I'm Watching You (32 page)

"No!" she shouted.

He fired.

The bullet struck her in the shoulder and she fell back against the hard
floor. Pain seared through her body. Her vision blurred and for a moment she
couldn't breathe. She'd prayed the bullet would kill her outright
but realized now death would not come quickly to her.

The Guardian moved toward her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and
jerked her head back. "Take back all you said about Lindsay."

The pain dulled her mind. He had the machete in his hand.
"Monster."

The Guardian raised the machete over his head. Through the pain she
heard the phone ring. She nearly wept with relief as he released her and backed
away toward the workbench. He snapped up the phone.

"It took you long enough to call me back," the Guardian
growled. "Now, who is the woman Lindsay is going to see at Mercy?"

A slight tense pause had Kendall struggling to stay conscious.

"I don't care if you've lost your stomach for helping
me. And I don't care about your gaming debts anymore. You're in too
deep. Now tell me what you know."

The Guardian listened, his body tensing as he gripped the receiver
tighter. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Be waiting for me in the
garage at the regular place."

The Guardian slammed the phone down and whirled toward Kendall, the only
one to absorb his rage. He grabbed a handful of her hair. His eyes were as
black as Satan's.

Pain from her shoulder overwhelmed her. Her world went blank.

Lindsay swung her car around and brought it to a stop in a space close
to the elevator. She took a moment to scan the deck to make sure there
were no press
or shadowy figures. Satisfied that the area
was clear, she got out of the car and locked it with her keyless remote. She
crossed quickly to the elevator, punched the button, and tapped her toe as she
waited.

Thoughts tumbled through her mind.
The Guardian.
Richard. Nicole. The abused woman she was about to meet. And even Sam. Where
was Sam? He hadn't called her and that wasn't like him. She was
beginning to think that all this trouble with the Guardian might have scared
him off.

There was a time his possible rejection might have hurt her feelings.
But not now.
If he couldn't accept her for
who
she was--the good and the bad--then so be it.
She had to give Zack credit. He'd seen the dark side of her past and he
hadn't been scared away.

Lindsay leaned forward to push the already lit elevator button again
when she heard footsteps behind her. The sound had her nerves tightening like a
bowstring. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. She jabbed the elevator
button again before she turned.

A man appeared from the shadows. He was dressed in a green jumpsuit and
was pushing a canvas laundry cart. He touched the bill of his
Minton's Laundry
hat and nodded.
"Morning."

Lindsay nodded stiffly, her nerves on alert. With the Guardian's
identity still unknown, she wasn't taking any chances. The elevator
dinged and the doors slid open.

She stepped back.
"You first."

The guy shrugged. "There's room for us both."

"Thanks. I think I forgot something in my car." She backed
away from the elevator.

"Suit yourself." He started inside the car and she
immediately relaxed, chiding herself for being so sensitive. But still, she was
going to play it safe.

She decided to get back in her car and drive around to the front
entrance of the hospital. She'd pay for parking on the street.

Lindsay had taken five steps when a damp cloth clamped over her face.
The sick, sweet scent of chloroform invaded her senses. Her hands rose up to
the ones clamped over her mouth and nose and she tried to pry them away.

She struggled to hold her breath, and when she couldn't any
longer, she inhaled a lungful of the chloroform. The drug invaded her system.
She couldn't move. Was helpless to scream or fight.

She heard the rumble of male laughter. It was a frightening sound.
Evil.
Malevolent.
He was enjoying
her helplessness.

Her brain spun. Her knees buckled.

As she began to lose consciousness, she was aware that the man scooped
her up and dumped her into the laundry basket.

He dropped her purse beside her and covered her with a handful of
towels. "Now the fun begins, Lindsay."

She passed out completely.

Friday, July 11, 10:30
A.M
.

The cemetery's surveillance tapes for the
past year had
arrived
around eight last night and Zack
had reviewed them most of the night. Slowly he'd been able to piece
together a chain of events. He rewound the footage and stopped the tape on
February eleventh. The landscape on the screen was covered in a dusting of
snow. Icicles hung from the trees. The sky was as dull and gray as the
headstones.

The homicide team assembled in the conference room. Zack stood and ran
his hand over his head.

The entire division had worked all night. No one was going to sleep
until this guy had been caught. Detectives from other divisions and uniforms
were now helping them run down leads.

Ayden, Ricker, and Vega sat down. "So what do you have? You said
it was important."

"I spoke with the cemetery director yesterday because I noticed
cameras posted in several of the trees and by the front entrance. It seems he
installed surveillance equipment right after Christmas last year. He'd
had trouble with someone spray painting satanic symbols on some of the
headstones. His graffiti artists haven't reappeared or been caught on
tape. But, he did catch us another fish," Zack said.

Ayden frowned. "Where's Warwick? I want him to see
this."

