Riptide

“Who’s the suspect?”

“Mortgage broker. He came on to Marilyn a few times and she blew him off. Her coworkers forgot about it till Draper started asking questions. Best guess is she assumed the note was from him and didn’t take it seriously. He’s a nerdy little guy, seems harmless. But here’s the thing. He was convicted in Phoenix six years ago on a stalking charge. Another office situation.”

The suspect dovetailed with her analysis. He worked in a financial field and was rejected after making a romantic advance. “Has he been charged?”

“No, but we’re leaning on him. He says he’s being railroaded because of his prior. That’s what they always say.”

“So we don’t know for sure he’s the guy?”

“Draper thinks it’s a pretty safe bet.”

“I saw Draper last night. He didn’t mention any of this to me.”

“We were waiting for the guy’s records to come in from out of state.”

“He still could have said something.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to get your hopes up. Or maybe he wasn’t thrilled about you hanging out with Sandra Price. I saw you leave the gym with her. Two gal pals chatting it up.”

“I live in this community, Casey. I have a right to take an interest in local affairs.”

He produced a noncommittal grunt. “How’d you hook up with Draper, anyway?”

“We didn’t exactly hook up. I ran into him at the restaurant where Sandra and I were eating.” She didn’t say she thought Draper had followed them, spied on them. It sounded like something Richard would say.

Casey gave her a hard stare. “You two are getting pretty close, I guess.”

“I hardly know Sandra Price.”

“I meant you and Draper.”

“Oh. Close?” She thought of the impromptu kiss on the sidewalk. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”

Another grunt. “Well, my advice, you might want to keep your distance. Roy’s a good cop, but he has issues.”

“Everybody has issues.”

“His might be more serious than most. His girlfriend-well, maybe I shouldn’t be talking out of school.”

“If you have something to say, just say it.”

He snagged his thumbs in his belt loops. “Okay, it’s like this. When Draper broke up with his girlfriend a few months ago, he told everybody it was the usual story-he’s a workaholic, no time for her, blah blah. But I’ve got a friend in Devonshire who has a different take.”

“Why would a Valley cop know anything?”

“Because Draper’s girlfriend lives in the Valley. One night she calls nine-one-one, reports a domestic abuse incident. Responding unit finds her with a black eye and a bloody nose. Draper’d smacked the shit out of her.”

“You’re saying Roy is violent?” It seemed impossible. Yet she remembered the surprise of his touch as he pulled her in and pressed his lips to hers. A romantic impulse, she’d thought. Or was it? A move like that could be seen as controlling, even aggressive.

“It’s not the first time the issue has come up,” Casey said. “When he was working patrol, there were excess force complaints. Of course, anybody can throw a brutality charge. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But sometimes where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“Why haven’t I heard about this before?”

“His personnel records are confidential. And the girlfriend didn’t press charges. The officers had the impression she was afraid of Draper. Of course, him being a fellow cop, they weren’t too keen on bringing him up on charges anyway, so they probably didn’t push very hard.” He paused, then added with a note of finality, “She and Draper broke up right after that.”

“I find this pretty hard to believe.”

“Why? Because Draper’s never hit you? You’re not his girlfriend.”

“He just doesn’t come across…”

“As a guy who’d beat up a woman? Can’t always tell about people. You know that. You deal with enough threat messages from guys who seem normal.”

“Yes. I do.” She was thinking of the quiet schoolmaster, Edward Hare.

“Anyway, just wanted to give you a heads-up. Draper’s a good guy and all, for the most part, but maybe not the best person to get close to.”

“I haven’t gotten close to him. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your undies in a knot. I’m just looking out for you.”

“Well, quit it.” She was tired of being told who she could talk to. “I can look out for myself.”

“Right. You don’t need me. You don’t need anybody. I got it.”

He started down the sidewalk, then glanced back. “Oh, by the way, it’s probably not the greatest idea to leave the backyard gate open in this neighborhood. Not that you need my advice.”

He got into his car-his civilian car, a Mustang-and drove off, the engine burring angrily.

She didn’t know what that last crack had been about. She always kept the gate shut and locked. But when she checked, she found the gate hanging ajar, creaking softly in the breeze.

The lock had been forced. Someone had inserted a screwdriver or similar tool into the keyhole and jimmied it open.

She entered the yard, passing the lawn mower, which sat amid clumps of tall grass in need of trimming. She saw no signs of intrusion at the back door and the rear window, but on the steps to the deck she found a clump of damp earth from the garden.

The intruder had climbed the steps. Had been on the deck, directly outside her bedroom.

Last night he must have tried entering the house from the rear, but finding no windows unlocked, he’d gone around to the side. There he’d found the one window with the broken latch.

It changed nothing. She’d already known he had been in the house. But somehow the thought of him on the deck, so near to her bed…

She thought of Marilyn Diaz, surprised in her bedroom. Marilyn, who’d kept her problems from the police, who’d been so sure she could handle things by herself.

Marilyn, plucked from the surf with a plastic bag pasted over her unseeing eyes.

twenty-five

At nine-thirty she met Maura in the lobby of Richard’s building. “Manager’s waiting for us upstairs,” Maura said. “He gave me all kinds of grief about opening up. I wasn’t impressed.” She stabbed the elevator button.

“I always take the stairs,” Jennifer said.

“Stairs are for losers. This is the twenty-first century.”

“This elevator isn’t the most reliable-”

“If it breaks down, I’ll climb out the trapdoor in the ceiling and shimmy up the cable. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

The elevator rose slowly with a good deal of rattling that did not inspire confidence. Maura didn’t seem to notice. She flashed a rather tacky bracelet at Jennifer, a band of copper studded with turquoise. “Like my newest trinket? Josh gave it to me.”

“Who’s Josh?”

“My surfing busboy. Come on, girl, try to keep up.”

“You just met him last night, and already he’s buying you presents?”

“He didn’t exactly buy it. A former girlfriend left it at his place. But he did give it to me.”

“How sweet,” Jennifer said dubiously.

“I thought so. It’s amazing how a little thing like a blow job can bring out the romance in a man.”

Despite Jennifer’s misgivings, they reached the third floor without incident. The manager was standing by