Hot Blooded (17 page)

“Good luck, Ty,” she said.

“Same to you, Dr. Sam. Same to you.”

Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself think and as she saw other phone lines blink to life she wondered if any of her listeners had caught the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Thanks for calling in, Ty.” She forced herself to check the display board and saw that the calls were stacking up like jets over O’Hare.

“Anytime, and, oh, Dr. Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Sweet dreams.”

Ty’s voice had been as low and sexy as a Delta night.

Samantha’s mouth was suddenly desert-dry and she was tongue-tied for the first time in all her years of radio. Heat rushed up her neck, and she tried to get her bearings. “The same to you, Ty,” she finally managed, her voice sounding throatier than usual. “Sweet dreams.” Quickly, before she lost her train of thought completely, she pressed a button, read the computer screen and said, “Hello, this is Dr. Sam, you’re on the air.”

“Hi, this is Terry…hey, who was that guy you were talking to? Do you know him?”

Sam sent a scalding glance toward Melanie. Wasn’t she screening the calls, for God’s sake. “Did you have a question about a relationship?”

“And that Annie, earlier. What was that all about?”

Melanie was shaking her head.

“I don’t know. Now, did you have a reason to call?”

“Well I was gonna ask about how to handle my teenage son.”

“What about him?”

Terry turned her attention back to her boy, but as soon as the next call came in, it was back to questions about Annie. The phone lines never quit blinking. The questions about who the breathy girl on the phone kept coming. Finally, the show was over. As the first stains of “Midnight Confession” played, Sam finished the show with her signature sign off, “…there is always tomorrow. Sweet dreams.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she clicked off her microphone, ripped off her headset, and stormed out of the studio to the glassed-in room where Tiny and Melanie were gathering up the paperwork and resetting the equipment for the
Lights Out
program.

“I thought you were screening the calls,” she charged.

“I was. You should have heard what came in here.” Melanie threw her headset onto the desk. “It was a nightmare.” The tech room was dark except for a desk lamp, the colored lights of the equipment and recessed bulbs over a bank of computers and recorders.

“She’s right,” Tiny said, rushing to Melanie’s defense. “No one wanted to discuss anything but Annie.”

“Or Ty. There were a couple callers who asked about him.” Melanie tossed her blond curls from her face. Sweat sheened on her face. “I tried, Sam. It’s not easy sometimes.”

Sam cooled off. It wasn’t Melanie’s fault that the woman pretending to be Annie called in. “Did you keep track of all the calls?” Sam demanded.

“Every last one of “em,” Tiny assured her as he tapped two fingers on a lined sheet of paper on the desk he was sharing with Melanie. “Right here on the log. I wrote down the telephone number
and
the name, if it was available. Some of the calls came in anonymously, of course. If they’re
initiated from a company with a private phone system, then caller ID can’t identify them.”

“Then what good is caller ID?” Disgusted, Sam leaned over the desk, her eyes scanning Tiny’s log.

“It’s a start. And we’ve got most of “em. Here.” Tiny spun the lined paper around, then rolled his chair over to the bank of recording equipment and computers to finish arranging the presets for the next three hours. Sam’s gaze raked over the sheet covered with Tiny’s cryptic scrawl. As he’d said, every telephone call was listed. Beside the names were numbers and in some cases notations. Samantha ran her finger down the list, came to the name Annie, where there was a number and an identification name of a pay phone.

Of course. Whoever had phoned in was too clever to call from a private residence. “I’ll need a copy of this ledger.”

“For the police?” Melanie zipped her briefcase.

“And myself.”

“What was that all about in there?” Melanie asked, hitching a thumb at the darkened studio. Through the window, faint light shimmered from the streetlamps three floors below, throwing in relief the equipment in the booth, microphones on long, skeletal arms bent at odd angles, and the desk surrounded by banks of levers and dials. It seemed sinister somehow. Evil. But that was ludicrous.

Melanie broke into her thoughts. “Come on, Sam, who was that Annie girl who called? She acted like she knew you, and you freaked out.”

“Play back her request. When she called in. Before you connected her to me. You said you taped it.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’ve got it,” Tiny interjected. “Just give me a minute…. Here we go—”

A woman’s voice came on after Melanie answered. “This
is Annie. I would like to talk to Dr. Sam about my mother-in-law. She’s interfering in my marriage.”

