Текст книги "Malevolent"

Автор книги: Jana Deleon

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

She’d known he would. He needed to know enough about her before he could trust the information she provided him. There was plenty of general crazy in New Orleans, and there was no future in wasting time on the outrageous theories they came up with. Still, it always bothered her on some level that people had access to such intimate details about her life. Basically, that they knew as much as she did. It made her feel as if she were sitting at the table in her underwear, all her scars laid bare for observation. And speculation.

His expression shifted from expectant to contrite. “You do mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No. It’s all right. You’re not the first and you’ll never be the last. Besides, you wouldn’t be much of a detective if you took me at face value and didn’t check up on me.”

“True. But it’s got to be hard…the most private things about your life being so public.”

“There was a media circus at first. Corrine taking custody of me made it a bigger deal than it would have normally been, but it was worth it. If not for Corrine, I wouldn’t have a normal life. She knew exactly what I needed and had the resources to provide it. Without her, I’m not sure I’d even be here.”

“Oh, you’d be here. You’re a fighter. That much is obvious. But you might not be as pleasant.”

She smiled. “You think I’m pleasant? That might be a first.”

He grinned. “I’m around cops and criminals all day long. The bar isn’t all that high.”

“You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He sobered and looked down at his coffee, then back up at her. “Have you ever thought about looking into things…for yourself, I mean?”

Shaye considered his question before answering. Not because she didn’t know the answer, but because she wasn’t sure it was something she was ready to share with anyone else.

But if not now, when?

She’d been keeping it all in, talking openly only to Eleonore, and it got harder every day to keep the wall around her erect. Maybe it was time to let her guard down. Time to start trusting that the world contained more good people in it than her mother and her psychiatrist.

“I think about it every day,” she said. “Unanswered questions are the reason I wanted to be a PI.”

“But?”

“But I’m not sure I’m ready for the answers.”

He nodded. “Well, when you are, and if you want some help, I’m available.”

The sincerity in his words was so clear, and a warm feeling passed over Shaye. Aside from family, medical personnel, and a few choice others, she’d never felt that people really wanted to help her. Instead, she felt they’d wanted to gawk at her like those people who slowed to look at car accidents. Jackson was different from anyone she’d met before. He looked at her like a real person, an individual. Everyone else saw the girl with the missing past, the poor abused victim, Corrine Archer’s daughter, or Pierce Archer’s granddaughter. It was a good feeling to be seen as only Shaye, but also one she wasn’t quite comfortable with.

“Thank you,” she said.

He must have sensed her discomfort because he changed the subject. “But first, we solve the mystery of David Grange.”

Guilt nagged at Shaye and she couldn’t help launching one more protest, no matter how feeble. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help, but promise me you won’t do anything to jeopardize your job. I wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.”

“I promise I’ll be very sneaky, but I want to do this. I was there the night Emma killed David. I saw what it did to her. I want answers for her as much as you do, and more importantly, I want this sick bastard behind bars so that he can never do this to anyone else.”

“Then I guess we better get to work.”

Chapter Sixteen

It took Jackson less than a minute to locate the law office where Stephen Moore worked and only double that time to flash his badge at the dour receptionist and get a pass through even though she’d made it clear that Mr. Moore talked only to people with scheduled appointments. The walk down the hallway to Moore’s office took less than ten seconds, but he was sure Mrs. Dour had called to warn him, because Moore was already standing behind his desk, looking a bit anxious, when Jackson stepped inside.

As Jackson approached the desk, Moore moved to the side and extended his hand. “Stephen Moore. Mary said you’re with the police?”

“Yes.” Jackson flashed his badge, but didn’t give Moore long enough to zero in on his name. If he could get out of here without Moore knowing who he was, that was probably for the best. He’d done some background checking before he’d driven to the law office. He knew Moore specialized in corporate law, which meant he spent his days making a lot of money getting corporations off for crappy things that corporations tended to do. Moore had the money, the family backing, and the business connections needed to cause problems for him if he weren’t careful.

Moore motioned to the chair in front of his desk and took a seat behind it, clearly uncomfortable with Jackson’s silence. Jackson took a seat and studied Moore for a couple more seconds before speaking. “Do you know Emma Frederick?”

“I, uh, yes. I knew her in high school, that is.”

