The OC

by D P Lyle

  “That’s where I wish Tiffany’s stalker was. I—her too for sure—would feel a lot better.”

  “That’s the point,” Nicole said. “She doesn’t know who the guy was or where he is. Or if he might reappear without warning.”

  “I think that’s her greatest fear. It’s the fact that he could be anyone that’s most stressful. She’s literally afraid of everyone.”

  “If we are dealing with the same guy and we can find him, wouldn’t that make her sleep better?”

  “It would.”

  “That’s why we want to talk to her. If she can offer us anything that leads us to him, we hopefully can make that happen.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “It’s what we do,” Ray said. “We’re pretty good at it.”

  Sharon seemed to mull that for a good half a minute. I understood. She wanted to protect her sister but she also wanted the guy identified and arrested. It presented a dilemma for her. Keep her sister isolated and safe or take a chance on some strangers who said they might be able to end the nightmare. I suspected that what she most wanted was for her sister to find an end to the horrible game the stalker had played. Even though Tiffany was in hiding, this guy still hung over her. He was out there in the dark. He might find her again and the entire ordeal would resume.

  “Tell you what,” I said. “Just as Mr. McCluskey did with you, call your sister and talk with her. Give her our number and if she wants to talk have her call.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Trust us,” Nicole said. “We will protect her. Just call her and give her the choice. She might have some little bit of information that could make or break all this. If so, and if we can find this guy, that weight will be taken off her shoulders.”

  “Okay. No promises. It’ll totally be up to her.”

  CHAPTER 38

  AGAIN, WE WAITED. For a call that might never come. I didn’t know Tiffany Cole. Really, nothing about her other than she was a TV reporter who had to weather a stalking episode. A stalker that scared her enough for her to completely abandon her life in Henderson. Cut and run stuff. What does it take to drive someone to do that? To leave a job, family, friends, and hit the road? If she was that scared, why would she talk with us? Why stick her head out of her foxhole?

  The answer just might be that she wanted to put this guy behind her once and for all. She might take a chance that we, or someone, could find this guy and get him off the streets. So she no longer had to look over her shoulder, enter unfamiliar areas cautiously, and stare at the ceiling in the dead of night wondering where he was, did he know where she was, and was he even now planning to tighten the noose around her yet again?

  It was the unknown that always weighed most heavily. Basic human psychology that was ingrained since birth. Was there a predator outside the cave? Was there a monster under the bed? Was it better to huddle in the corner or ball up beneath the covers, or confront the monster head-on?

  The question became, which of Tiffany Cole’s fears would win out? The fear of exposing herself by grasping the helping hand extended to her or the fear that regardless of how well she hid he was closing the gap between them? Take a chance on strangers to hopefully end this or burrow more deeply into the dark hole she had dug? I didn’t envy her that choice. Either could be the right one—or could be a total disaster.

  After a half hour of waiting, my confidence and enthusiasm waned. Nicole was sitting on her deck so I joined her, leaving Pancake and Ray at the kitchen table, working on computer stuff. I sat in the chair next to her.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think Ms. Cole is scared. I think she’s paralyzed with indecision. I think she’s not sure which path to follow—stay low or take a chance to end it all.”

  “Hopefully, it’s the latter.”

  It was. I heard Pancake’s phone buzz and him answer, followed by, “Ms. Cole, thanks for calling back.”

  Nicole and I joined Ray and Pancake at the table.

  “It wasn’t an easy decision,” she said.

  That was evident in the tension I sensed in her voice. Like she still wasn’t sure and just might hang up and end the discussion before it even started.

  “You did the right thing,” Pancake said.

  “I hope so.”

  Pancake introduced each of us, letting her know we were all in the conversation.

  “My sister said you think the guy who came after me might be out there in California.”

  The phrase “out there” struck me as telling. If she were still in the Vegas area she would have said “over there” since Nevada was right next door. “Out there” to me suggested she was farther east. But, I could be overreading it.

  “We aren’t sure but we’ve found many similarities,” Ray said.

  Pancake ran through the chronology of what had happened to Megan.

  Tiffany didn’t respond immediately. She seemed to be trying to absorb what had been said. “It sounds like him, that’s for sure. As you were laying it out, it was as if you were telling my story, too.”

  “That’s why we think this might be the same guy,” I said. “We’re hoping you can offer something that might help us find him.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “You just never know what might be important.”

  “I suppose. My sister said you guys were from Alabama. Gulf Shores. How did you get involved in this if it’s in California?”

  “Megan, the woman here, is a friend of mine,” Nicole said. “I’ve known her for years. She’s good people and definitely doesn’t deserve what’s happening.”

  “Does anyone?”

  “No. But this isn’t rare. I have personal experience so I know what you went through and are still going through.”

  “Someone stalked you?” Tiffany asked.

  “Actually, several someones,” Nicole said.

  “Are you in TV also?”

  “Movies. I was an actress for a while.”

  “Anything I might’ve seen?”

  “Probably not. I’ve moved to the other side of the camera. I write screenplays now.”

  I liked this. Nicole was gaining her confidence, lowering her tension, and drawing Tiffany out.

