‘‘Paranoid,’’ she thought, as she went through the doors.
Creek was just outside the new room, walking down the corridor in a flimsy white hospital gown. Anna caught him just outside his room and put her hand through the slit in the back of the gown and squeezed his butt. Creek jumped, then limped into the hospital room, while Anna followed, laughing.
‘‘Goddamn sexual harassment from the boss,’’ Creek told Glass, who was reading the style section of the L.A. Times . ‘‘And I’m hurt.’’
‘‘Be brave,’’ Glass said.
‘‘Like he’d never grabbed a butt,’’ Anna said.
‘‘I do it in a spirit of tenderness and multiculturalism,’’ Creek said indignantly.
Anna, watching him in amusement, suspected that he was actually offended. She momentarily considered an apology, then decided that he’d have to live with it. No apologies.
Creek sputtered, ‘‘I’d never just sneak up on . . .’’ and then his eyes went past Anna, and she turned.
Wyatt, wearing his raincoat, stepped into the room. ‘‘Hello.’’
‘‘Hey . . .’’
‘‘I came to see if I can change your mind,’’ he said to Anna. His eyes drifted toward Glass, who was sitting on a chair next to Creek’s bed, her bare feet curled beneath her, looking frankly domestic.
‘‘I don’t think so.’’
Wyatt brought his eyes back to Anna, and they squared off.
‘‘I can’t order you to go, because you’re a civilian,’’ Wyatt-said, grimly patient. ‘‘But the shit is gonna hit the fan pretty soon, when the media gets this. When the word about China Lake gets out, they’re liable to drive this guy out of sight. We’ve gotta work everything we can, while we can.’’
‘‘It’s not working,’’ Anna said flatly. ‘‘If he comes after me, it won’t be on the job.’’
‘‘He doesn’t have to come after you,’’ Wyatt insisted. ‘‘All he has to do is cruise you. And if we keep you out of sight, except when you’re working—he’s gonna cruise you. He’s gonna want to see you. We ran a dozen cars last night.’’
‘‘And got nothing,’’ Anna said.
‘‘But he’ll come.’’
They went on for a few more minutes, Wyatt pressing, Anna resisting, until Glass said, ‘‘If you saw me in the truck . . . I could be Anna.’’
Anna and Wyatt both turned toward her, and she uncurled her legs and stood up. ‘‘We’re about the same size and weight, and our hair color’s the same,’’ she said. ‘‘I could get a pair of wire rims at Woolworth’s and take the lenses out. I’m not doing anything now, except listening to Creek pissing and moaning.’’
Anna looked at her, then at Wyatt, then back at Glass, tilted her head. ‘‘If you’re willing, that’s a possibility.’’
Wyatt was skeptical, but finally agreed: ‘‘If that’s the only way we can do it. Damn it, though. What’re you gonna do, Anna?’’
Anna smiled, just a turn of the lips: ‘‘Jake and I have been trying to spend a little time together, in peace and quiet.’’
‘‘Oh.’’ Wyatt nodded. Behind him, Creek rolled his eyes.
When Wyatt had gone to call the task force leader, Anna asked Glass, ‘‘What’d you get on Clark?’’
Glass shook her head: ‘‘Nothing. He had his driver’s license suspended for three speeding tickets in three months. That’s it.’’
‘‘Yeah, I knew it,’’ Anna said. ‘‘He’s out of it.’’
‘‘He’s not out of it,’’ Creek insisted.
‘‘Creek . . .’’
‘‘Let’s see what Jake gets,’’ Creek said.
They talked for a few more minutes, then Wyatt returned: ‘‘It’s all set, but Pam has gotta get to your place without being noticed.’’
‘‘I’ll drive her,’’ Anna said. ‘‘She can leave her car here in the hospital ramp.’’
‘‘All right. Coughlin will be there at nine.’’ He looked at Glass. ‘‘You be careful.’’
Glass kissed Creek good-bye, and she and Anna left together, Glass carrying the remnants of the newspaper. Anna caught their reflection in the elevator doors as they waited: side by side, with the slight blurring in the stainless steel, they could have been mistaken for each other. Glass was perhaps an inch taller, Anna had just slightly wider shoulders. Both had short, efficient haircuts.