“But you don’t know her now?”

“We haven’t been in touch for some years.”

Jackson nodded, glancing around the room. He pointed to a framed photo of Moore and Emma displayed on a credenza. There were other pictures of Moore and older people, probably his parents, but no other pictures of women. And based on the photo, Moore had definitely changed his appearance. The man sitting in front of him barely resembled the younger version in the photos.

“You haven’t seen her in years, but you still keep a picture of her?” Jackson asked.

“She was a wonderful girl, and we had some good times. I prefer to surround myself with positive items rather than impersonal vases and such.”

“Sure. I bet the new girlfriend doesn’t feel as positive about those pictures though, right?”

Moore’s ears reddened. “I’m not seeing anyone seriously right now. How can I help you, Detective?”

Got a bit of a rise out of him with that one. 

Stephen Moore wasn’t the harmless innocent that he tried to portray. There was a temper in there. “Ms. Frederick is having a bit of trouble,” Jackson said.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t practice criminal law.”

“She doesn’t need a lawyer. She needs the man who’s stalking her to stop.”

Moore’s eyes widened. “I…I don’t understand. Why are you talking to me?”

Jackson held in a smirk. A person with no guilty feelings would have launched into sympathy or a rant about violence and society. Moore had gone straight to “why me?” “I understand you visited Ms. Frederick at the hospital yesterday.”

“No. I mean, I did see her at the hospital yesterday, but I went there to visit someone else.”

“Who?”

“A former client.”

“Do you always bring flowers to former clients who are in the hospital?”

“If I liked them, I do.”

“Uh-huh. So you just happened to go see this client at the same time that Ms. Frederick was coming on to her shift?”

“I guess so. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

Jackson smiled. “Nothing, really. We’re just talking to everyone who’s seen Ms. Frederick recently to see if they have any idea who might be harassing her.”

Moore’s eyes narrowed for a split second, then his expression went completely blank. He knew Jackson was fishing and he wasn’t taking the bait. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that,” Moore said. “Until today, I haven’t seen Emma since the day she moved to Dallas. I wasn’t even aware she’d moved back to New Orleans until I saw the news story about the situation with her husband.”

“But you didn’t get in touch with her then.”

“No. I thought about it, but I ultimately decided that it would be intrusive and she needed time with those closest to her.”

“That was considerate of you.” Jackson rose from his chair. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Moore. If you can think of anything that could help Ms. Frederick, please give us a call.”

Jackson could feel Moore’s eyes on him as he exited the office, but the lawyer never uttered a word. Jackson supposed he could have asked Moore where he was the night before when someone placed the mice beside Emma’s car, but he knew the answer would be “in bed.” That’s what any intelligent person would say, whether or not it was the truth. A lawyer, criminal or no, would know that with certainty.

The money, connections, and lawyer thing made Moore a difficult nut to crack. To get information on the man would require skill, cleverness, and some possible sneakiness. Jackson was capable of all three, and would gladly incorporate them to get what he needed. He pushed open the door to the law office and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Jackson may not have gotten much out of Moore, but he suspected Shaye’s intuition was right about one thing: the man’s interest in Emma Frederick hadn’t gone away.

###

Shaye knocked on the barracks door and waited. The drive had seemed twice as long as it actually was. Even worse, all that time to think had yielded no revelations, so all she accomplished was a sore lower back and the discovery that her SUV rattled a bit at high speeds, and she needed to take it in for service. Her anxiety level seemed to have crept up with every mile. If she didn’t find out something useful, then it would be an entire day wasted, and something told her she didn’t have much time left before the stalker made his final move.

The door opened and a guy who’d clearly been asleep looked out at her. “Yeah?” he said.

“I’m looking for Paul Schaffer,” she said. “Is he here?”

The young man shook his head. “Paul shipped out today.”

Shaye didn’t even bother to try to hide her disappointment. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could contact him.”

“Not until he’s at base camp,” the young man said. “Sorry.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Another soldier yanked open the door and stared out at Shaye. “Paul leave you high and dry? The last thing that dude needs is a kid or something.”

Shaye felt a blush creep up her neck, and she pulled her identification from her wallet. “I just want to see if he can give me some information on someone he served with.”

