The Follower (40 page)

“No problem,” Barasco said, but he sounded annoyed. “What’s up?”

“I had a talk with Katie Porter.”

There was a long pause—John thought the call might’ve been lost—then Barasco said, “The girl Barnett was dating.”

“That’s right.”

“Why were you talking to her?”

John let out a deep breath then said, “She came into the precinct this morning. She was very upset.”

“Look, I’m busy,” Barasco said. “What the hell’s this about?”

“She thinks this guy Peter Wells was stalking her sister.”

“Yeah, I know, she told me all about that yesterday.”

“Did she tell you she thinks he might’ve killed her sister’s boyfriend? She also thinks he might’ve altered his appearance on the night of Andrew Barnett’s murder.”

“Look, we talked to the Wells guy yesterday and there wasn’t much to go on. He says he was in his hotel room at the time of the murder, and the guy who works at the desk says he doesn’t remember Peter going out.”

“So the alibi isn’t airtight.”

“Is this why you called me?”

“She says she was with William Bahner the other night, the night before he was killed, so I think this should be looked into, that’s all.”

“If she was with Bahner, that’s a good reason to talk to her again. But that has nothing to do with Peter Wells.”

“I just wanted to express my concern that—”

“Your concern has been expressed—thanks so much. From now I’d suggest you let me handle my own case, you think you can do that? I think my track record speaks for itself, don’t you? Oh, and FYI, I had a call from Katie Porter this morning, so I don’t know why you’re even wasting your time.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” John said, “I am wasting my fucking time.” He closed the phone so hard he could’ve broken it, then said, “Goddamn asshole,” louder than he’d intended, and the woman sitting outside, having lunch with her young daughter, gave him a nasty look.

“Sorry,” John muttered, and went back into the restaurant.

He rejoined his son, who was sitting with his arms crossed, looking pissed off. Now John had to deal with this shit? He did his best to have a pleasant time, but his son’s pissy attitude and the leftover anger from the conversation with Barasco was like a potent stress cocktail. John kept replaying snippets,
especially that last beaut,
I
think my track record speaks for itself
. He couldn’t imagine what his blood pressure was right now. One seventy over one hundred? Higher?

Their meals arrived and John started eating quickly, double-biting. He was trying to hold a conversation with his son, asking him questions about his job as a social worker at a middle school in lower Manhattan, but it was useless. They had zero to say to each other and things weren’t going to get any better.

John finished his ziti, then Blake asked, “Should we get the check?” even though he’d barely touched his salad.

“I’m ready if you are,” John said.

As John paid the bill, Blake put on his jacket and went outside. When John left, he saw Blake waiting for him on the sidewalk.

“Well, this was a lot of fun,” John said.

“Yeah,” Blake said. “It was a blast.”

John couldn’t think of anything else to say. He moved forward, as if to hug his son goodbye, but couldn’t go through with it and shook his hand instead.

Driving uptown, John felt like shit, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Or was there?

He could do a little poking around on his own, see what he could find out about this Peter Wells guy. Working on another detective’s case was a big no-no, but what the hell did he have to lose? He was already one of the least-respected detectives in the whole city; what was one more blotch on his record?

Near Forty-second Street, a cabbie tried to cut John off.

“Yeah, right,” John said, and he hit the gas and gave the fucker the finger as he sped away.

Trying to stay as calm as possible
, Katie called her parents.

“Mom.”

“What is it?” Her mother was already concerned. That was the freaky thing about mothers; they always
knew. “
What’s wrong?”

Katie explained that she was in “a bad situation” and that she needed to go home to Lenox right away.

“What is it? What happened?”

Katie wanted to keep things vague. The last thing she wanted was to panic her parents and cause them to get into an accident on the way to the city to pick her up.

“It’s no big deal,” she said, trying not to let her voice waver. “I just think it would be a good idea to, like, get away for a while.”

“Tell me what’s going on right now, Katie.”

“Nothing’s going on.” She didn’t know how much longer she could keep this up. “Really, you guys don’t have to worry about anything or—”

“Does it have to do with the murder? Did something happen with the police?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re lying.”