"He's at the Department of Motor Vehicles," Zack said.
"He'll be here soon." He hit "play." On the
television screen a grainy image showed a white van rolling down a distant snowy
road into the cemetery. "Pay attention to the vehicle entering the back
entrance of the cemetery. As you can see, this segment was recorded on February
eleventh. The vehicle enters but stops at the crest of the hill." He
touched the screen where the vehicle stopped. "The driver doesn't
pull up far enough for us to get a shot at the plates or a look at his face.
But if you look closely, you can see that the driver is carrying roses, which
he leaves on Deb Hines's grave. Lindsay O'Neil's
mother's grave." Everyone in the room leaned forward and watched
the driver. "He keeps his head low as he lays the flowers on the grave.
He pauses for a moment of prayer and then leaves through the back
entrance."

Ayden leaned forward. "He's paying his respects."

Vega folded his arms over his broad chest. "What time is
this?"

"Eleven fifty-eight
A.M
." Zack
hit the fast-forward button. "March sixth. The van appears again.
It's about noontime. The driver again is careful to keep his face from
the camera and the van out of close view. He leaves flowers and again leaves by
the back entrance. The Guardian has already proven he's savvy with
surveillance equipment, so he must realize the front entrance is covered by a
camera."

Ayden muttered an oath. "How the hell are we going to catch this
guy?"

Zack grinned. "Stay with me. Now we're coming to April
second. Lindsay arrives at the grave. She leaves flowers and stays twenty
minutes. She begins to leave. The van arrives. They almost meet this time. But
she exits via the front entrance. She said she'd seen a van that day and
had thought it was the caretaker."

"She never noticed the flowers before?" Ricker said.

"The cemetery has a policy stating that all live flowers are to be
removed every Saturday. Cemetery maintenance always cleared away the old
flowers before she arrived."

He hit the fast-forward button again. "It's May third. Again
he leaves flowers."

Ricker cocked her head. Her curly hair was twisted up into a high
ponytail and her face pale from too little sleep. "May third is the day
the article on Lindsay appeared in the paper."

Zack nodded. "Yes. And on this day our mystery man lingers at the
Hines grave for over an hour. He seems to be talking to the headstone. His body
language suggests that he's agitated. He doesn't show his face, but
this time he starts to leave through the front entrance. He catches himself and
backs up. But before he does, he gets close enough for us to pull a partial on
the plates. That's why Warwick is at the DMV."

Warwick came into the room. He had a file tucked under his arm and was
breathless, as if he'd sprinted across the parking lot and up the stairs
to the second floor. "Did I miss anything?"

Zack nodded.
"Right on time."

Ayden didn't look amused. "What do you have?"

"The DMV ran the stats Kier supplied them. They had fifty-two
possible matches. They'd printed out five copies of the list by the time
I arrived. I haven't had a chance to look at them."

Ayden shoved out a sigh. "Great work."

Warwick handed copies of the list to the detectives. They each scanned
it.

"This could take days to track all these down," Zack said.

C.C. sighed. "I can get the guys from robbery to help."

Warwick frowned as he glared down at the list. The deep tan of his face
paled. He blinked and reread the list. "That's odd."

"What do you mean?" Ayden said.

"I recognize one of the names." He swallowed as if he were
struggling now. "Pete Myers. He runs the gym where I work out." He
shook his head. "This has to be a coincidence. Pete's a great
guy."

Ayden frowned. "I just got a report back from Sara. Remember that
white powder found at the Turner murder scene embedded in the footprint?
She's identified the powder as talc."

Warwick shook his head. "It's not Pete. I know this guy.
He'd give you the shirt off his back."

Zack understood Warwick's worry. He'd lived with it when
Lindsay had appeared to be the killer. "Let's check him out first.
We clear him and you'll concentrate better."

Warwick nodded, grateful. "Thanks. I'd appreciate
that."

"C.C., divide the list between you and Vega and robbery. When Kier
and Warwick return from Myers's gym give them some of the names,"
Ayden ordered. "I want this guy found."

The team disbanded. Within ten minutes Zack and Warwick were in
Zack's car headed east. "So how long have you known Pete?"

Warwick's trademark confidence had vanished. He looked worried.
"Since I was a kid.
I still work out at his gym, but
it's more than that. He raised me. I was a handful. He kept me in line,
gave me direction."

"Do you know anything about him?"

Warwick tapped long fingers on his thigh. "Pete isn't the
Guardian. This is just one of those damn coincidences."

No point in arguing. Evidence, not words, would sway Warwick. "I
get it. But I still need to ask. What can you tell me about him?"

Warwick understood questions had to be asked even if he didn't
like them. "He opened his boxing gym in town twenty years ago. I know
because I slathered his grand-opening sign with eggs. He could've called
the cops. Instead he gave me a job."

Zack merged onto I-95 south and headed downtown. "Do you have any
background on him?"

"He did some time in the military police. Retired in his late
forties and came back here to open his gym."

"So he's from Richmond."