The second soldier leaned over to see the ID while the first one turned around and shuffled off. “PI? That’s cool. Who’s the guy you’re asking about?”

“David Grange. Do you know him?”

“Nah. But if you’re looking for Paul, you’ll probably find him at the bar.”

Her pulse quickened. “He’s not deployed?”

“He was supposed to be, but he got this tooth that went so bad his eye was swollen shut. He had surgery yesterday so he couldn’t ship today.”

“And you think he’s at the bar, why?”

“Thing hurt like hell but the docs aren’t big on handing out painkillers. I listened to him moan and complain half the night. I figure he went straight for a bottle of whiskey as soon as the doors opened. Freedom Bar. Just down the street from the base.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” He winked at her and shut the door. Shaye headed back to her SUV and drove out of the base.

The Freedom Bar was easy to find and didn’t appear to have many patrons. She suspected that drastically changed as night approached. Lucky for her, Paul should be easy to find. The bar had the windows covered with thick shades, and she blinked a couple times to focus in the dim light. A soldier occupied a single table at the back of the bar. The right side of his face was puffy and his right eye was swollen.

She walked up to his table. “Is that dentist recommended?”

He looked up at her, clutching a glass of whiskey in his right hand and a handful of peanuts in his left. “Depends on who’s asking. You the dentist police?”

“You’re Paul Schaffer, right?” She pulled out her identification and his eyes widened. “Mind if I take a seat?”

“Go ahead,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure at all. “What’s this about?”

“I’m trying to get some background information for a client.”

“On me?”

“No. On David Grange.”

Paul’s expression darkened and he shook his head. “I don’t have anything to say about David Grange.”

“Why not?”

“Because can’t no good come of it.”

Shaye studied him a bit as he picked at a napkin, shredding the end of it. He was definitely worried. Time to find out about what.

“Good or not,” Shaye said, “that’s the job I’m here to do.”

Paul lifted his eyes to hers. “What’s he done?”

Shaye was momentarily taken aback. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“Last month, David’s wife killed him.”

Paul’s eyes widened and there was no mistaking his expression. His shock was real. But there was something else Shaye saw in the look he gave her. Something that didn’t quite make sense.

Relief.

“Wow,” he said. “Is she going to prison or something?”

“No. It was self-defense.”

He didn’t seem remotely surprised at that revelation.

“I’m surprised no one told you,” Shaye said.

Paul shrugged. “David wasn’t exactly the friendly sort. When he finished his last tour and left, I doubt he asked for anyone’s phone number. I’m certain no one asked for his.”

Shaye frowned. “See, that confuses me. Because my understanding is that you helped David get his job in New Orleans.”

“Whoever told you that lied. I haven’t had anything to do with David since we left Iraq. I damned sure wouldn’t vouch for him. Who said I did?”

Shaye had no idea what was going on, but this meeting wasn’t going anything at all like she’d figured it would. Paul seemed to be negating everything Ron said, but why would Ron lie? What could possibly be in it for him?

“Ron Duhon,” she said, watching Paul closely to gauge his reaction.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was thinking. Paul scowled and his face flushed red. He slammed his glass down on the table and the bartender looked over at them. “Sorry, man,” Paul said and the man went back to wiping down the bar.

“I take it you don’t like Ron either?” she asked.

“Ron…David…same person.”

Shaye froze. That wasn’t possible. Sure, they looked a lot alike, but David Grange was dead and Ron Duhon was very much alive. “I don’t understand.”

“Look, we were all in the same unit in Iraq. Most of us had served together before, but David was new. Ron and I are from the same town and our moms are best friends, but I never liked him. He was always an outsider in high school, the weirdo, you know? And that didn’t change any here. But for whatever reason, he latched onto David and the two of them got tight.”

“They didn’t seem like the type to become friends?”

“No one seemed like the type to be friends with Ron. But after shit happened, well, we all realized David was just as screwed up as Ron. Hell, maybe Ron could see it in him ’cause he’s just as messed up.”

“What happened?”

Paul glanced over at the bartender and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t matter now. David’s dead and Ron’s done with his time in. As far as I’m concerned, that makes both of them dead. I gotta tell you, I’m not the least bit unhappy about it.”

Paul’s jaw was set in a hard line. Whatever he knew, he wasn’t about to part with it. Not simply because she asked. But maybe, if he knew why she was asking, his conscience wouldn’t let him keep the secret.

