The Messenger (2011 reformat) (25 page)

She stood up,
unabashed by her nakedness. She embraced him and kissed him one last time for
the night. She didn't want to let go of him, and she clearly sensed that he
felt the same way.

"When can
I see you again?" he asked.

"Oh, I
don't know, let me think. How about...anytime you want."

"Okay,
I'll see you then."

He smiled at
her in the dark, kissed her hand, and was gone.

She sat on the
edge of the bed, hands in her lap. She could still feel him in her, and she
liked the feeling. She could still smell him on her. Outside, she heard his car
start and drive away. He wasn't even gone five minutes and she couldn't wait to
see him again. Was that infatuation, or something more? Jane knew. Yeah, I
guess I'm in love. How do you like that?

How much time
passed while she was sitting on the bed she couldn't be sure. She lay back
down, didn't bother getting under the sheets. The window was open, a cool
breeze flowing in. It felt so nice the way it ran over her skin. She thought
more about Steve, couldn't get the image of his body out of her mind. No, she
wished he hadn't left, wished he'd stayed and made love to her one more time,
but that was crazy. They'd both worn each other out. She was getting aroused
again, though. She couldn't help it. Her nipples began to tingle as though he
were still here, kissing them, stroking them between his fingers. She brought
her hands to her belly, was tempted to slide them down lower and begin to touch
herself, but her fatigue was getting the best of her now. Oh, God, I hope I see
him tomorrow. Her hands fell away, and she turned over, to let sleep take her
down.

"Hey,
peeping tom!" a voice shot out.

Jane bolted
up. Her eyes were used to the dark now; she looked over at the open window. Did
a shadow jerk away? Jesus! Someone's been out there the whole time, watching
us! Probably just a kid, some teenager peeping in windows, but still... It was
too creepy. She jumped up, switched on the light and pulled on her robe. She
quickly called the police emergency number, then wondered what to do. Yes, it
was probably just some kid but-

What if it
wasn't?

She grabbed
the heavy flashlight she kept by the bed, a makeshift weapon, then ran to the
window and looked out.

"I'm
calling the cops, you pervert!" the neighbor's voice called again.

She saw
somebody running away, could hear the rapid footfalls pounding across the
grass. Thank God he's gone. All the lights flicked on in the next house, and
the owner, an amiable retired man, came out in his robe. "How do you like
that, huh, Jane? A peeping tom."

"Yeah,
just what we need at this hour," she answered through the screen.

"Well, I
wouldn't worry. He took off like a bat out of hell, and I called the
cops."

"Me, too.
Thanks."

Later, a
patrolman came by to take down some information. The night had been ruined now.
Jane just said to hell with it and made some coffee, breaking her off-and-on
caffeine pledge. The cop, too, told her there was nothing to worry about.
Things like this happened every now and then, and they were harmless. They'd
keep a cruiser in the area. He even said that another neighbor may have gotten
a tag number.

Jane sluffed
it off. The cop was treating it like no big deal so she figured she should too.
But there was one thing she didn't tell him.

For a sliver
of a moment, when she'd seen the shadow move at the window, she thought she'd
Seen the face too. She didn't tell the cop that it looked a lot like Martin
Parkins.

That had been
last night. The memory still hovered over her head as she sat at her office
desk. Her time with Steve had calmed her; just thinking of it seemed to make
the day's headaches go away. When Sarah Willoughby stuck her head in the opened
door, Jane had almost entirely forgotten about the bad business with Martin.

"You
wanted to see me, Jane?"

Did I? Oh,
yes. Come in."

Sarah was a
nice girl and a reliable worker. Never late, never called in sick, never a
problem. She was still young, and still lower on the pay-level ladder, but Jane
had every confidence in her.

Sarah entered
and took the opposite seat, smiling perkily. "That's too bad about Martin.
I was just helping him move those boxes of spare parts down in the basement. I
had no idea he was drinking."

"Oh, I
know. It was bound to happen. I feel bad about suspending him but at this
point, there was nothing left to do. And with that done, I have an opening.
You're next in line, Sarah. Martin didn't want to be DPS foreman anyway, which
I offered him before I caught him drinking. You don't have as much seniority
but your work record is flawless, and I have nothing but confidence in you. I
hope you take it. It's also a one-level pay raise, and after ninety days, you
go up one more level."

Sarah's pretty
eyes bloomed with surprise. "Wow, this is unexpected. Thank you, Jane. I
know I can do that job better than anyone, and I know the whole routine. I
won't let you down."

"I'm sure
you won't, Sarah."

"That's
odd, though, isn't it? I mean, Martin had all...all those years of
time-in-grade. He could've turned himself around. Why didn't he take the
job?"

"Well, I
suppose it's because-"

"Because
he'd only have it for one day before he got suspended," a familiar voice
entered the room. Steve was standing there in the doorway. "Sorry to
eavesdrop. I saw the door open."

Jane and Sarah
looked up in surprise.

"Sarah,
why don't you get your things moved into your new cove," Jane suggested, a
polite way to get her out of the office. She was thrilled to see Steve, but she
could tell by his tone and expression that he had something serious to talk
about. "I'll stop by and talk to you a little later, and give you your new
job description files."

"Sure,
Jane. And thanks again." Sarah scurried out, a big smile beaming on her
attractive face.

But when Steve
sat down, he wasn't smiling.

"Hi,"
Jane said. "I can tell something's wrong. And how did you know I suspended
Martin today? Did someone out front tell you?"

"No. I
didn't know you suspended him."

"But you
just said-"

"Martin
Parkins," Steve droned. "His car's right out in the employee lot, the
red Escort."