  “Did you leave acting because of the stalkers?” Tiffany asked.

  “That was part of it for sure. But also there’s a lot of BS in that celebrity world. Being a writer and not an actor keeps me out of it for the most part.”

  “Were any of yours as scary as this guy has been?”

  “Yes, and no. A couple were very aggressive. One ended up in jail. But the advantage I had was that I knew who was stalking me. It wasn’t some phantom in the dark.”

  “That’s what it seemed like. He just wafted in, did his damage, and forced me to give up my career. Really, my life.”

  “It’s what they do.”

  “Things haven’t been the same since.”

  “That’s why we want to find this guy,” Nicole said. “So you, and my friend Megan, can get back to a normal life.”

  “Normal? That seems so elusive. I mean, I’m a TV reporter, yet I can’t do that job. That’s all I ever wanted to do, and now I’m afraid to have my face seen anywhere. Scarfs and sunglasses have become my major fashion accessories.”

  “I remember those days well,” Nicole said.

  Tiffany let out an audible breath. “Okay. What can I tell you?”

  “Run us through it,” I said. “Tell us what happened.”

  She did. It was more or less what we already knew and, as she had said earlier, a carbon copy of what Megan was dealing with. The texts and emails, the gifts, the evolution from what seemed an infatuated fan to an angry and threatening menace.

  “The worst part was when he came to my home. He sprayed-painted messages on my front door, my windows, my garage door.”

  “You never saw him, right?” I asked.

  “No. I woke up that morning, got ready for work, like a normal day. Until I went
outside and there it was. Big ugly red words. I was freaked. My neighbors were freaked.”

  “That happened here,” I said. “He broke into Megan’s condo and spray-painted her walls.”

  “Inside her home?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would’ve died. It was bad enough on the garage door and windows. I can’t even imagine.” She sighed. “Of course, he might have been headed that way. Actually invading my home. I didn’t give him that chance. I split.”

  “Did he do anything else?” Ray asked. “At your home?”

  “He slashed a couple of my car tires.”

  “Same here with Megan,” Nicole said. “Not at her home but rather at the studio where she works.”

  “I can see why you think this might be the same guy.”

  “I know you got a marriage proposal. Megan did too. So did the reporter in Salt Lake City.”

  “Yeah, I know about her. It was when I found out what happened to her that I split and came here.”

  “Good thing you did,” Pancake said. “It now seems he might have ventured farther west and landed here.”

  “Lord. This guy is like a rolling plague.”

  I liked that. It seemed to describe this guy perfectly.

  “Is there anything else you can think of?” Pancake asked.

  “I think we’ve covered it.”

  “I’m sorry all this happened to you,” Nicole said.

  “Thanks. Me, too. I lost my career, my wonderful friends in Henderson, basically everything. But the one I really feel sorry for is Beth.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “She was my intern. She had been with me for three months. All this freaked her out. She left the area too.”

  “Your intern?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Very nice young lady. I guess you could consider her collateral damage to all of this.”

  “What was her name?” Ray asked.

  “Beth Macomb.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  “No. She was as freaked out as I was. Really took it hard. But she was a trooper. Not sure I could’ve weathered all this without her support.”

  “She left the area also?” I asked.

  “She did. I don’t know where she went but I wish I did. I’d like to talk to her and thank her for all she did.”

  “What did she look like?” I asked.

  “Attractive. Long hair. Great smile. Everyone at the station loved her.”

  “Can we send you a picture?” Pancake asked.

  “Of what?”

  “Megan also has an intern,” Nicole said. “Similar to what you describe.”

  “Really? What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Nicole said. “I’ll text a picture of her. Take a look and see if she looks familiar.”

  “Okay.”

  “It was taken at dinner so it’s not a close-up. More a group picture. She’s on the left.”

  Pancake showed Nicole Tiffany’s phone number on his phone’s display. Nicole typed it in, attached the photo taken at The Cannery the other night, and sent it.

  Took a couple of minutes, then Tiffany said, “Got it.” Silence as she studied the image. Finally, she said, “It could be her. Can’t see her face all that well. But this girl’s hair is short and looks to be dark, maybe black. Beth’s was long and lighter brown.”

  “Do you have a picture of Beth?” I asked.

  “Not that I know. I’ll double-check and let you know.”

  “But right now, you can’t say whether the photo I sent is Beth or not?” Nicole asked.

  “Not for sure. I mean, it could be, but I can’t really say.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “THAT’S INTERESTING,” I said.

  “Very. But is it a game changer?” Nicole asked.

  “Could be,” Pancake said.

  “I have to admit that when she said she had had an intern it got my attention,” I said.

  “Could be a coincidence,” Ray said.

  Pancake grunted. Meant he didn’t think so. He snatched up his phone, dialed a number, activated the speaker function, and returned it to the tabletop. After going through the secretary, Scott Hartman came on the line.

  “Something new?” Hartman asked.

  “Maybe,” Pancake said. “Got a question for you.”

  “Let’s have it.”

  “Did Dana have an intern? Someone who worked with her or for her?”

  “She did.”

  My heart did a hop, skip, and jump.

  “Who was it?” Ray asked.

