward the
scant light of the elevator waiting area, still walking on tip-toe,
still watching that far, far pillar.

For the first time all night, something went
right. My phone came on and registered in-service, much more
quickly than it ever had before. “Thank God,” I muttered, as I
dialed *911. I heard the tiny beeps as each digit sounded.

“
Emergency 9-1-1,” a flat
voice answered.

As I pulled in a breath to answer, the phone
gave an extended beep and powered down. “Shit,” I said again. The
damn battery.

From behind me, movement. Breathing. Someone
shifting their weight. Someone waiting. For me.

“
Who’s there?” I shouted,
bolting for the stairs.

The clip-clop sound of my shoes blurred as I
sprinted. God, please don’t let him follow me. Visions of the night
Diana and I were attacked rushed through the pounding blood in my
head, and through the red lights of panic flashing before me. I
could barely make out the yellow metal door that would be my
salvation.

His gloved hand grabbed me, stopping me
cold, the yank on my upper arm strong even through the thickness of
my down coat to make me wince.

Panicked, I spun.

“
C’mere,
bitch.”

Laurence Grady stared back at me, his eyes
glittering with anger and something more. Hatred? I felt the fear
in my stomach drop as my heart rate skyrocketed—all the power to my
legs, to my feet, dissolved.

“
Where do you get off
reporting me to the cops?” He pulled me so close that his hot beer
breath steamed against my face.

He had me up on my toes, and as I opened my
mouth to scream, he jammed his other hand over it, gagging me.

I flailed against him, trying to bite down,
but the leather of his glove was too thick. My left hand strove for
leverage to push away, when I suddenly remembered the pepper spray.
Feeling triumphant and stupid at the same time, I rushed my hand up
toward his face, pressing the trigger as I clenched my eyes and
held my breath.

He’d been saying something about the police
when the orange-yellow spray hit with a wet hissing sound of
splatters on skin. He grunted in pain, the attack startling him.
For the briefest second he froze. But it was enough for me to
wrench free. Giving his shin a quick kick, I ran, coughing, my eyes
teary-eyed and stinging, to the sanctuary of my car. I’d caught
some of the spray, but Grady had taken it full in the face. Judging
from the intense smarting I felt, he had to be in excruciating
pain.

As if I’d willed them to do so, the keys
leaped into my hands. Vowing that my next car would have remote
entry, I jammed the right one into the lock, yanked the door open,
jumped in and locked myself inside before I chanced a look
back.

He was gone.

Twisting my body within the confines of the
seat, my puffy coat making the effort ever more difficult, I tried
to see where he’d gone. My right hand had found the ignition, and I
started up the car, still coughing, a sharp vile taste in my mouth,
and my eyes feeling as though I’d stood downwind of a raging fire.
I didn’t care that the world blurred before me and I could barely
see to drive; I was getting out of there.

Detective Lulinski voice was thick with
anger when I called him from home. “Why didn’t you get ahold of me
sooner?”

I started to say tell him that my cell phone
had gone dead, when he interrupted.

“
And why the hell were you
alone in a deserted parking garage at night?”

In my mind’s eye, I could see red-hot
frustration work its way over his face. I suddenly realized that I
was a trial to this man. Here he was, trying to clear a murder,
stuck working with a member of the media he so despised, and at
every turn, I made huge mistakes and gross errors in judgment.

Knowing, however, that the best defense is a
good offense, I snarled right back at him. “I was trying to get
information for you, in case you forgot.”

He muttered something I didn’t catch.

“
What was that,
Detective?”

“
Nothing you need to
hear.” I could tell he took a deep drag of a cigarette, taking his
time to blow it out before continuing, much toned down: “All right.
We talked with Grady’s parole officer this morning and made it
clear that he’s supposed to stay away from you, Diana, the
neighborhood. He’s obviously not cooperating, so I’ll put out a
pickup order on him. Aside from him grabbing you . . . and the
battery charge I’ll nail him with, what else?”

“
I blasted him with my
pepper spray.”

I could almost see his terse nod. “Good
girl,” he said. “I’ve requested extra coverage past your house for
the next few days. And yes,” he added, answering my question before
I spoke it, “I’m covering your aunt’s house too. As long as
nobody’s in Mrs. Vicks’ house, I’m not too worried about that one,
but they’ll keep their eyes peeled.”

“
Thanks.”

“
Part of the job. And Alex
. . .”

“
Yeah?”

“
Keep the goddamn phone
charged.”

* * * * *

Lucy had been listening from the tiny
hallway that separated our bedrooms. She hung on the corner, like a
little kid caught doing something wrong, her expression
half-curious, half-frightened.

“
Is Grady that the same
man who talked to me yesterday?”

I nodded.

“
Did he hurt you
tonight?”

I shook my head, but as I moved to sit at
the kitchen table, I winced.

“
He did hurt you!” Lucy
said with alarm, as she pushed off the wall to help me.

“
No, it’s just leftover
aches and pains.” I forced a smile. “Too much excitement today and
I forgot about them. Now they’re all back. With a vengeance.”
Grady’s appearance tonight had shaken me up more than I cared to
admit. “Listen, Lucy, if you see the guy again, or even if you just
think you see him, you let me or Aunt Lena know, okay?”