“I told you David’s wife killed him,” she said. “He came back from Iraq different than before. Abusive to Emma. She cut ties with him, but he didn’t take the hint from her or the legal system. He started stalking her. The day she killed him, he broke into her house. The police have no doubt he was there to kill her.”

“Why are you telling me this? What difference does it make why he hit on his wife? The dude’s dead and gone and good riddance.”

“He’s dead but not exactly gone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Someone is stalking Emma, and leaving her keepsakes from her dead husband.”

Paul sat up straight. “And you think it’s me? I haven’t been off base for the last month except to come to this bar, the gas station, and the grocery store. Ask anyone.”

“I never said it was you. But it was someone who knew David well. Otherwise, why go after Emma?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Look, I’m sorry for his wife, but I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“Too late. Ron Duhon dropped you right in the middle of it. Any idea why?”

“Because he’s a psycho? Because he’s the one stalking that woman and he’s covering his own ass?”

Shaye studied Paul as he talked, but she couldn’t see any indication that he was lying. All she saw was anger, indignation, and fear. It was the fear that worried her.

“Look,” she said. “Tell me what you know, and as long as you’re being straight with me, I promise I’ll go away and never come back.”

He stared at her for several seconds, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he said, “You gotta understand, I didn’t see anything myself. None of us did.”

He reached for the package of cigarettes sitting on the table and lit one up. He puffed quickly several times, then leaned toward her. “We got a tip that there was a store of stolen US weapons in a village just outside of our base camp. Our unit went in. We identified the structure and had it surrounded. David and Ron were closest to the structure, but no one was supposed to breach until we got the signal.”

“But they went in anyway.”

Paul nodded and puffed on the cigarette again. “We didn’t know at first. Not for a while. We were all holding position, waiting for orders. There wasn’t any gunfire—nothing to signal that they had breached the structure. When we finally got the signal to move, they didn’t respond.”

“So you assumed they’d been flanked?”

“Yeah. We rushed in from all sides and threw tear gas into the structure, then we entered.”

Paul downed the rest of his whiskey, his hand shaking as he placed the glass back on the table. “The intel was wrong. The structure was a family home.”

“The gas would only immobilize them, right?” Shaye asked, not understanding why he was so upset.

Paul stared down at the table. “They’d been slaughtered. The mother and father and all four kids, including an infant. They were tied to chairs and tortured, cuts all over their bodies, and their eyes…” He choked up. “Their eyes had been gouged out. Every one of them.”

He looked up at her as he delivered the last sentence, and Shaye felt her stomach roll as she thought about the infant. What kind of monster could do such a thing?

“You’re saying David and Ron did that?”

“The blood was fresh. There were two blankets on the floor covered with it.”

“They wore them to protect their clothes?”

Paul nodded. “But they both had blood on their boots. I don’t know if anyone else noticed. I glanced down and saw and when I looked up, David was staring at me with that dead look he’d get. His eyes would turn dark and lifeless, like a snake, and he’d stare at you until you wanted to crawl out of your own skin to get away. He knew I knew. I could feel it. Maybe the others felt it too.”

Paul shook his head. “Either way. None of us ever said a word. Not to command. Not to each other. We reported what we found when we returned to base, and command put it down to roving bands of thieves that were in the area.”

“But you don’t think that’s what happened.”

“No ma’am. David and Ron are what happened. I’m as sure of that as I am that you’re sitting here in front of me. And that’s why I said I don’t want anything to do with your investigation. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since that day. Every time I close my eyes, I see that family, then that dead-eyed look from David. I’d take ten bad teeth over one of those dreams.”

Shaye’s heart clenched at Paul’s words. She understood all too well how nightmares could destroy your waking life. “Have you talked to someone? Everything you say is confidential.”

“No. Plenty of guys around here tried it. I didn’t see it do any good for them. Probably not going to for me. You know, I thought I’d seen bad things in Iraq…really horrible stuff. And then I saw that.”

He looked directly at her. “I looked right in the face of pure evil. And the worst part is, it wasn’t the enemy.”