“Hold on. It’ll just be a minute,” Melanie had assured her, and then the breathy, accusatory call.

Sam’s skin crawled.

Tiny stopped the playback, but cast a look over his shoulder, checking Sam’s reaction. “Who is she?”

“I don’t know who the caller really was, but she wasn’t Annie Seger.”
Who would call in and pretend to be Annie Seger and
why
would anyone dredge that entire tragedy up again?
“But—I know this sounds weird, but I think I’ve heard her voice, but it’s not quite right…I can’t place it.” She closed her eyes.
Who, Sam, who would do this to you? What kind of cruel joke is it?
Aware that Melanie and Tiny were staring at her, she shrugged and shook her head. “I can’t place it. Not now. But I will.” Her skin felt cold as death, and she rubbed her arms. “It was a prank.”

“Another one. Like the calls from that John guy,” Tiny surmised.

“Oh, this is different,” she said, thinking back to those horrid, lonely nights when Annie Seger had called in to the station in Houston, when the show’s ratings had skyrocketed, when Dr. Sam’s name had become a household word, when a young, pregnant girl had taken her life. Had it been neglect on her part? Had she read the situation wrong? Had there been any clues that Annie had been suicidal? How many times had she asked herself those same questions? How many nights had she lain awake, replaying the desperate phone calls in her mind, feeling guilt settle over her like a shroud, wondering if there was anything she could have done to help the girl.

“Of course it’s different. The caller was a woman this time.” Melanie looked from Sam to Tiny, who was frowning as he adjusted the volume of a prerecorded track. Then Sam
realized Melanie didn’t know the story, had been in the booth when she’d told Tiny about Annie Seger.

“Samantha said the woman was pretending to be a girl who had called in while she was in Houston and the kid ended up dead,” Tiny said, as if making sure he’d gotten all the details straight.

“What?” Melanie drew back, appalled. “Dead? But…oh God, that’s sick.”

“Beyond sick.” Tiny folded his arms over his chest.

“My speciality,” Sam pointed out, finally recovering a bit of her composure. “Remember, I’m a shrink.”

The phone jangled, and they all jumped. Line two flashed impatiently. “I’ll get it. It’s probably Eleanor.” Sam punched the button for the speaker phone. “Hi, this is Samantha.”

“Glad I caught you in.”

She froze. Her heart missed a beat. “Who is this?” she said, but recognized the smooth, sexy voice immediately.
John.
Out there lurking somewhere. He hadn’t given up. He was just biding his time. Waiting for her to feel relaxed.

“Don’t play games, Samantha. You know who I am.”

“You’re the one who’s playing games.”

“Am I? I suppose I am. Are we having fun yet?”

Sam wanted to slam down the receiver, but couldn’t sever the connection, not if she ever wanted to nail this creep. Motioning frantically to Tiny and the recorder, she kept talking. “I wouldn’t call it fun, John,” she said, hoping that Melanie and Tiny would catch on. “Not fun at all.”

“I caught your program tonight.”

Spurred into action, Tiny pressed the right buttons and gave her a quick nod as the recorder began taping. Melanie stared at the speaker phone as if mesmerized.

“But you didn’t phone in.”

“I’m calling now,” he pointed out in his well-modulated voice.

Had she heard it before? Had he called her without claiming
to be John? Was it someone she knew?
Think, Sam, think! This creep acts like he
knows
you. As if you’ve met.

“I wanted to talk to you alone. What we need to discuss is personal.”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

His chuckle was deep and rumbled through the room.

Melanie bit her lip.

Tiny’s eyes bulged behind his glasses.

The booth seemed close and dark and dangerous, the sound emanating from the speaker pure sin. Sweat prickled on Sam’s scalp.

“Sure you do,
Doctor,
you just don’t remember. Aren’t you putting two and two together yet? You with your degree and all…”

“What is it you want?” she asked, taking a seat and staring at the speaker as if she could will a vision of his face to appear. “Why are you calling me?” She could barely think, but she knew she had to keep him on the line. She grabbed a pen from a cup on the desk, flipped over the log and scratched out a quick note—CALL POLICE—that she shoved under Melanie’s nose.