Her right hand reached behind and she
twisted her hair. “I don’t think he’s a bad guy. He was nice to
me.”

“
Until we know what he
wants, we can’t be sure,” I said. Torn between wanting to come down
hard on Lucy, to make her understand the stakes, and keeping her
from being too terrified to step outside the house, I treaded a
fine line and my reasoning sounded lame, even to my ears. “Just
stay with someone. Me, Aunt Lena, Uncle Moose. Someone we know,
okay?”

“
Okay.” She dropped the
twisted piece of blond hair as she nodded.

“
By the way,” I asked,
“any phone messages? Anybody call?”

“
Yeah.” Concentration
crossed her face as she struggled to remember. “Somebody for you. A
man.”

“
Really?”

“
Yeah, he said something
about wishing you were there.”

My mood brightened with a suddenness that
surprised me. I glanced up at the clock. Ten. That made it about
eight o’ clock in San Francisco. I could still call him back and
maybe we’d have a chance to catch up. I’d love to be able to bounce
some of this stuff around with William.

“
You didn’t erase
it?”

“
No.”

I hit the button on my answering machine and
the mechanical voice announced that there was one saved message. I
smiled at Lucy, who was grinning back, trying hard to understand my
sudden attitude change.

“
Hello, Alex.”

The instant I heard David’s voice, my
exuberance plunged with the impact of a gut-punch. His words
drifted past me, but the room had closed in and I missed the entire
message.

“
Is that the guy you were
hoping to hear from?” Lucy asked.

“
No,” I said, stringing
the word out. I turned my back to her as I pressed the repeat
button. She was the most perceptive soul I’d ever encountered and I
didn’t want her to see my disappointment. Injecting false cheer
into my voice, I said, “My mind wandered. Let me hear that
again.”

David, his voice warm, soothing, had
expressed regret at my leaving the bank before he’d arrived that
day. He wished I’d been there. He said we needed to talk.

“
Who was that?” Lucy asked
when the machine beeped off.

Without getting too far into an explanation,
I gave Lucy a basic idea of David’s role in Mrs. Vicks’ murder
investigation. I shrugged. “He and I are working together on this
and we need to talk tomorrow.”

She nodded, a solemn look on her face. “So
if he called, he must have something important to tell you.”

“
Probably,” I
lied.

Lucy’s face lit up. In a burst of emotion,
she threw her arms around me. “You see?” she said. “Something
finally went right for you today. I knew it would.”

“
Yeah.” I cleared my
throat. “Finally.”

* * * * *

Friday morning, I turned on my fully charged
cell phone and checked for messages just in case someone had
happened to call overnight. My in-box came up empty, yet again, so
I shut it down. Keeping it on all day, even while accessible at
work, was a luxury I could no longer afford.

When I pulled into my regular parking spot
in the garage beneath our building, I gathered my coat, purse, and
briefcase, to step out of the car.

“
Alex?”

I screamed as I spun.

Barton Vicks stepped back, alarmed. “I’m
sorry,” he said, his wide face turning this way and that, as though
expecting security to come and cart him away again. “I didn’t mean
to scare you.”

“
What are you doing
here?”

More than anything else, the panic in my
voice made me angry; I hated feeling so out of control. This wasn’t
the way I liked to handle things. I called the shots; I was used to
it. Mrs. Vicks murder and subsequent events had sent all my
self-confidence into a frustrating tailspin and I wanted everything
the way it used to be.

“
Back off,” I
said.

To my surprise, he did. A sheepish look came
over his face as his little eyes blinked a couple of times and he
gave a short shrug. “I just need to talk with you, Alex. I’m really
sorry about the other day. I . . .” As his words trailed off, his
eyes sought answers in the cement ceiling above us.

I became aware of others parking their cars
and heading toward the elevators. Lots of footsteps, chatter, and
clunking of doors. A few people glanced our way. I waved to one of
the assistants from out station. Despite the fact that I wasn’t
alone this time, I still moved around my car, keeping a safe
distance between us, reaching in my purse for the familiar comfort
of the pepper spray.

“
You think popping out of
the shadows in a dark garage is going to make me want to talk with
you?”

He dropped his head, nodding toward his big,
brown loafers. “I know. I was going to come by your house last
night, but every time I drove by, there was another cop car.” Still
looking down, he swayed a bit from side to side, making a funny
noise, as though he didn’t quite know what to say next. He reminded
me of Diana, at Mrs. Vicks’ wake—swaying instead of talking. It
made them look dithering and dull. Finally, he added, “And I know
that your boss has a thing set up so I can’t come visit you at
work.”

“
Can you blame
him?”

I still fingered the pepper spray, hoping I
hadn’t used the full contents last night. Geez, that little tool
was getting quite a workout.

“
No,” he said. “I was . .
. I mean . . .”

He shifted his weight and chanced a look up
at me.

The anger and determination I’d seen on his
face when he’d accosted me in the office was gone, replaced by
chagrin, maybe. I didn’t think Big Bart had it in him to pull off
such an effective ruse, but I still didn’t like the man.