Killing Fear

“No. Not really. I’m her tenant.”

“How long have you been renting from Ms. Lorenz?”

“A little over a year.”

“Do you have a way to contact her?”

Ms. Barr frowned, looked from Carina to Will. “What’s this about?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that, but she’s not in any trouble. We just want to talk to her about someone she used to know.”

The tenant looked skeptical. “Just a minute,” she said and closed the door.

“Not very cooperative,” Carina said. “Why don’t the records have this house listed as a rental? If Sara Lorenz was living elsewhere, there should be another house with her name on it.”

“Unless she’s renting.”

“Why would she rent when she owns a house?”

“Maybe she moved out of the area,” Will suggested. “The Feds only pulled local records, and there’s no statewide database of property records.”

The door opened and Ms. Barr pushed open the screen far enough to slide over a card. “This is the address I send rent checks to, and the number she gave me for emergencies.”

The address was a P.O. box in downtown San Diego, the phone number a 619 area code. Also San Diego. Will recognized the prefix as a cellular carrier.

“Thank you, Ms. Barr,” Carina said.

“Do you know what she does for a living?” Will asked.

Ms. Barr shook her head. “I never asked. Sorry.”

“How did you learn about the rental in the first place?”

“An ad in the Tribune, nearly a year ago.”

“Thank you for your time.”

In the car, Will said, “So Sara Lorenz wrote to Theodore Glenn using an address of a house she no longer lived in. Why?”

“I hope Diaz and White had better luck with their three,” Carina mumbled.

Will dialed Sara Lorenz’s phone number from the car while Carina drove back to the station. “Voice mail,” he said, then right as he was about to speak, he hung up.

“What?” Carina asked.

“I don’t know. A feeling. Let’s try to find a physical address for Ms. Lorenz. We may be able to get one off the number.”

“Unless it’s a pay-as-you-go plan,” Carina said.

“Maybe she used a credit card. We need a break somewhere. And if she didn’t use a credit card, why? Why would she need a cash phone?”

“Got me there.”

“If she’s the one Glenn’s using,” Will said, “I don’t want to give her a warning that we’re coming. Let’s get this info to the Feds, see what Diaz learned, and regroup. No sign of Glenn for thirty-six hours. I’m getting antsy. He probably is, too.”

“So who’s next?”

“I wish I knew, but I’m sure as hell glad Julia Chandler is out of town. No doubt she’d be high up on Mr. Charming’s list.”

Theodore Glenn had parked down the hill from Julia Chandler’s pricey house on a cliff near the coast and walked, keeping to the shadows. He didn’t see a patrol car, nor any added security.

Something wasn’t right.

He approached her house from the back. The sun was setting, but the beauty of the moment was lost on him. No lights were on inside, the only illumination a porch light.

When he was confident no one was patrolling the grounds, he approached the house casually, in case anyone was watching. From a distance, his disguise would work, but close up D.D.A. Chandler would ID him.

The gun fit comfortably in his hand.

He walked up the porch steps, then around the outside of the house, looking in windows that were only partially draped. The blink of an alarm panel caught him off guard, but he watched it closely and it didn’t appear to change. Probably the doors and windows were wired.

It quickly became evident that no one was home. Had she run, scared he would come to kill her?

Smart woman, that was exactly what he’d planned to do. But why he wanted to kill her was completely different than she might think. As if her doing her job would have ranked her high on his list.

Sherry deserved to die because she betrayed him in court. The cop deserved to die because he was a fool, and Theodore despised fools. Theodore would have killed the judge who allowed Robin’s testimony to stand, except that he was already dead. Heart attack, he’d read in the online newspaper archives.

Theodore had considered blowing up the crime lab where those idiots who had gathered evidence claimed they had found his DNA on Anna’s body. They very well may have, but someone had planted it, and if they were so stupid not to see that, then they too deserved to die. Especially that arrogant director Jim Gage.

Blowing up the crime lab meant getting too close to the police department, since the buildings were attached. Glenn wasn’t confident he’d be able to pull it off, but he was thinking about it. He would most certainly be able to make the bomb, it was access he questioned.

William Hooper would die. For arresting him. For looking at him as if he were dog shit on his new Nikes. For screwing Robin.

And Robin let him. Robin had let that asshole cop touch her perfect body. Intimately. She stripped for him, came for him, let him fuck her.

The box in Theodore’s hand crunched and he looked down, blinking at the depth of his rage. He didn’t have emotions like this. He was always in control of them, because they were so few, so rare. But Robin brought them out, Robin brought out this passionate, all-consuming need to just see her.

He’d been thinking a lot about how to punish Robin for hating him. For testifying against him, for not liking him, for not letting him touch her. She was a fucking stripper! Yet she looked down her nose at him!

William and Robin may no longer be screwing each other, but there was still something there. Theodore read people very well. In the courtroom, William had definitely been protective of her. And he was a cop, someone who took pride in his job to “protect and serve.” Honorable. Dutiful.

William, William, William…Shakespeare.

Theodore smiled. Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers. Romeo believed Juliet was dead and killed himself. Juliet awoke, saw Romeo dead, then stabbed herself.

If William thought Robin was dead, he would act irrationally. Perhaps recklessly.

Or maybe if Robin thought William were dead, or injured, Theodore could more easily get to her.

Oh, the possibilities! It made his present to William all that much more sweet.

Theodore kicked Julia Chandler’s door. He’d planned on shooting her and leaving the box on her body, but this would have to suffice. Her life didn’t hold much allure for him, she had never personally slighted him.

The alarm panel started blinking rapidly. A phone rang.

Someone would be here soon.

Theodore put the box on the kitchen table, then left, jogging down the winding hill, sticking to the ravine, watchful of cars on the road. He was nearly to his car when he heard sirens.

He stayed hidden until the police car passed, then sprinted the last two hundred yards and left the scene, the adrenaline rush making him smile.

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel and bounced in the driver’s seat, grinning, forcing himself to keep to the speed limit.

He wished he could see the look on William Hooper’s face when he saw the contents of that box.