Chapter Seventeen

As soon as she got into her car, Shaye pulled out her cell phone. Her conversation with Paul had completely unnerved her. At first, she’d convinced herself he was making it up to throw her off track, but no way could he fake the suffering she’d seen when he’d told her about the nightmares. Paul had some deep issues to work out, and she hoped he’d get the help he needed before it was too late.

The thing that nagged at her as she pulled out of the parking lot was why Ron had given her Paul’s name in the first place. But then she’d remembered that Paul was supposed to ship out today, and Ron would probably have known that through his mother. Throwing out Paul’s name was an easy way to get her focus on someone else and someone she would have had a hard time contacting for days at least, if not longer.

Paul also confirmed that he’d never visited Ron in New Orleans, which Shaye had figured once she’d heard the Iraq story. Basically, everything Ron said was a lie. At least, that’s the way it looked to Shaye. Of the two, Paul was the more believable. In fact, Shaye would bet her nine years of therapy that Paul was telling the truth. Ron, on the other hand, had dished out the lies so easily and without a change in behavior. All signs pointed to Ron as the stalker. He looked enough like David for people to be mistaken, even a traumatized Emma could have gotten it wrong in the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight to illuminate his face.

Ron thought putting her on Paul’s scent would buy him time. Days, or possibly weeks. He hadn’t counted on a bad tooth keeping Paul available for Shaye to question. He didn’t know his time had just expired.

She pulled up Ron’s number but didn’t press it.

It probably wasn’t smart to confront a sociopath.

But Ron didn’t know that she’d talked to Paul, and Paul certainly wasn’t going to let that secret out. He’d already promised her he wouldn’t tell anyone they’d spoken and never wanted to hear the names Ron Duhon and David Grange again. What she needed was a picture. If she could arrange another meeting with Ron, she could establish herself across the street behind a car and snap a shot of him. Then she could hunt down Hustle and see if he could ID Ron as the man who’d given him the scarf.

That should be enough to get the police to question Ron. She bit her lower lip. Shouldn’t it?

Before she could change her mind, she pressed Ron’s phone number.

You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service…

What the hell? She hung up and checked the number in her history. That was definitely the one she’d used to call Ron the day before. She hit the number again. A couple seconds later, the message repeated.

She scrolled down and found the number for Wellman Oil and Gas and dialed. Greta answered the phone.

“Hi, this is Shaye Archer. I talked to some of your employees a couple days ago.”

“Of course, Ms. Archer,” Greta said. “What can I help you with?”

“I tried to reach Ron Duhon, but his cell phone has been disconnected. Did he provide you with a new number?”

“No. I’m afraid Mr. Duhon is no longer employed by Wellman Oil and Gas.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“He called yesterday and said he had another job and wouldn’t be back. The crew manager was fit to be tied, as Ron was supposed to go offshore tomorrow.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“Would you mind giving me his home address?”

“Not at all. Let me look it up.” Greta was silent for a couple seconds, then gave Shaye the address.

“Thank you,” Shaye said.

“No problem. Have a great day!”

Shaye tossed her cell phone onto the passenger’s seat. As soon as she hit Interstate 49, she pressed the accelerator down, hurtling her SUV forward. The four-and-half-hour drive stretched in front of her like an eternity. Ron already had a day’s jump on her, and now he was getting another. Another day to cover his tracks, plant more misdirection, set up alibis.

Or finish the job.

###

Eleonore inched forward across the bedroom until Corrine made it to her sitting room couch and sank onto the overstuffed cushions. “You’re hovering,” Corrine said as she looked up at Eleonore.

“I have a medical degree. When our friends are injured we’re required to hover. I’m pretty sure I took an oath.”

Corrine smiled. “I’m fine. Really. As long as I don’t have to sprint. If that need arises, just go ahead and shoot me.”

Eleonore walked over to the bar and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. She poured Corrine a shot and handed it to her. “That should take the edge off.”

Corrine took the shot and glanced over at the bar. “I’ll have Marie move everything to the pantry.”

“Please don’t go to any trouble. I’m not an addict looking for a fix. Me and your whiskey are safe.”

“You’re sure?” Corrine already felt bad enough that Shaye’s treatment had kicked Eleonore off the wagon. She didn’t want to tempt her further. Not that she knew much about Eleonore’s trouble with alcohol. Her friend rarely mentioned it and had never provided details.

