The OC

by D P Lyle

  “I’m romantic. Tell her, Nicole.”

  “He is. In a rude, crude, guy sort of way.”

  “Yet you never complain,” I said.

  Nicole laughed. “That’s because I don’t require romance. My needs are more basic.”

  Now, Abby laughed. “Oh, I want to hear more.”

  “When you’re older,” I said.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Here I was hoping you stayed up late because you had a hot date,” Nicole said.

  Abby wiped chocolate from one corner of her mouth. “If you know of anyone, my schedule is open.” She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe Kirk Ford?”

  “Afraid you’d have to stand in line,” Nicole said. “Kirk is—how to put this—in high demand.”

  “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. He’s hot and then some. But, then again, right now I’m not that choosey. Anyone will do.” She smiled. “Well, almost anyone.”

  “Still hard for me to see why you don’t have a boyfriend,” I said. “Smart, pretty young lady like you.”

  “Flattery works,” she said. “Almost as well as donuts.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Mission accomplished. Ice broken, relaxed atmosphere in place. We left them to their work.

  Back at the condo, Pancake pounded down four donuts and was licking his fingers before I could get a word in.

  “What did you find out about the car?” I asked.

  “A lot.”

  “Is it a secret or are you going to tell us?” Nicole asked.

  “First,” Ray said, “how’re things at the station? More to the point, how’s Megan? Any awkwardness?”

  “She was nervous but she did great,” I said. “We took donuts and that seemed to get things settled somewhat.”

  “Good idea. Good distraction.”

  “Great distraction,” Pancake said, as he took a bite from a buttermilk bar. In less than half a minute, it too disappeared. He washed his hands at the sink and dried them on a paper towel. He sat at the dining table and flipped open his laptop. “Okay, here’s what I have.”

  Nicole and I sat and listened. Ray took a few notes. The more Pancake rolled out, the more impressed I was. Not surprised though. Pancake had a way of sniffing out things that were dead and buried and way off the radar.

  The car was registered to a Greg Morgan. It was purchased used on the fringes of Denver in Aurora, Colorado, just over a year ago. For cash. Registered with Morgan’s Colorado driver’s license. The address listed was an apartment, also in Aurora. Morgan had rented it for a year as was required according to the manager. He paid his rent in catlike clockwork. Never late. But after four months, he forked over the remainder of the year’s rent, and disappeared.

  “That would’ve been around the time the burner phones were purchased, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “Correct.”

  “Which would make it around the time things ramped up in Salt Lake City. Right?”

  Pancake nodded. “Sort of a timeline, it seems.”

  “Any evidence of him in Salt Lake?” Ray asked.

  “None that I’ve found so far.”

  “Who is Greg Morgan?” I asked.

  “Don’t have much yet but he’s twenty-seven and was born in Springfield, Illinois. Apparently, after he finished high school, he worked around the area for a few years. At a bank, then a savings and loan, and finally an insurance company. Must be a pretty smart kid to get those jobs with no college degree. Then, his tracks became scarce. No jobs or taxes paid. No voter registrations. No criminal record. No credit cards. No bank accounts. No home purchases. Rental data will be harder to come by, but I’m still looking into that. Other than this driver’s license from Colorado, it’s been a pretty quiet three years.”

  “If he doesn’t have a job or a bank account and no credit cards, how does he live?” I asked. “You know, pay for stuff?”

  “Don’t know, but I’m not through looking.”

  “I don’t like the feel of this,” Nicole said.

  “Me, either,” I said. “Any connection between this guy and Abby?”

  “You mean other than the fact that he’s apparently hanging out at her apartment?” Pancake said. “Haven’t found anything from before last night.”

  “Is that him?” Nicole asked. “The guy we saw? Could it be someone else who’s using this Greg Morgan’s car?”

  “It could be,” Pancake said with a shrug. “But it ain’t.”

  He tapped a few keys, then spun his laptop toward us. Greg Morgan’s Colorado driver’s license stared back.

  “Sure looks like him,” Nicole said. “This is all strange and more than a little scary. For Megan.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Here’s what I think.” Everyone looked at me. “We’re assuming, or at least entertaining the possibility, that Abby is each of the other interns. Means she’s lived under several false identities for the past year, maybe longer. Now there’s this dude, who she obviously knows on some level, who has left few footprints for the past year or so. To me, that means he could also be living under false identities.”

  “Except for the Colorado licenses and the Denver-area apartment,” Ray said.

  I thought about that. “True. But to operate the vehicle, maybe even to buy it, he’d need a driver’s license. To get that, he’d probably need an address. Since he has a clean record, according to Pancake, getting a license was easy.”

  Ray nodded. “After four months, he dumped the apartment and moved on.”

  “To Salt Lake City?” I asked.

  “Possible. In fact, I’m getting the feeling that that’s exactly what happened. Now, he might be living in the shadows. Like Abby.”

  “You’re thinking they’ve been traveling together?” Nicole asked. “As made-up people?”

  Ray shrugged. “Could be. The problem we have with proving that is that we have Greg Morgan’s real name but not his aliases, if he has any, and we have Abby’s aliases but not her real name. Makes marrying them to each other over the long haul difficult.”

  “But they must be,” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence for him to be here with her right now. I mean, we have two people who’re apparently very secretive. Abby using aliases and this guy keeping his head down for whatever reason. Now they end up here, hanging in the same apartment. All that seems too coincidental for them to not be connected.”