“Because I know you for what you are, Samantha. I know that you’re a hot-blooded cunt. A phony. That degree you’re so proud of isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.” He was getting angry now, his well-modulated voice becoming agitated. “Women like you need to be punished.” His words reverberated through the speaker more rapidly, as Melanie hurried out of the room and into the studio next door. Through the glass window, Sam saw her hit the lights and pick up the headset. She glanced over her shoulder and nodded as she punched a free line, quickly dialed and nodded back to Sam and Tiny. The corresponding light for line three flashed to life.

Keep him on the line, Sam, just keep him talking. Maybe
he’ll slip up. Maybe the police will arrive, maybe there’s a way to trace the call.

“You’re a whore,
Dr.
Sam,” John charged. “A fifty-dollar-an-hour hooker!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Try to remain calm. Keep him on the damned line. Find out more about him, record it for the police.
Her palms were sweaty, her heart thundering.

“It’s all in your past, Dr. Sam, that past you hide from the world. But I know. I was there. I remember when you were out selling it on the streets. You’re a hooker—a fake—and you’ll pay. The wages of sin are death,” he reminded her coldly. “And you’re gonna die. You’re gonna die soon.”

She swallowed back her fear, her fingers clamping around the pen in her hand.
Who is he? Why is he so angry? What does he mean he “was there.” Where, damn it?
“Why are you threatening me, John? What did I ever do to you?”

“Don’t you know? Don’t you remember?” he nearly yelled.

Annie’s words earlier
—Don’t you remember me?

“No. Why don’t you tell me? Where did we meet?” she said, her voice somehow steady though she could barely breathe. Her skin was hot, her insides cold as death.

John didn’t say a word. That was creepier still. Knowing he was there, listening, not speaking. Through the glass window, Sam caught Melanie’s gaze. She was talking and nodding, gesturing with her hands as if the police could see through the phone lines.

“John, are you still there?”

“Are you on a speaker phone?” he asked suddenly. “It’s echoing.”

“Listen, John, why are you calling me—” The phone rang loudly and line four flashed impatiently. Sam ignored it. “What is it that you want from me?”

“You are, you lying cunt. You’re on a speaker. I thought I told you I wanted this to be personal!”

“It is, believe me. Now, tell me, John, what is it you want from me?”

“Retribution,” he said. “I want you on your knees. I want you to beg for forgiveness.”

“For what?”

But the line went dead. As if he’d heard the incoming call and gotten scared. “Damn,” Sam swore, trembling inside. Feeling weak. Vulnerable. Violated.
Don’t let him do this to you. Don’t let him get to you.
But the hatred she’d felt, the rage he had against her was horrifying.

“I got it all,” Tiny assured her, as she hit the button for line four.

“WSLJ.”

“Dammit, Sam, is that you? What the hell’s going on over there? You were supposed to call me back.” Eleanor’s voice bellowed from the speaker phone. “Are you all okay?”

“We’re fine.”

“That was some weird stuff on the phone tonight,” Eleanor said. “I couldn’t believe it when that girl saying she was Annie Seger called.” There was pause as Eleanor drew in a breath. “Sam, tell me you’re okay.”

“I think I already did.”

“Yeah, but I remember what happened. I was there, y’know. In Houston.”

Suddenly self-conscious that Tiny was hearing every bit of this conversation, probably was recording it, Sam cut Eleanor off. “Look, we’re all tired. Let’s not go into it now. I’ll come into the station early tomorrow and we’ll talk. There are other things we’re going to have to go over.”

“Other things?” Eleanor’s voice was instantly wary.

“The other prank caller, the guy who calls himself John, phoned in after the program again. I just hung up.”

“After
the show? What’s that all about?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the second time he called once the program’s gone off the air. As if that somehow makes it more personal, I guess. The first time he said he was busy, and I was to blame. This time he didn’t offer up any excuses for not calling during the show, got really upset when he realized I was using a speaker phone and became threatening. Tiny’s got everything on tape. We’ll listen to it tomorrow.”

“I don’t like it, Sam. Not at all.”

“Neither do I.”

“We’ll have to call the police again.”

“Melanie just did.” She glanced through the window and saw Melanie nodding, still gesturing as she talked into the microphone. “It’s handled.”