somehow he always finds out where she is and begins leaving her tokens of his-what? His hatred of her? His love of her? And she’s this perfectly ordinary woman. Bad haircut, needs to loose some pounds. It’s amazing. It could happen to anyone.” Gerry McClanahan was speaking with such gusto that I could tell he was delighted to have someone to talk to.
“But it’s happening to her. She’s living this. You’re not watching a movie,” I said, slowly and emphatically. Talking to this man was like talking to glass. Everything I said bounced off without penetrating.
“This case has even more twists than even you can imagine. Look at finding you, such a name in true crime books already, and Jack Leeds, whose television clip is a true piece of Americana.”
He was referring to that awful footage of Karen’s brains flying all over Jack’s chest when her husband shot her. I had a moment of dizziness. But McClanahan hadn’t finished yet.
“And you’re just sidebars! I mean, think. One of the counselees getting killed in the counselor’s office? That’s amazing. This case has turned upside down. When it’s over, and I wrap up my book, think of how much women in America will know about being stalked! Think of all the resources they’ll have, if it ever happens to them.”
“You don’t give a tinker’s damn about the resources available to the women of America,” I said. “You care about making money off of someone else’s misery.”
“No,” he said, and for the first time I could tell he was getting angry. “That’s not it. This is a great story. Tamsin is an ordinary woman in an extraordinary situation. The truth about this needs to be told.”
“You don’t know the truth. You don’t know what is really happening.”
He put his hands on the yellow legal pad on his desk and leaned on it as if he were guarding its contents. He focused on me. “But I’m very close. I’m right here; working on the investigation into the murder that took place in Tamsin’s office! The death of a woman who was killed just to make some weird point to Tamsin! How much closer can you get?” He was flushed with excitement, the bottle-green eyes alight with elation.
I thought of many things to say, but not one of them, or even all of them, would have made any impression on this man. He was going to ruin my life. I once again thought of killing him.
“I’ll bet that’s how you looked before you pulled the trigger,” he said, his eyes eating me up. For an interminable moment I felt exposed before this man.
“Listen,” he said. “Keep quiet, let me see this through, and I’ll leave you out.”
I stared at him. Bargaining?
“I’m doing as good a job as any other policeman on this force. I’m really working, not just playing at it. If you let me follow this story to the end… you’re home free.”
“And since you’re so honest, I should believe you?”
He pretended to wince. “Ouch. The truth is, I’ve done more watching out for Tamsin than any cop could ever do. In case you hadn’t realized it, I bought this house because it backs catty-cornered to Tamsin and Cliff’s. I watch. Every moment she’s home and I’m not at work, I watch.”
“Let me get this straight,” I said slowly. “You’re stalking her, too?”
His face flushed deeply. He’d never put it that way to himself, I was willing to bet. “I’m observing her,” he said.
“No, you’re waiting for someone to get her.”
I got up and left his house.
“Remember!” he called after me. “If I get to keep my job, you get to keep out of the book!”
I went right to Claude. I was in that period of grace, the time between the moment the bullet hits and the moment you begin to feel the pain; in that period of grace, you actually felt numb, but you knew something dreadful was coming. (At least, that was what some gunshot victims had told me.) If I waited, I would consider Gerry McClanahan’s offer. I couldn’t let myself hesitate.
The old house, temporary home of the chief of police’s office, looked especially forlorn in the renewed rain. I was so wet that getting out again hadn’t posed a hardship, and I walked into the station with my hair dripping in streams to the floor, much to the amusement of the desk clerk. She went into Claude’s office after I asked for him and ushered me in after a brief consultation. She also handed me a towel.
It was hard to know what to dry first, but after I rubbed my face and hair, I began to work my way down. Then I folded the towel, put it in the uncomfortable chair that faced Claude’s desk, and sat on it.
Claude was wearing his work face, serious and hard, and I was wearing mine, blank and equally hard. We were just two tough people, there in that little office, and I was about to tell my friend Claude some tough things. Before I opened my mouth to speak, I found myself wishing I were rich enough to hire someone else to come in here and tell Claude all this unpleasant news. And I was still undecided about whether or not to talk about Alicia Stokes.
In the end, I only broke the news about Gerry McClanahan. If Claude had researched a little more he would’ve found out about Stokes’s obsession. Or maybe he did know. Maybe he needed her more than he cared about her quirks.
At least I told myself that was my reasoning; but actually, I suspect I just didn’t want to give Claude so much bad news at one time.
“So,” Claude rumbled, when I’d finished, “My newest officer is a famous writer?”
I nodded.
“He’s a qualified police officer, right? I mean, his references checked out.” These words were mild, giving no hint that Claude was truly and massively angry.
“Yes, he is a qualified police officer.”
“He told me he had taken a few years off to travel on some money he’d inherited.” Claude swiveled his chair to look out at a dripping world. “He didn’t have a record.” Claude kept staring out the damn window for a good while. “And he intends to write about the murder of Saralynn Kleinhoff?”
“He’s writing a book about the stalking of Tamsin Lynd.”
Another shock for Claude, who ran a hand over his seamed face. “So, though she never told us squat and I wouldn’t know about it to this day if Detective Stokes hadn’t remembered it from her former job, Tamsin Lynd has been stalked for a while. Persistently enough to make it a notable case.”
“According to McClanahan, yes. He says she’s moved twice.”
“And whoever this is, just keeps following her.”
“Alicia Stokes has a theory about that.”
“Yeah, Alicia said she thinks Lynd is doing all these things herself. She played me a tape about a similar case that occurred a few years ago, the woman was doing it all herself. Smearing manure on her own door, setting off smoke bombs on her porch, sending herself threatening hate mail.”
I couldn’t help but realize that Tamsin’s stay in the conference room while Saralynn was killed and Janet attacked was much more explainable if it had been Tamsin doing the attacking. I tried to imagine Tamsin pinning the body of Saralynn up on the bulletin board, and I just couldn’t. But I knew better than anyone did what could be inside someone, unsuspected. However… I shook my head. I just couldn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it.
“Lily, what did he threaten you with?”
“What?”
“You told McClanahan you were coming over here?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t try to stop you?”
I didn’t answer.
“I know he did, Lily. Don’t you lie to me. There’s been enough of that.”
The numbness had worn off by then, and Claude’s question drew my attention to the wound. The pain hit me broadside. I realized, fully, that my new life was gone. Possibly Jack’s, as well. We would go through the whole thing again, both of us, and I didn’t know if we were strong enough to withstand it.
“Lily?”
Looking down at my hands folded in my lap, I told him.
After a moment of silence, Claude said, “Damn him to hell.”
“Amen to that,” I said.
We sat in silence for a moment.
“What about telling Tamsin?” I asked.
Claude rubbed a finger over the surface of his badge. “Lily, you go home and rest up,” he said finally. “That isn’t
