Watch Them Die (14 page)

He must have been watching her that whole time. Somehow, he must have been listening, too.

Three different men had been following her, so Ben Podowski claimed. If she were looking for patterns, there were a few common denominators with two of those three men. Both Ben Podowski and Ronald Craig had lied to her about their true identities. Yet each man professed a desire to help her. She wondered if Ben—like Ronald Craig—had been hired to spy on her by her estranged husband. Ronald Craig had been murdered because he’d seen too much. Ben could die for the same reason. Maybe he would be the next victim, dying from a “hot dose” in some hotel. Her stalker could have taken liberties with the locale in
Casino
. If Ben Podowski died from an overdose in that tenement, no one would blink an eye.

Hannah stared at his phone number—among all the notes and lists she’d been making. She picked up the phone and dialed. While it rang, she wondered if her husband, Kenneth, was somehow behind all these killings. Thanks to Ronald—and perhaps, Ben—he might have tracked her down. Maybe he was playing some sort of sadistic game with her for revenge.

There was a click on the other end of the line, then a recording:
“Hello, this is Ben. I’m not home right now, but—”

Hannah hung up. She wanted to warn Ben. But for all she knew, he could be the killer or an accomplice.

“Shit,” she muttered, staring at the phone. She didn’t know what to think or whom to trust. If she was compelled to make a phone call, it should be to the police.

Someone knocked on the door, and she jumped a bit. “Um, yeah? Do you need me up front?”

Scott poked his head in. “No, in fact, it’s dead as Planet Hollywood out there. C’mon, step outside with me while I grab a smoke. Cheryl can take over for a few minutes. You need some fresh air. It’s really pretty out.”

Scott was right. Orange and pink streaks slashed across the twilight sky. Along the sidewalk, leaves scattered in the cool, autumn breeze. Hannah and Scott leaned against a bicycle rack outside the store. He lit up a generic-brand cigarette.

“Scott, you understand my situation,” she said. “I have no business asking you to do this. But could you—maybe contact the police for me? You can say all this has been happening to you. Tell them about the videos, and the deaths that followed.”

He exhaled a puff of smoke and gave her a deadpan stare. “So—I’m supposed to tell them I found this latest video in my purse?”

“Okay, say it was in your backpack,” Hannah retorted. “The important thing is someone—maybe Britt—could be in trouble. Maybe the police can do something. Maybe they can catch this guy before he does any more harm.”

“You want them to follow Britt around? Hello? Hannah, they’ll pick her up for possession. And hell, I’ll bet good ol’ Webb is dealing. They’ll throw his sorry ass in jail, too. I don’t give a crap about him, but I couldn’t do that to Britt.”

“Would you rather see her dead?”

“Of course not. But I won’t get her—and myself—in trouble because you want me to tell this story to the cops for you. Hannah, you need to do it yourself.” He took another drag off his cigarette and shook his head. “The cops would have all sorts of questions for me that I couldn’t answer. I’ll back you up, but I can’t be your beard here.”

“You’re right.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

If she hoped to prevent another murder, she would have to go to the police with her story. But once they found out who she really was, she’d be as good as dead.

“What are you thinking?” Scott asked quietly.

“I’m thinking I’m screwed,” Hannah replied.

They got swamped with customers in the store. Hannah worked an extra hour to make up for all her time in the back room. She didn’t clock out until six-fifty. On a regular Thursday evening, that would have given her ten minutes to get to film class, but she wasn’t going tonight. She felt bad enough that work took her away from Guy while he was sick. She needed to be with him tonight.

But she had an errand to run on her way home. She’d bought two rolls of quarters at the store. It made her purse a bit heavier as she started to take a roundabout way home.

There was a phone booth outside a little mom-and-pop grocery store four blocks from her house. It was on a quiet street; in fact, so quiet the little grocery store had recently closed from lack of business. Of course, maybe their charging $1.59 for a can of Coke had something to do with it.

Tonight, Hannah was sorry they were closed. There was something sad and creepy about the boarded-up store. The light from its RC Cola sign used to illuminate that section of the sidewalk. Hannah had made calls to Chicago friends from this phone booth, but never when it had been this dark. The light above the phone was dim and flickering.