“I am not lying. I’n telling you the truth.”

She wasn’t even fooling herself.

“You’re scaring me, Katie.”

“I’n telling you, it’s okay. I’n not in any danger.”

“Where are you?”

“Home. In my apartment.”

“Who’s there with you?”

“No one.”

“Oh my God.”

“Mom, don’t panic—”

“Dad’s not home. He’s in Pittsfield, showing a house. I’n gonna call him right now. As soon as he comes home, we’re coming to get you.”

“Okay, but don’t, like, get him excited or anything.”

“Did somebody hurt you?”

Thinking about the date rape, Katie felt like she was about to cry. She managed to say, “No, I’n just scared, that’s all.”

“Scared of what?”

“Nothing…Just the whole situation. I want to come home.”

“I still feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“I’n telling you everything. I’n just scared. I’n really, really scared.”

She started crying, feeling like a total baby. So much for Miss Independent.

“This is crazy,” her mother said. “You should’ve let us pick you up the other day. I can’t believe we listened to you.”

Sobbing, Katie said, “I’n sorry, Mommy.”

Mommy?
God, did she really say
Mommy?

“Look, I have to go so I can call your father. I’ll wait outside and just get in the car with him when he comes by so we don’t waste any time. We’ll be there in three hours, maybe less. We’ll call you from the road.”

“Drive carefully,” Katie said.

She checked to make sure the locks were bolted and that the chain was on, then she showered. The hot water was relaxing until she started thinking about
Psycho
and got out quickly, rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of her hair in the sink.

After she got dressed, she packed a suitcase with stuff she might need for three or four days. She didn’t care if Mitchell fired her for taking off work; maybe it was time to move on anyway.

She was hungry and prepared a bowl of Special K and strawberry yogurt and ate it in front of the TV. She flipped around, watching midday talk shows, with the volume on very loud. Around noon, her mother called. She said she was in the car with Katie’s father and that they were on their way to the city. Katie—much calmer than before—assured her mother that everything was fine and there was no need to rush.

While she was finishing the conversation with her mom, a call came in on the other line from Detective Barasco. Katie was surprised—she had somehow expected that Barasco would completely blow her off. But Barasco seemed very eager to talk, saying he was in the neighborhood and asking if he could come up immediately.

Several minutes later, Barasco and Martinelli arrived. They seemed very hurried and serious and started questioning her as soon as they walked in. She didn’t get any of that
they-think-I’n-a-ditz
vibe she’d gotten yesterday. It was all business.

They told her that they spoke with Peter yesterday and wanted to know if Peter knew William Bahner, or ever talked to him.

“I have no idea,” Katie said. “I mean, he never mentioned him.”

“Do you have any idea where Peter was last night?” Barasco asked.

“No, none,” Katie said. “The last time I saw Peter was Monday night, when I left the apartment—the apartment he bought for me.” She rolled her eyes. The questioning about Peter didn’t upset her at all; actually, it was comforting to know that Peter was being taken seriously as a suspect, that the police were finally doing something.

“What about you?” Barasco asked. “How well did you know William Bahner?”

“I didn’t know him very well. But, like I told Detective Himoto, I was with Will two nights ago.”

Barasco wanted to know everything Katie knew about William Bahner. She told him about the double date with Andy, and how her friend Amanda had “kind of hooked up”
with Will. Then she told them how two nights ago she came home and saw the note on her door from Will and went to meet him at Fetch on Third Avenue.

“What did he want to meet with you about?” Barasco asked.

“Just to talk about Andy, about what happened to him, and about maybe going to the funeral and stuff like that. Oh, and he was pissed off that Himoto had questioned him about assaulting that kid in high school. He didn’t want that getting out, you know, around the hospital.”

“Was there anything else?”

Katie was uncomfortable mentioning that she’d kissed Will, but she didn’t see how she could avoid it. “Not really. We had a couple of drinks, and then he started kissing me.” She thought she saw Martinelli smile, as if thinking,
Kissing her friend’s boyfriend, what a slut. “
I wasn’t into it at all,” she said quickly, “and I told him so, and then I noticed a woman standing there. And I remembered I saw the same woman outside my office, when I was leaving work.”

