'Back when I was riding patrol, I went to his apartment twice, some low-rent place on La Brea.'
'The La Brea Palms,' Abby said.
'South of Hollywood Boulevard. He lived there from 1989 to 1993.'
'Sounds like you've done some checking on him already.'
'Not me. The firm I'm consulting to. Employment history, residential addresses, things like that. But they didn't find anything about a criminal case.'
'There was no case. Hickle was never charged. He doesn't have a rap sheet. It never got that far.'
'How far did it get?' 'Like I said, I went to his apartment twice. Me and my partner, together. We were sent over there for a little intimidation session with Hickle. First time it didn't take, so we went back for an instant replay a couple weeks later. It still didn't take, but it did get Hickle evicted. The landlord didn't like having a tenant who was in trouble with the police.'
'Why was it necessary to confront him at all?'
'Because he was harassing a woman who lived in the building. He was stalking her.'
'What woman?'
'Her name was Jill Dahlbeck. She was in her early twenties, and she'd moved to LA from Wisconsin, planning, naturally, to be a movie star.'
'An actress,' Abby said.
Wyatt thought he heard a special emphasis in her voice but couldn't decipher its meaning.
'She got a few small roles in TV shows, infomercials, and she did a lot of Equity-waiver theater work. Typical story. She was a nice kid.
That was her problem. She was too nice.'
'How so?'
'She made the mistake of smiling at Hickle, treating him like a human being. He misinterpreted it, or over- interpreted. Whatever. He decided she was meant for him. She had zero interest in the guy. I mean, they say men are from Mars, women are from Venus? Well, Hickle's from Pluto, and I don't mean the Disney version.'
Abby nodded, unsmiling. In the darkness outside the coffee shop a kid sauntered by, rocking on his heels, shouldering a boom box that cranked out an obscene rap number. Abby waited until the noise had receded before asking, 'What form did the harassment take?'
'Following her, sending letters, waiting outside her apartment. Finally she moved to a different address.
He tracked, her down. He was persistent. He kept saying she had to give him a chance.'
'So she complained to the police…'
'And a couple of us-Todd Belvedere and me-were dispatched to have a talk with Hickle. Put a scare in him, make him back down.'
He saw Abby shake her head slowly in disapproval.
'Not the way to handle it?' he asked.
'I'm afraid not.'
'Yeah. Well, we found that out. You have to understand, we were treading on new territory here. The LAPD had established the Threat Management Unit only the previous year, and it was still limited to highprofile celebrity cases. And Jill, regardless of her movie-star ambitions, was definitely no celebrity, so we were pretty much on our own.'
'I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying that a direct confrontation generally makes things worse. What Hickle wanted was some response from Jill. Your showing up qualified as a response-not the kind he was hoping for, but at least it showed he'd gotten through to her; he was on her mind. It cemented the connection between them.'
Wyatt nodded.
'And it made him mad. Subsequently he became a lot more aggressive in his pursuit.
It was like his manhood was on the line.'
'It was. Hickle was a loser with no career prospects and no social life, living in a run-down neighborhood.
His self-esteem was precarious at best. When you came along, trying to intimidate him, it threatened what was left of his dignity. His manhood, as you said.'
'Now you tell me. Where were you when I needed you? Anyway, we went back a second time for a more serious conversation, but it was like pouring gasoline on a fire.'
'What happened to Jill Dahlbeck?'
'We finally had to admit to her that there wasn't a lot we could do. We couldn't protect her twenty-four hours a day, and we couldn't charge Hickle with anything serious. He stayed just inside the law. All Jill could do was get away. She moved back to Wisconsin.'
The waitress returned, bearing a tray laden with a cheeseburger and a beer for Wyatt, a large salad and bottled water for Abby.
'Was Jill attractive?' Abby asked, lifting her fork.
'Very'
'Blond? Blue eyes? Nordic?'
'What hat did you pull that rabbit out of?'
'It was an educated guess. So if this all happened when Hickle moved out of the La Brea complex, it must have been 1993. He was twenty-seven.'
'That sounds right.'
'I'm surprised you remember the case in that much detail after all this time.'
'Well… there was one thing that happened. Jill was attacked.'
Abby looked at him. It occurred to him that she had beautiful eyes.
They were calm and clear and the same shade of golden brown he had seen once on a trip to Nebraska, when the westering sun caught the wheat fields in a burnished haze.
'Attacked how?' Abby asked slowly.
'She was taking a class at some little hole-in the-wall actors' studio near Hollywood and Vine. The place has closed down since then. Anyway, one night when she was walking to her car, somebody jumped out from behind a hedge and splashed her with battery acid.'
'In the face?'
'That might have been the idea, but she spun away in time, and the stuff only got her coat. Her skin wasn't burned at all. The assailant fled.
She never got a look at him. The street was dark, and it all happened in a second.'
'But she thought it was Hickle.'
'Obviously. And we did too. We went over to his new address and rousted him. Thing is, he had something close to an alibi. He was a stockboy in a supermarket, and he'd worked pretty late that night.
Plenty of people saw him. He left only a few minutes before the attack took place. He might have had time to get there and lie in wait for Jill, but the time frame was right.'
'Search his apartment?'
'Yeah, he gave permission, but there was no acid, nothing that would tie him to the crime.'
'Still, it had to be him.'
'I don't know, Abby. This is Hollywood, remember.
Lots of random craziness. Hickle's not the only nutcase.
Anyway, Jill was rattled. That's why she left LA.
She was gone the next day.' 'Wise move,' Abby said.
'And she's still okay?'
'Far as I know.'
'And Hickle was never charged.'
Wyatt shrugged.
'No way the DA could file with what we had. Nobody could prove a thing.
Even so, whether Hickle did it or not, he could have done it.
You know what I'm saying? He's capable of it. He's sick enough.'