She took out her rolls of quarters and dialed directory assistance for Green Bay, Wisconsin. She asked for the non-emergency number for the Green Bay police. Hannah dropped fourteen quarters into the slot, and was automatically connected to her party.

“Green Bay Police, City Precinct,” the operator answered.

“Um, yes,” Hannah said. “I have a question about a potential missing person.”

“One minute while I connect you with a detective.”

While she waited, Hannah glanced around. The sidewalk was deserted except for a cat lurking around a dumpster halfway down the block. Most of the trees had lost their leaves. It was so dark it seemed more like midnight than seven
P.M
.

“This is Detective Dreiling,” a gravel-voiced man piped up on the other end of the line. “Can I have your name, please?”

“Yes, I’m Deborah Eastman,” Hannah said, using the name of a favorite customer from the store. “I’m on vacation here on the West Coast. And yesterday, I ran into someone in San Francisco who I think might be a missing person from Green Bay. Her name is Hannah Woodley. I think she was supposed to have disappeared a while back or something.”

“One minute, please,” he said.

Hunched inside the phone booth, Hannah could hear a keyboard clacking faintly on the other end.

“Can I have your phone number, please?” he asked.

“Where I am now, or my home phone?” Hannah asked. “Because I’m in the middle of moving, a divorce really. I can give you a number where I’ll be tonight. I’m staying with some friends—”

“Ma’am,” he interrupted. “I need a number where we can contact you—”

“Well, I can give you one,” Hannah replied, talking fast and trying to sound a bit agitated. “But I really don’t want to waste any more of your time or mine if they aren’t looking for Hannah Woodley. This is a long-distance call, you know. I heard something about her disappearing a while back, and I’m just trying to help out.”

“Ma’am, yes, she and her son are listed here as missing persons. Mrs. Woodley is also wanted for questioning in connection with reported kidnapping and larceny charges. Any information as to her whereabouts would be appreciated. Now, can I get your phone number?”

Hannah felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. She knew the Woodleys had probably brought up charges against her, but Scott had convinced her there was a chance they hadn’t. Now, as she listened to the police detective read off those charges, she felt so doomed.

“Ms. Eastman?” the detective said. “Are you there?”

Hannah quickly hung up the phone.

She hoped she hadn’t been on the line long enough for them to trace the call. She sagged against the inside of the booth. A couple of moths flew around the flickering overhead light. Hannah had to remind herself that she wasn’t really any worse off than she’d always figured. She just didn’t like hearing it.

Sighing, Hannah grabbed what was left of the torn-up roll of quarters on the little shelf under the phone. She started to step out of the booth, and gasped. The coins fell out of her hand.

He stood halfway down the block, by the dumpsters. He was filming her with a video camera. She couldn’t see his face, just a tall, shadowy figure silhouetted by a streetlight in the distance behind him.

Hannah backed into the booth and hit her shoulder against the edge. Desperately, she glanced around to see if anyone else was nearby. No one. She was alone. She quickly dug into her purse for her little canister of pepper spray. Then she looked toward the dumpsters again.

He was gone.

A car drove by. Hannah raised a hand to flag it down, but it kept going. Its headlights swept against the dumpsters and an alley behind them. She didn’t see him, but she had a feeling he was still there, watching.

Hannah found the pepper spray. Clutching it in her fist, she dared to take a couple of steps down the sidewalk—toward the dumpsters and the mouth of that gloomy alleyway. She hoped he didn’t notice she was trembling.

She got to a point and suddenly couldn’t move any further. Her legs froze up on her. She stood in the middle of the block.

Wide-eyed, she gazed down the line of cars parked along the curb. He didn’t seem to be hiding behind any of them. There was no sign of him by the dumpsters. Even the cat from a few minutes before had disappeared.

Hannah kept absolutely still. She could hear a very faint mechanical humming. Was it his video camera?

“Who’s there?” Hannah finally called in a shaky voice. “What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?”

No response. Then, as muted as that mechanical hum, she thought she heard a man chuckling.

A chill passed through her. She took a step back.

A woman screamed in the distance behind her. Hannah swiveled around to see a young couple weaving down the sidewalk across the street. They were coming toward her. The woman’s scream turned to high-pitched laughter. She leaned against her boyfriend and kissed him.

Hannah moved to the middle of the street. She ran in the direction of the young twosome. Passing them, she raced another two blocks toward home.