It wasn't a
question; Jane was being told. "I guess he's still in the building,
clearing out his desk. I had to suspend him because I caught him drinking down
in the basement. I'm pretty sure he'll save himself the embarrassment of an
appeal hearing and just quit. Anyway, that's why his car's still out
there."

Steve nodded.
He opened an envelope. "Could you call him in here? I have to show him
this."

"What is
it?"

"An
arrest warrant."

Then Jane
knew. She'd forgotten for a moment. "Last night after you left, my
neighbor called in a peeping tom complaint, and the policeman who responded
said-"

"That
somebody got a tag number," Steve finished. "Another resident at the
end of your street saw him burning rubber out of there. Christ, I wished I'd
been there when it happened-I could've taken him in right then and there.
There's no doubt. He's the guy. Motor Vehicles gave us his street address so I
went by there and he wasn't in. I hope he's ready for a big surprise."

"So
you're actually going to arrest him?"

Steve looked
puzzled. "Why not? Don't you want him arrested?"

It seemed
harsh, especially right after losing the job he'd had for ten years. But...I
guess it'll teach him a lesson, and that's definitely what he needs right now.
Maybe a hard knock and a little probation'll show him the light, give him the
motivation to get his act together.

"You're
right," she agreed. She picked up the phone and asked the front service
manager to have Martin come to her office. Then she turned to Steve: "To tell
you the truth, it's not very surprising. He's always been sort of a bad apple.
Bad attitude, doesn't get along with his coworkers, not to mention several
suspensions for drinking on duty"

"You
never know with guys like that. What they do when no one sees them, I mean. He
probably peeps in women's windows all the time, just never been caught."

When the phone
buzzed, Jane picked it up, listened, then frowned. She hung up. "They just
told me Martin's not on the site."

Steve frowned
himself, nodding. "He probably saw me walking in or pulling up in the
parking lot and put two and two together." He flipped back the blinds and
looked out the office window, into the sunny parking lot. "And look at
that, his car's still there. I'll have someone from the station come out here
and put a lock block on his tire. He must've

left on foot.
I gotta get some people out there to look for him." All of a sudden, Steve
looked harried. Jane could only imagine the frustration: Last night they'd made
love and it had been wonderful; now they were stuck together by this problem
with one of her employees. They couldn't be themselves in this scenario. He
glanced at his watch and pocketed the arrest warrant. "I have to go and
get this guy picked up. But I'll call

you later,
okay?"

Jane stood up
and walked around the desk. She closed the door. She didn't say anything at
first, she just kissed him. "I understand," she whispered, hugging
him after the kiss. "You have your job to do, so go do it."

"I'm
just...a little worried about you. I don't want that weirdo coming back here.
He could be close to going over the edge-"

"Don't
worry about me. I'll be fine."

She kissed him
again and showed him out. The last thing he needs is to be stressed out over
me. She walked him out to the parking lot-he waved sheepishly as he drove off.

Jane just
smiled.

She stood
there in the sun for a few moments. It was going to be a hot one. When she
looked around, she felt gratified. Her little west branch post office was
bustling, customers coming and going, trucks pulling up in the back lot.
Everything normal. Everything like clockwork, the way it was supposed to be.

And me and
Steve, she thought. Together. Still more gratification. The feeling darkened,
though, a few moments later, when she realized what she was looking at. The
dusty red Escort, Martin's car. It reinforced the uneasy truth. He's out there
somewhere. Where would he go? What was his state of mind? Was he really close
to going over the edge? In this day and age, the situation was almost
proverbial: disgruntled postal employee goes psycho, and comes back with a gun.
It happened all the time, and it had happened here. The only difference was
Marlene was disgruntled. She was part of a cult, and so was Carlton...and no
one ever knew until it was too late. And twenty years ago? Now she was staring
at the building. Another mass murder took place. Right in there. And the act
had been perpetrated by a man, a postal employee, who...

Was in a cult.

The worst
questions marauded her now. Is Martin part of that cult, too? She shivered in
spite of the rising heat, and even in the blazing sunlight, she didn't feel
safe.

The clerks up
front had said that Martin was no longer on the site, but how could they know
for sure?

Maybe he's
hiding, Jane thought, her stomach tightening. Maybe he's still in the
building...

...Oh...

"Jesus.
Why can't anything be normal in my life?"

"What's
that, Chief?" Stanton asked.

Steve had
whispered the comment unconsciously to himself, hadn't even realized he'd said
it. Stanton, a sergeant, was his day-shift watch commander: hard, smart, by the
book. I don't need him to hear me talking to myself, Steve thought.
"Nothing," he said. "Just thinking out loud."

The warrant
had a full-search provision. Right now they were standing in the middle of the
private residence of one Martin D. Parkins.

"Why is
it these places always look the way you think they're gonna look?" Stanton
asked.

"Well, I
hate to be judgmental," Steve said, "but it seems to me that Martin
Parkins is a shit head. It makes perfect sense to me that a shit head's gonna
live in a shit hole." The place was an efficiency just out of town. A lot
of the old fleabag strip motels were converted to apartments, and this was one:
a total dump. Garbage piled up everywhere,

rotten carpet,
a dilapidated wall-unit air-conditioner that rattled so loud they turned it off
in spite of the heat. Lawn furniture for chairs and a busted futon for a bed.
Cockroaches watched them from the sink, antennae fidgeting.

"Piece of
shit car, piece of shit apartment, no possessions worth a dime," Stanton
said. "But the guy's been with the post office for years? Those guys make
decent scratch. What's he do with his money?"

"Strippers,
it looks like," Steve answered. On a table by the wall were matchbooks
from a multitude of local strip clubs. There was also a Polaroid camera and a
stack of photos; Steve picked up the photos. "Correction, strippers and
crack whores."