  “Uh, what was her name? Very nice young lady. Bright and a hard worker.” He snapped a finger. “Liz. Liz Ingram.”

  “Is she still with you?” I asked.

  “No. She left right after Dana’s murder. She was totally spooked.”

  “How did she and Dana get along?”

  “What’s this about?” Hartman asked.

  “Before we get to that,” Pancake said. “Can I send you a photo?”

  “Of what?”

  “A girl. I want to know if she could be this Liz girl.”

  Since Hartman was on a landline and not a cell, Pancake got Hartman’s email address and sent the photo. “She’s the one on the left in the photo.”

  “Let me open it,” Hartman said. He fell silent for a minute, probably examining the image. “Could be. I mean she seems about the same age, size, and build. Can’t see her face all that well. But the hair is all wrong for sure. Liz had bright red curly hair.”

  Both Hartman and Tiffany had mentioned that Abby’s face wasn’t very visible. I hadn’t noticed the single time I had looked at the photo. The night it was taken. Now I examined it more closely. Interesting. Abby had averted her head slightly to her right and downward. On purpose? Did she not want her picture taken? Did that mean we were on the right track? Or merely paddling in coincidental circles? Or maybe, just maybe, Abby was a chameleon, and a dangerous predator.

  That didn’t make sense. She had been present during many of the episodes. The texts and emails often came in while she was sitting right next to Megan. She was actually in the photo the stalker had taken on the beach in Malibu. Also, since she was with us at the time, she couldn’t have scrawled the graffiti on Megan’s living room walls.

  But then, the stalker had never called Megan. Actually spoken to her. Was that to avoid revealing that the perpetrator was a woman?

  It seemed that for every arrow that pointed toward Abby another pointed away. Maddening and confusing. As Pancake often said, “Evidence don’t mean nothing until it does.” I suspected that’s where we were. Sitting on the fence, not sure what was important, what was simply noise, and which side of the fence we should focus on.

  Another thought crept in. What if Abby wasn’t acting alone? What if she had an accomplice? Did that even make sense? Did stalkers work in teams? How could two people be focused on the same target? Share the same obsession? Talk about cosmic coincidences.

  “What’s this about?” Hartman asked again.

  “In a similar case we found in Nevada and the one we have here in California, the target of the stalker had an intern. With the Nevada case, she also disappeared around the time the reporter in question split.”

  “I see.”

  “As the old adage goes,” Ray said. “One is an event, two a coincidence, and three a conspiracy.”

  “Are you saying Liz is this person?”

  “Maybe. Do you have a picture of Liz?”

  “I don’t think we do. I can check with the staff and see if any of them took any but we don’t have anything official.”

  “That would help,” Ray said. “Tell us about Liz. What do you know about her?”

  “Let me grab her file.”

  I heard the phone clunk on his desk, then the sound of drawers scraping open and closed. “Let’s see. She was from Lakeland, Florida. Went to school at UCF and got a degree in journalism. She had no real work experience, which is why she wanted an intern positi
on to get that experience.”

  “Did you check her out? Before you hired her?”

  He sighed. “I’m afraid not. We probably should have but as an intern she had few real responsibilities. She mainly shadowed and helped Dana. I took her at her word.”

  “I understand,” Ray said. “I probably would’ve looked at it the same way.”

  No, he wouldn’t have. Not Ray. He would’ve done a colonoscopy on any applicant. But then he had hired—sort of—Nicole while sitting in a bar. Which was an interesting point. It meant that he had more or less accepted my vetting of Nicole as a good and honest person. The irony of that was thick. All my life Ray had held out the women I had spent quality time with as symptoms of my lack of motivation and inability to be more responsible and more like him. Yet, with Nicole, he seemed to have bought in. Or did he sense all that in her? Probably. Ray possessed an uncanny knack for reading people.

  Ray continued. “I take it you haven’t heard from her or have any idea where she might have gone.”

  “Nothing. I figured she was too spooked by everything and wanted to sever all ties to this place.” He exhaled heavily. “Can’t say I blame her. If you find her, tell her we still owe her for her final week.”

  “She didn’t get her paycheck?” I asked.

  “No. She just evaporated.”

  Pancake thanked Hartman and disconnected the call. He then called Richard McCluskey back.

  “What’d you forget to ask?” McCluskey said.

  “Beth Macomb.”

  “What?”

  “We talked to Tiffany Cole.”

  “So, her sister came through. How is Tiffany?”

  “Doing okay under the circumstances. She told us she had an intern while she was there. Really liked her.”

  “Everyone liked Beth. She was very pleasant, smart, and a good worker.”

  “Do you have a picture of her?” I asked.

  “What’s this about?”

  Pancake ran through it. In each of the three cases in question, the reporter had a young woman for an intern.

  “I can’t imagine Beth has anything to do with this.”

  Nicole went through the picture thing again, sending McCluskey a copy of the dinner pic. Like the others, he agreed it could be Beth but he wasn’t sure because he couldn’t really see her face and the hair was all wrong. This was becoming a broken record. He concluded with, “But I’ll see if anyone around here has a picture of Beth, and if so, I’ll send it to you.”