She kept running, and didn’t look back.

Eleven

Paul Gulletti strolled into the classroom. He sat back on the edge of his desk and glanced at the clock on the wall. “I don’t think all of us are here yet,” he announced. “But let’s get started anyway….”

Ben was seated behind Hannah’s empty desk. Since phoning her this morning, he’d left another message offering to walk her to class. She hadn’t returned either call.

Yesterday evening, Hannah had said she would see him during class tonight. Was that her way of brushing him off? He wasn’t sure if he should be worried, or annoyed, by her absence.

Still, he kept hoping that she’d show up. Paul Gulletti must have felt the same way. Ben noticed that as he spoke about tonight’s movie, Michelangelo Antonioni’s
L’Avventura
, Paul kept looking at the classroom door. He also seemed preoccupied with the vacant chair in front of Ben. Paul even locked eyes with him, then frowned and looked away.

“I lost track of what I was saying,” Paul admitted, rubbing his chin.

His assistant, Seth, cleared his throat. “You were talking about the missing girl,” he said, with a half-smile. “In the movie, Monica Vitti’s friend, who disappears…”

Paul nodded. “Yes, that’s right,” he said, visibly annoyed. After stealing another glance at the door, he lectured for a few more minutes; then he cued Seth to start the film.

While Seth dimmed the lights, Paul gathered up his notes and folder. He came down the aisle toward Ben. He turned and sat at the desk next to Hannah’s vacant spot.

About ten minutes into the movie, Ben gave up hope that Hannah might arrive late. He decided he’d leave during intermission, then walk over to Hannah’s place and check in on her.

“Do you know where she is?”

Paul Gulletti caught him off guard. Ben blinked and stared at the teacher. Turning in his desk chair, Gulletti was leaning toward him—almost in a private huddle. “I’m sorry, what?” Ben asked in a hushed tone.

“Do you know where Hannah is tonight?” Paul whispered.

Ben shook his head. “Why are you asking me?”

“I thought you two were friends or something. Last couple of classes, I saw you talking with her.”

Ben frowned at him. “Well, we might have been talking with each other. But that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Really? Seemed to me the two of you were getting along pretty well.”

“I wasn’t aware that we had an audience,” Ben replied. “In any event, I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t know where Ms. Doyle is.”

“Well, thank you, Mr.—um, I’m sorry. I forgot your last name.”

“Sturges,” Ben said.

Paul nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Sturges,” he said coolly. Then he turned forward to watch the movie.

At the break, Ben grabbed his notebook and jacket, and started out of the classroom. He passed by Seth, who was leaning against the doorway.

“Man, he sure hates your guts,” Seth remarked, with a lopsided grin.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“The Prof,” Seth said, peering over the top of his glasses toward the front of the classroom. Paul was once again seated on the edge of his desk. “He thinks you’re horning in on his girlfriend,” Seth said.

“You mean Hannah? I didn’t know she was his girlfriend.”

“Neither does she. But Paul is working on it. And in most situations, what the Prof wants, the Prof gets. What’s with you? Are you taking off?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a headache.”

“Well, take care,” Seth said. He glimpsed over his shoulder at Paul once more. Ben followed his gaze.

Paul Gulletti was glaring back at him.

“Huh, ‘if looks could kill,’ right?” Seth whispered, smirking.

Ben just nodded, then moved on down the corridor.

“Read it again, Mom,” Guy said. He was sitting up in bed with a pillow behind his back. He took the Dr. Seuss book from Hannah’s hands and opened it to the first page. “Here, Mom. Do it again….”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m so tired,” she groaned, pushing the book away. Seated on the edge of the bed, she slouched against the headboard. “I can hardly keep my eyes open. You read to me for a change. Tell me what’s in the pictures, and see how fast I fall asleep. We’ll pull the old switcheroo.”

“Okay,” he said. His brow wrinkled as he studied the book in front of him. With his rash and the remnants of calamine lotion, Guy’s complexion was a bright pink against his blond hair. “The first pitcher is of this yellow guy in a big balloon, and he’s singing….”

“Hmmm, that’s nice,” Hannah murmured.