So what if the guy came for her, and they took him down, and she wasn’t even there to see it? Anna touched the gun in her jacket pocket, then shook her head. No. They wouldn’t take him that way.
‘‘I’d hate to deal with this guy one on one,’’ Glass was saying. ‘‘Most guys, you can manipulate. But you get a guy like this . . . have you ever gotten tangled up with a guy who’s nuts?’’
‘‘No.’’ They got in the elevator and pushed a button.
‘‘When I was on the street, we got a call about a guy in a halfway house: he’d done some time on some sex offenses, mostly exhibitionism, most of it aimed at little girls,’’ Glass said. ‘‘Anyway, he was drunk, out on the street, flashing everybody who came by. When we got there, we couldn’t find him. He’d walked off. He wasn’t supposed to be dangerous or anything, so me and my partner split up, trying to find him. I walked down to this ice cream shop and stopped to ask some people at a bus stop, and he came out of the shop behind me and saw the uniform and freaked out and came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me and picked me up off the ground and started squeezing.’’
‘‘Jeez.’’
‘‘Yeah. He was huge. Strong. I felt like an egg, I felt like he could crush me. I couldn’t move my arms, I just kept trying to talk to him, but he was nuts: he had a mind like a little mean kid having a temper tantrum. I couldn’t get him to put me down, and the more I struggled, the tighter he squeezed until I couldn’t breathe.’’
‘‘How’d you get loose?’’
‘‘My partner came along, called for backup and started whacking the guy with his baton. But the guy kept turning in circles and squeezing me, and then the backup arrived and the three guys got us all down on the ground and pried his arms off. I was black and blue . . . my ribs looked like the American flag, where his arms were. Great big stripes.’’
The elevator door opened and Anna said, ‘‘It’s a weird thing, men and muscles. It’s like they think about it all the time.’’
‘‘What makes me mad is that some wimpy little jerk who never lifts anything heavier than a fork can whack me around because he’s got fifty pounds on me and he’s twice as strong, and he’s not even trying. It’s all hormones.’’
‘‘Yeah, but . . . that’s why God made us smarter,’’ Anna said.
‘‘That’s true,’’ Glass conceded.
Glass lay in the back seat of Anna’s car, reading the comics, as Anna drove back home. Harper’s BMW was squeezed into a tight space in front of the house, and Anna had to maneuver the car to get it into the garage. They went inside, and found Harper at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of Golden Crisp with milk.
‘‘What?’’ he asked.
Anna gave him a quick rundown, and he looked at Glass. ‘‘Put on the right clothes, at night . . . it’ll work. Keep
moving, though.’’
‘‘Anything at all on Clark?’’
‘‘Mmm,’’ Harper said. He quickly finished the cereal and carried the bowl to the sink. ‘‘Just a little thing.’’
‘‘He won’t find out . . .’’
‘‘No, no. I’ve got a friend in a law firm there, they’ve got a researcher on staff. She walked over and talked around the music department. She said she was checking on a mortgage history.’’
‘‘So what’d she find?’’ Anna asked impatiently. ‘‘The little-thing.’’
‘‘There’s a rumor of a sexual harassment complaint made by a graduate student—a woman graduate student—in a composition seminar. Apparently nothing was ever filed, no legal action, but there was . . . something.’’
&
nbsp; ‘‘Just a rumor,’’ Anna said dismissively.
‘‘No. There was something,’’ Harper said. ‘‘We can’t really find out what, unless we ask more directly. And he’d most likely hear about it.’’
Anna shook her head. ‘‘Then don’t.’’
Glass glanced at Harper, then said, ‘‘Anna, this is a little more important than your feelings. Or his. Remember China Lake . . .’’
‘‘I remember China Lake,’’ Anna snapped back. ‘‘I’m not gonna forget China Lake. But Clark didn’t do it.’’
‘‘One of his students has a recital tonight; he’ll be there. Eight o’clock at Schoenberg Hall,’’ Harper said.
‘‘Yeah?’’ Anna’s eyebrow went up.
‘‘We could pick him up after the recital,’’ Harper said, his voice casual. ‘‘Find out what he does with his evenings.’’