Warwick frowned. "I don't know. I do know he has supported
dozens of children's charities over the years. Last year he hosted a
party at the gym for a bunch of kids whose folks were in prison. He even
dressed up as Santa and handed out gifts."

"What do you know about his past?"

"Not much. I do know his name isn't Henry. He never talked
about a sister named Debra or a niece named Lindsay."

"Names can be changed. And he plays his cards close to his
vest."

Warwick looked troubled but seemed to shake the dark thoughts away.
"Maybe."

"Anything else you can tell me about him?"

"He never talks about himself much. He talks about his fighters.
He talks about the gym. He talks a little bit about when he boxed in the
military." Warwick frowned. "This is bullshit. Let's get to
the gym and clear this shit up so we can catch the real killer."

Zack took the Franklin Street exit. "Sure."

"Right."
Warwick didn't like this.

Zack maneuvered a few corners and a side alley before he came up behind
the gym. There were no cars in the lot.

"The place is usually deserted?"

Warwick got out of the car. "Not usually. But it's not
unheard of for him to take off during the middle of the day if business is
slow."

"Is summer a slow time?"

"It can be. The weather is warm and people want to get
outside."

Zack quietly closed the car door behind him. They moved across the
gritty alley to the front door. There was a
CLOSED
sign on the door.

Warwick tried the door.
Locked.

Zack had a bad feeling about this. Warwick was praying Pete wasn't
involved. But the whole situation didn't smell right. "Does he
still train fighters?"

"He was training a couple last year but he cut them loose a few
months ago.
Hooked them up with a couple of good trainers.
Said he was ready to slow down."

Zack peeked in the front window. The interior was dark. "That seem
odd to you?"

"At first, but then I figured he was just getting old."

Zack wasn't leaving this place until he got a look inside.
"Any other way inside?"

"There's a door in the back. I have a key." They moved
around the side of the building down the chipped sidewalk. The area smelled of
garbage. Warwick moved ahead of Zack toward a small metal door, shoved his key
in the lock, and unlocked it. "I have a standing invitation to come into
the gym. He knows my schedule is squirrelly."

"Myers sounds like a good guy."

Warwick pushed open the door. "He is."

The gym was dark. The only sound came from the drip-drip of a faucet in
the men's bathroom.

"Pete!" Warwick shouted.

His voice echoed on the walls. No answer.

Warwick flipped on the lights. He moved down a dark hallway toward
Pete's office. The desk was a disheveled mess. "Pete usually keeps
his desk neat. Lately, he's let it go. I figured it was just because
he's getting old."

Zack jabbed his thumb toward a door. "What's this?"

"Basement access."

"Anything down there?"

"Old equipment mostly."

Zack sighed. Something didn't feel right. He glanced around the
office a second time. Myers's desk was covered with stacks of papers, a
torn boxing glove, half-eaten food, forms. Being a slob wasn't a crime.
And then he saw the black-and-white photo tucked in the corner of a bulletin
board on his desk. It was the image of a twentysomething man and a young girl.
"This Pete?"

"Yeah.
I don't know who the kid is."

The five-year-old girl looked familiar. "Damn. This kid looks like
Lindsay."

"Can't be.
Look at the clothes. It's
early nineteen sixties."

Zack flipped the picture over. Someone had scribbled
Deb
and Pete, 1963
in bold handwriting. "You're right."
Still, he flicked the edge of the photo with his thumb. "Lindsay showed
me a picture of herself as a kid. She looked just like this child."

"I don't know who it is. I figured it was a sister or a
cousin."

"A sister."
Zack exhaled a breath. "This
is a picture of Lindsay's mother."

Warwick's mouth hardened as the implications sunk in. "It
can't be."

"Lindsay had a couple of photos in a box when we were married. I
only saw them once. But hold up Lindsay's kindergarten picture next to
this one and you'd see that she and this kid are the spitting image of
each other."

"Oh, Jesus."

Zack scanned the row of shelves above the desk. "We know the
Guardian has some connection to Lindsay."

"That doesn't mean Pete does. Likeness or not, this kid
could be anyone."

Zack glared at Warwick. "For now we have to assume that that child
pictured with Pete is Lindsay's mother."

"Pete can't be her uncle." He sounded as if he were
grasping at straws.

"He sure as hell can be." There was a small television set
on the file cabinet behind Pete's desk. Built into the set was a VCR.
"What did Pete do in the military?"

"Something with radios and the military
police."

"Electronics?"

Tension radiated from Warwick.
"Maybe."

"The Guardian has been watching Lindsay. And the cameras were
positioned in the living room and kitchen.
Nothing in the
bathrooms or the bedrooms.
Private places where a good uncle
wouldn't venture." Zack pushed back the VCR tape flap on the
television. Inside was a tape dated
July 11
. He
turned on the television and hit "Play." Instantly, a
black-and-white image of Lindsay appeared. She was standing in Ruby's
living room. The time stamp was less than an hour ago.