She was so tired. Yet as Hannah closed her eyes, she could once again see that man from earlier tonight, standing by the dumpsters, videotaping her. She tried to convince herself that she was safe now—with Guy at her side. The door and the windows were all locked. There would be no intruders tonight—unless, of course, the police paid her an unexpected visit.

She was on borrowed time with them, and considered hiding out in some cheesy little hotel until Guy recovered.

The thought of a cheesy hotel reminded her again of that scene from
Casino
. She was still worried about Britt ending up dead in some such place. Hannah had called her an hour ago. Britt had reported that she was fine: “I told you before, I’m spending the weekend with Webb. Jeez, quit worrying about me!”

But Hannah couldn’t trust Britt to look out for herself. She didn’t trust Webb, either.

Any notion of going to the police had been shot down by that detective on the phone three hours ago. That was just the tip of the iceberg, too. In addition to kidnapping and larceny charges, she’d forged documents and committed fraud. She was also implicated in three murders that she’d failed to report.

All she wanted to do was run away. Maybe then the killings would stop. The police and the Woodleys’ private detective wouldn’t know where to look for her. But she had a sick little boy who had to stay at home in his own bed. Doctor’s orders.

Besides, someone was out there, watching her every move. How did she expect to slip past him? Even if she moved to a tiny little desert town or a major city on the California coast, how could she be sure he wouldn’t follow her there?

What in God’s name made her think she could nod off while her mind was going in a dozen different directions? She’d never felt so tired and on edge at the same time.

Guy’s storytelling had diminished to some snoring.

When Hannah opened her eyes, he was asleep with the book in his lap. She carefully climbed off the bed, stole the book from under his hands, then tucked him in. Just as she was switching off his nightstand lamp, someone buzzed from the lobby.

Hannah flinched. Immediately, she thought of her stalker, and then, the police. For a moment, she couldn’t move.

Guy stirred a little, but he didn’t awaken.

The buzzer sounded again. Hannah hurried to the intercom. She glanced at her wristwatch: 9:40. This was no casual call. She pressed the intercom switch. “Hello?”

“Hannah? It’s Ben Sturges.”

Hannah let out a little sigh. At least it wasn’t the police. Still, she was perturbed. “Don’t you mean Ben
Podowski?”
she said into the intercom.

“I can explain that—if you’ll let me come up.”

She hesitated. The last person to drop by unannounced was Ronald Craig on the night he was murdered.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” she said.

“Couldn’t I see you for just a few minutes?” he asked.

Hannah bit her lip. She didn’t feel safe letting him in while she was alone with Guy—and at night. “Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s late. I’ve already gotten ready for bed. If you need to see me, drop by the video store tomorrow. I take my break at two.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I didn’t see you in class. I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just didn’t feel like going tonight, that’s all.” Then she remembered something. “Um, Ben? Was everyone else there—at class? Paul didn’t come late, did he?”

“No, he was there on time. Why?”

“I’m just curious. Was anyone else absent—or late?”

“Well, I didn’t notice anybody else. I was mostly concerned about you. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m okay, thanks,” she said vaguely. She was thinking about that man videotaping her tonight. It had happened just around the time class was starting. If that figure in the shadows wasn’t Paul Gulletti or someone from the class, who was he?

“Hannah? Are you still there?”

“Listen, Ben, why don’t you come by the store tomorrow? I want you to.”

“I’d like that,” he replied. “In the meantime, take care, okay?”

“Good night.” She switched off the intercom. After a moment, she unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. She folded her arms against the chill. The wind whipped through her hair. She gazed down at the lone figure heading down the street, away from her building.

Ben didn’t look back over his shoulder.

Hannah wondered if she’d done the right thing, sending him away. The lives of everyone around her suddenly seemed so tentative. She watched him walking in the distance, and she couldn’t help thinking he might be dead by tomorrow.

“I hate to bug you on your day off, Tish,” Hannah said into the phone. “But I’m here alone.” She stood behind the counter at Emerald City Video. It was almost one o’clock in the afternoon.

“Where’s Scott?” the store manager asked on the other end of the line. “Wasn’t he supposed to start at eleven today?”

“Yeah. I’ve tried calling his place. I can’t even leave a message. I keep getting this stupid recording on his answering machine that says
‘Memory is full.’”
Hannah tried to control the little tremor creeping into her voice—without much success. “Anyway, Tish, I think something’s happened. I’m really worried. Do you have another number we can call for him?”