“What did she look like?” Barasco asked.

Katie described her.

“Had you ever seen this woman before?”

“You mean before I saw her outside my office? No. Never. At least I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure you saw the woman outside your office?”

“Yes, I’n positive,” Katie said. “I took a really close look around because I was afraid Peter was following me, I mean after the scene at that apartment the night before and everything. Why? Do you think the woman could’ve—”

“Highly unlikely, given the way Bahner’s head had been bashed in. Unless she was a bodybuilder, but you say she had a slim build, right?”

“Yeah, but Peter’s really strong. He’s not a bodybuilder, but he works out. He has really ripped muscles.”

“Peter Wells had an alibi for the night of Andrew Barnett’s murder.”

“What about for last night?”

“We don’t know yet. Do you have any idea who this could be?”

Martinelli showed her a police sketch of a stocky, dark-haired guy with a goatee.

“That could be Peter,” she said. “I mean, it looks like his eyes and cheekbones.”

“You think he could’ve changed his appearance?”

“He shaved his goatee, right after Andy was killed,” Katie said. “I told Detective Himoto this already—I mean, the timing works out. Peter could’ve dyed his hair darker and dyed his goatee, too. And how about how he might’ve pushed my sister’s boyfriend off a roof in college?”

Talking very quickly, she explained how her sister had been distraught because a guy friend of hers had died, and how Peter could’ve killed him, and how Peter might’ve seen her with Will, or the woman had told him she had been with Will, and then Peter could’ve killed Will. She was aware of how the more she talked, the more bizarre and less credible she probably sounded.

Finally, Barasco cut her off midsentence and said, “We appreciate all the information. Please just stay available in case we need to talk to you again.”

Katie didn’t want to mention that she was planning to go up to Massachusetts. She was afraid they’d want her to stay in town and there was no way she was doing that. It didn’t seem to matter anyway—since they could always call her on her cell if they had any more questions.

Although Katie was less than convinced that Barasco and Martinelli believed her theory about her sister’s boyfriend, she was confident that they would at least talk to Peter again to see if he had an alibi for last night. She was glad that things finally seemed to be under control.

She watched some more TV and nibbled on the only food she could find in the fridge—a couple of rice cakes and half a thing of cottage cheese. Her parents called from the road again and she was able to communicate to them, much more convincingly, that she was fine and there was no reason to panic. When she got off the phone with her parents, she considered calling Amanda at work, just to have someone to chat with. But as she started to dial, she reconsidered and clicked
off. Amanda probably hadn’t even heard about Will’s death yet or she would’ve called, and Katie didn’t want to be the one to have to break the news.

But before Katie could put the phone down on the coffee table, it started to ring. Figuring it was her parents calling back, she was about to flip open the phone, but stopped just in time when she saw PETER flashing.

“Fuck,” she said.

There was no way she was picking up. She let the phone ring six times and then it stopped. She hoped he wouldn’t leave a message, but then heard the beeping sound, announcing that she had received a new voice mail. She wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to ignore it, or delete it—the last thing she needed was to hear that creep’s voice—but decided that could be a big mistake. It could be evidence; the police might need to hear it. She deliberated for several more minutes, then decided to stop being such a wimp and called in for the message:

“Hey, Katie, it’s me, Peter. I just wanted you to know, I’ve been thinking about you a lot. But I bet you already knew that, right?” He laughed. “But, seriously, Katie, I just want you to know I feel bad about everything that happened the other day. I know I come on too strong sometimes, and I didn’t want to frighten you off or anything. I mean, I obviously don’t want to do that…But I want you to know I meant everything I said and I really want to talk to you…Also, I just saw on the news what happened to your friend Andy’s friend. That sucks so bad. I can’t imagine what you’re going through and I’d love to help you through it any way I can. So you can give me a call back today anytime. Cool?…Can’t wait to hear your voice.”