Eleonore sat on a chair next to her and sighed. “Look, I had a drinking problem before, but I’m not your average alcoholic. It’s not something I crave all the time, never was. It’s a crutch, just like food or drugs or church or whatever else people use to escape reality for a bit. That’s an explanation, not an excuse, by the way. And this time, it won’t get out of control.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Simple. Because my tastes have improved, and I’m lazy and cheap.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I never liked wine or beer—scotch was always my drink of choice, and I’ve found that I can’t stomach even a sip of the cheap stuff. Carlin’s Beverages is the closest place that carries the brand I like, and it’s a five-mile drive across the middle of the city. Besides, have you seen the price on a good bottle of scotch? Good Lord, I almost fainted.”

Corrine smiled. Eleonore always made light of things, especially when she knew they’d weigh on Corrine, but this time, Corrine decided she could take her friend at her word. Eleonore might hedge on some things, but she had never outright lied to Corrine. If her friend said she could handle it, then Corrine had no doubt Eleonore thought she could.

She downed the shot and handed the glass back to Eleonore. “Normally, I would say it’s too early, but since I’ve been sitting in that awful hospital bed all morning, and my back and ribs are killing me, I’m going to say make it a double.”

“Didn’t the hospital give you something for pain?”

“Yeah, advice. They told me to take some aspirin.”

Eleonore gave her a disgusted look. “Aspirin? What is their problem?”

“Too many addicts faking back injuries to scam drugs is my guess.”

“You’re a social worker who was pushed down a flight of stairs while you were doing your job. Hardly an addict looking for a fix.”

“Two social workers were arrested last week for dealing drugs to case parents. Want to take a guess where they got the drugs?”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Eleonore pulled a pad of paper out of her purse and scribbled on it. “This is the big advantage of being a medical doctor rather than a psychologist. I’ll give this to your housekeeper to get filled, and don’t let the pain get too bad before you take one.”

“Thanks.”

Eleonore cocked her head to the side and studied Corrine for several seconds. “Have you considered a job with less risk?”

“Now you sound like my father.”

“A successful man who has never been shoved down a flight of stairs.”

“If some of his business competitors got the chance, that could change.”

“Touché. Look, I see this as a wake-up call. Things are changing. Every day this city gets more dangerous than the day before. People care less and hold grudges more. You walked into an abandoned building alone on the basis of an anonymous phone call. If those painters hadn’t shown up… I’m not saying you should quit. I know what the job means to you, but I think you need to stop taking some of the risks you do.”

“I know. I’ve thought about little else all day. This wasn’t the first time someone’s taken a swipe at me. You know that, but it’s the first time it was calculated. Most of the lumps I’ve taken have been due to emotional outbursts while I was conducting an on-site visit.”

Eleonore nodded. “Not premeditation.”

Corrine locked her gaze on Eleonore’s. “Don’t tell anyone, especially Shaye, but this scared the shit out of me. When he was standing over me, I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to die.” Tears welled and she rubbed her nose with her finger. “Now all I can think is ‘what if.’”

Eleonore reached over and put her hand on Corrine’s arm. “Me too, honey. Me too.”

###

Shaye pulled up in front of the apartment building and parked. She pulled her nine-millimeter out of her purse and tucked it in her waistband under her shirt. After talking with Paul, she knew what Ron was capable of. No way was he getting the jump on her while she struggled to pull her gun out of her purse. She wasn’t about to be that evening news story.

As she walked up the sidewalk to the building, she questioned, once again, the insanity of what she was doing. What was she going to say to Ron if he was there? Hi, I talked to Paul and you’re a psycho? And how was she supposed to get a picture of him standing in front of him? Her current plan was to ascertain Ron was home, ask a couple of innocuous follow-up questions, then wait across the street for Ron to leave the apartment. Her camera was always in her car and the telephoto lens she had would make Ron look like he was standing in front of her, even from a half block away.

The building had three breezeways with the apartment doors off of them that dead-ended at the back of the building. The end of the first breezeway was where Ron’s apartment was located. As she walked down the breezeway, she realize how isolated she was. The apartments contained no windows on the front facing the breezeway, and the angle of the building made her passage invisible to anyone except another person in the same stretch. Essentially, she was in a tunnel with one exit and no view to outsiders.