‘‘And we’d have time to stop by Kinko’s first, and talk to Catwell again,’’ Anna said.
‘‘We could do that,’’ Harper said.
Coughlin would pick Glass up at the regular night-crew starting time, ten o’clock. If they left any earlier, they thought the stalker would miss them.
Glass said, ‘‘When we go out tonight, if we don’t find anybody tailing us, we’ll probably cruise just long enough to seem legitimate, then come back here, like I was picking up something. Then go back out again. Give him another chance to pick us up. If we still don’t get anything, we’ll be back around midnight.’’
‘‘So you’re gonna lay low until then?’’ Harper asked.
‘‘I gotta get some sleep,’’ Glass said. She yawned: ‘‘Watching Creek is tiring.’’
‘‘Keep the doors locked,’’ Harper said. ‘‘The guy’s been here at least twice.’’
Anna snuck out to Harper’s car after dark, and curled up on the back seat, out of sight.
‘‘I don’t have much faith in this Catwell thing,’’ Harper said over the seat.
‘‘We just have to keep talking,’’ Anna said. ‘‘The cops keep saying that I know the guy. Sooner or later, I’ll pick him out. I probably should have already.’’
• • •
Bob Catwell was not at the Kinko’s.
An unconsciously beautiful young blonde woman told them that Catwell had ‘‘rented a room in some frat house up on the hill. Down in the basement, you have to walk around the side on this gravel tracklike thing, and you see this door. Like, his room used to be the coal bin or something.’’
She drew a sketch on a piece of copy paper, and Anna thanked her and they headed out.
‘‘Do you think she knows how beautiful she is?’’ Harper asked on the way to the car.
‘‘Somewhere down in her brain she knows that she gets special treatment,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Unless she’s particularly stupid, and she didn’t seem to be.’’
The frat house was built on the side of a hill, with a narrow, rutted drive leading around back. Harper found a parking place and they walked back, and down the drive. Eight or nine feet of old poured-concrete foundation was exposed along the back side. The only window was boarded over with a sheet of plywood, but they could see light through a hairline crack at one edge. And at the door, they could smell the burning dope.
‘‘You could get high standing outside,’’ Harper said.
He turned the knob and pushed: the door unexpectedly popped open, and he stepped through, Anna at his elbow. Catwell was sprawled on a battered green sofa in front of a seventies color television, watching ‘‘Ren and Stimpy’’ reruns. He sat up, scared, when they burst in, dropped the joint he was smoking, recognized them, then scrambled to get the joint out of the couch. ‘‘What the fuck do you want? Did you . . . get the fuck out of here . . .’’
‘‘Gotta talk,’’ Anna said, stepping around Harper. Catwell finally found the joint and then stood there, looking at it, not sure what to do with it. ‘‘Give me that,’’ Anna said.
He handed it to her, and she took a hit, exhaled and handed it back: ‘‘Now we’re all criminals together, huh? So relax, and we gotta talk.’’
Catwell, uncertain, hit on the joint himself, a last time, then pinched it out.
‘‘Like a doper’s bowling alley in here,’’ Harper said, waving at a layer of smoke that hung two-thirds of the way to the ceiling.
‘‘You don’t like it, get lost,’’ Catwell said.
‘‘Both of you, shut up,’’ Anna said. To Catwell: ‘‘Listen, we need to talk again. We need to know more about what Jason was doing. Not who he bought the dope from, just in general.’’
‘‘That guy still chasing you?’’ Catwell’s eyes were glassy, and his speech a little slow, but he seemed to be tracking.
‘‘He killed another woman,’’ Anna said.
‘‘Where’re the fucking cops?’’ Catwell asked. ‘‘Out chasing hippies?’’
‘‘They’re looking,’’ Anna said. ‘‘We need to know who Jason was talking to, anything you know, especially the night before he died. Did you see him that night?’’
‘‘No, I didn’t. I knew he was going out with you, though. He’d been talking about setting the whole thing up, the raid,’’ Catwell said. He dropped on the couch again, looked at the dead joint in his hand. ‘‘You know, I miss that dickhead. I keep thinking I oughta go see him about something, but then I remember, he’s gone.’’
‘‘I know how it is,’’ Harper said soberly.