“No. We better get someone else to fill in.”

“I tried Britt, but she’s spending most of this weekend with Webb. So I’m not surprised she isn’t answering. Cheryl and Victor are both due in at two.” Hannah sighed. “I’m okay here by myself for now, but I’m really worried about Scott.”

She kept thinking about what he’d said the day before:
I’m toast. I’m a fucking dead man…He’ll go after me next, I know it.

“Well, we can’t be short a person today,” Tish said. “Not on a Friday. It’ll be N-U-T-Z, nuts. I’ll drag my ass over there. In the meantime, don’t worry about our Scott. He’s a big boy. Bet you a latte you’ll hear from him or he’ll show up before I make it to the store.”

“I’ll take that bet,” Hannah replied. “And hope I lose.”

Two hours later, they got the word from a friend of Scott’s that he was in the hospital.

Tish gave Hannah the rest of the afternoon off so she could visit him at Group Health Hospital. The doctors estimated that Scott would be in isolation there for ten days.

In the hospital gift shop, Hannah bought him some flowers and magazines. Before entering the corridor to Scott’s private room, she had to check in with a nurse stationed at the desk. The woman made her sign a form, then gave her a disposable smock and surgical mask to wear.

When Hannah stepped into the small, dimly lit, beige room, Scott was curled up on top of the unmade bed. He wore one of those hospital gowns, the kind that make even the healthiest person appear sickly.

Hannah cleared her throat. “Scott?”

He lifted his head up, then squinted at her. His handsome face was flushed and covered with tiny red welts.

“Oh, Jesus,” Hannah whispered. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault you’re in here. I should have been more careful washing up after being with Guy—”

“Oh, relax,” he groaned. “Neither you nor Guy gave me the damn chicken pox. The doctor told me chicken pox has like a twenty-day incubation period. I was exposed a while back.” He sat up. “Speaking of exposed, can you see up my gown?”

“My eyes are avoiding that area,” Hannah admitted. She set the magazines and flowers on a side table. Her mask seemed to be slipping, and she adjusted it. “I got you
Vanity Fair, GQ
, and
People.”

“Thanks,” he grunted, with a tired smile. “You’re sweet. I’m going out of my mind here. I can’t believe I have to stay in this place for another ten days. I guess it’s serious stuff when an adult gets the chicken pox.”

Hannah glanced down at her hospital smock and pointed to her mask. “Tell me about it. Do you know how you might have been exposed?”

As Scott moved over to the window, Hannah noticed the small abrasions on his arms and legs. The blinds were drawn, and he fiddled with the cord. “I think Guy and I caught them at the same time,” he said. “Remember about three weeks ago, that Saturday afternoon you brought him to the store? That lady with the Eeyore voice had her brat with her, and he was wearing pajamas. She said he was sick, and she wanted to get him some videos….”

Hannah nodded. She recalled the little boy throwing several videos on the floor. Scott was picking up after him, and Guy tried to help. At the time, Hannah hadn’t been too alarmed about Guy being exposed to anything serious. People were always coming into the store to rent videos when they were sick. She didn’t think a mother would be stupid enough to bring in a kid with chicken pox. Of course, she was one to criticize. She’d been ready to take Guy on board a bus until her doctor put the kibosh on it.

“Anyway, I think Guy and I got chicken pox from that little creep,” Scott went on. “So if you see that lady and her kid again, give them both a swift kick in the ass for me. The only good thing about all this is there’s a real cute intern here, and I think he plays on my team. Soon as this rash clears up, I’ll see if I can get him to give me a sponge bath.”

“Too much information,” Hannah said. “Besides, that’s something a nurse or an orderly would do, not an intern. I know—from a couple of lengthy hospital stays.”

“Did it freak you out when I didn’t show up at work today?” he asked.

She nodded soberly. “A little.”

“You thought I’d pulled a Sharon Stone in
Casino,
didn’t you? So what’s the plan? Are you going to the police?”

Hannah shrugged and adjusted her mask again. “I can’t. I checked last night. It’s official. I’m wanted ‘for questioning’ in connection with kidnapping and larceny charges. They’re ready to throw the book at me. Anyway, no police. I’m on my own in this—especially now that you’ve been sidelined.”