‘‘You knew he was setting up raid coverage,’’ Anna said. ‘‘You know who he was talking to about it?’’
‘‘Just those guys over there,’’ Catwell said. ‘‘The animal guy and that other surfer asshole.’’
‘‘We know the animal guy,’’ Anna said. ‘‘He’s up in Oregon. Who’s the surfer?’’
‘‘You know, you had him on TV. The pig guy, the guy knocked down by the pig. I must’ve seen it fifty times,’’ Catwell said, gesturing at the television.
Anna was confused. ‘‘Wait a minute—he was the animal guy, right? Steve?’’
Now Catwell was confused: ‘‘No, no, the other guy. He was setting it up with the animal guy, the guy who took care of the animals.’’
Harper and Anna looked at each other, then Anna got down on her knees so she could look Catwell squarely in the face. ‘‘You’re telling me that the whole thing was set up— both sides? That the animal rights raiders and the kid inside the building were all set up by Jason?’’
‘‘Sure.’’ Catwell nodded, then looked from Anna to Harper and back with just a touch of amusement. ‘‘I thought you knew that. The whole thing was like a fuckin’ movie. The guy in the building is the guy who left the door unlocked so the animal people could get in.’’
Anna said, ‘‘Shit,’’ and stood up.
Catwell continued: ‘‘I don’t know if the raider people knew who left the door open, ’cause Jase was being pretty quiet about the whole thing. I just knew because we were dopin’ buddies. But he sort of went over and told the surfer asshole about the animal up there, and the labs, and told them he could get them in. Then he fixed it for the guy inside to leave the door open, and for that guy to fight with them. It looked pretty real on TV—they were pretty rough, so maybe the raider guys didn’t know.’’
‘‘Why do you keep calling the surfer guy an asshole?’’ Harper asked.
Catwell shrugged. ‘‘You know, he’s one of those fuckin’ blond short-hair oh-wow surf’s-up pussy-hounds with big fuckin’ white teeth and never had to work in his whole fuckin’ life . . .’’ He looked at the dead joint again. ‘‘How come guys like him don’t get killed?’’
Anna shrugged: ‘‘Way of the world. But what about the other kid, the one who took care of the animals. What about him?’’
‘‘I don’t know. He’s in theater, or something.’’
‘‘Theater? I thought he was some kind of science geek.’’
Catwell shook his head: ‘‘Theater, is what Jason said.’’
They talked
for a few more minutes, but Catwell had nothing more. He lit up again as they were leaving, and Harper said, ‘‘You oughta lock the door.’’
‘‘I will,’’ Catwell said, in the squeaky top-of-the-mouth speech of a man holding his breath. ‘‘Soon as I can afford a lock.’’
Outside, on the driveway, Anna said, ‘‘The whole thing was a setup. Christ, I’d hate to have that get around.’’
‘‘Screw you with the TV people?’’
‘‘I don’t know—I mean, it was good tape, so they’d probably use it anyway. But it sorta makes us look like chumps.’’
‘‘What do you think about this kid?’’
‘‘. . . Who set us up? I don’t know: I talked to him for a couple of minutes, came onto him a little bit, you know, just to cheer him up,’’ Anna said. They were walking up the hill toward the street. They could hear rock music from one of the frat houses, and a man laughing. ‘‘God, he seemed real. He didn’t seem like . . . he seemed like a nerd, is what I’m saying. Not like somebody who’d be out trying to physically intimidate people.’’
‘‘You said this guy was strong, but kind of soft.’’
She nodded: ‘‘Yeah. I just don’t see him as being strong. But I don’t know: he could be . I mean, he completely sucked me in. And if he’s really in theater, he probably is in some kind of shape.’’ She thought about it, then said, ‘‘Let’s run him down. Find out.’’
‘‘What about Clark?’’ Harper asked.
‘‘What time is it?’’ She couldn’t see her watch in the dark.
‘‘Time to go, if we’re gonna catch him,’’ Harper said. ‘‘We oughta be there now.’’
Anna took the cell phone out of her jacket. ‘‘It’s not Clark . . . And now that this kid has come up, I think we should concentrate on him. I’ll talk to Louis, see if he can track the kid down.’’
‘‘How long will it take?’’