  “You found nothing to put him in Salt Lake City or Henderson, Nevada?” Nicole asked Pancake.

  “Not yet.”

  “I can’t shake the feeling that these two are connected and have been for a while,” I said.

  “I agree.” Ray nodded. “But to make a case, we need more.”

  Everyone fell silent for a minute.

  “Should we bring this to Detective Mills?” Nicole asked.

  “And tell her what?” Ray asked. “That we believe Abby isn’t who she says she is? That she knows some dude who seems sketchy? Not exactly major crimes there.”

  “But if they’re stalking Megan and they’ve done it before, even killing one of the women involved, wouldn’t that be something she needs to know?”

  “We’re assuming, actually guessing, that they’re connected,” Ray said. “We’re also assuming that Abby is indeed these other two interns. Lastly, and most importantly, we’re assuming that these two have been roaming around doing very bad things to very good people. That’s a lot of assumptions and we have nothing that makes them true.”

  “But you agree,” I said, “that this is starting to look like they might be a team?”

  “I do,” Ray said. “But like I said, we have to prove it.”

  “How?” Nicole asked.

  “I have a couple of ideas.”

  CHAPTER 44

  MEGAN SAT AT her desk, touching up the script for a show set to shoot next week. Her concentration wavered and her mind kept wandering, what if?, what if?, what if? fragmenting every thought. Even the words on the screen before her made no sense. She read and
reread each line, but it all seemed nonsensical.

  She felt flushed, her heart thumping overtime, pulsing against the back of her eyes. Had Abby picked up on her anxiety? Had she sensed that things had changed? Relax, she told herself. Don’t panic. Everything had been more or less normal all morning. Except for the war going on inside her head. Had she betrayed that in any way?

  On the positive side, at least she hadn’t melted down or said anything stupid. Jake and Nicole bringing in donuts had helped. They lightened the beginning of the day and gave her time to lower her heart rate enough so that she could breathe. All night, after she had learned about the other cases, Megan had dreaded facing Abby. Dreaded even more the need to act normally. As if nothing had changed. The truth? Everything had changed. Or had it? Part of her couldn’t grasp the idea that Abby was a serial stalker. Maybe even a killer. Why would she? What the hell was the thrill? The payoff?

  It made no sense.

  But facts were facts. Abby wasn’t Abby. At least not Abby Watson from Portland who went to the University of Oregon. No such person existed.

  Who was she? Why did she need to create a fake persona? Surely there was some rational explanation and not the one that stared her in the face. Surely she was hiding from someone and wasn’t some stalker herself.

  Then there was the guy at her apartment. Who was he? He certainly didn’t seem like a one-night deal. She flashed on him coming out on the walkway, casually smoking a cigarette, and making a phone call. He acted as if he lived there, belonged there.

  The truth that stared her in the face was that if Abby was her stalker, then he must be her accomplice.

  How could she unravel this without exposing her suspicions? Pancake had warned her not to dig or even ask questions, but rather to simply act as if it were a normal day and leave the digging to him and Ray.

  She found that easier said than done.

  Her brain sparked and sputtered. She couldn’t concentrate or think straight. It was as if a flock of birds, fluttering and swirling in no discernable pattern, had invaded her mind.

  She felt the need to do something, to ask something, to say something, and not simply sit by passively and let her life dissolve into a jumble of frayed nerves and fear. She searched for a way to find the truth. To get Abby to talk and come clean.

  Her chest felt heavy, the air she breathed thick and harsh. She sensed a scream building inside. Yet somehow she managed to hold it together and not do or say anything stupid. So far anyway. It helped that Abby had spent much of the last two hours in one of the studios, helping with a public service piece and then serving as the de facto script girl for two other packages.

  But now she was back and ensconced at her desk only ten feet from Megan. It didn’t help that the sugar rush from the donuts had waned, making her feel weak and fuzzy. Megan stared at her computer screen, trying to remember what she had been working on. She had three docs open but the words on each seemed to be mostly nonsense.

  Get a grip, Megan.

  Abby spun her chair toward her. Megan jumped, recoiled, her breath caught.

  “What is it?” Abby asked.

  Megan took a deep breath. “Nothing.”

  “I’m sorry. I startled you.”

  “No, it’s me. I’m just all wound up.”

  Abby rolled her chair toward her, laid a hand on her arm. “I’m so sorry. This guy’s really getting to you, isn’t he?”

  Megan nodded. Moisture blurred her vision. She felt light-headed.

  “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have eaten that donut. Sugar always makes me goofy.”

  Abby squeezed her arm.

  “Did something change? About any of this?”

  Megan froze. Her throat tightened.

  “Did your friends uncover something new?”

  Megan was afraid to open her mouth. Afraid if she tried to say anything it would come out wrong. Was Abby’s question mere curiosity or had she become suspicious? That’s the last thing she wanted to happen. The one thing Pancake and Ray had warned her not to allow. They had told her to be calm and casual. As if that were so easy to do. Had she now blown that completely out of the water? She fought the panic that rose inside her.

  She had to say something. She couldn’t simply sit here, fingers trembling, cold sweat building along her back, tears pushing against her eyes.

  “Tell me,” Abby said. “What is it?”

  Say something, Megan.

  “It’s nothing. I think this has simply worn me down.”

  Abby rolled her chair closer. Hugged her. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m just being a ninny and acting like a child.”

  “No, you’re not,” Abby said. She squeezed her tighter. “These things take a toll. What can I do to help?”

  There it was. An opening. One that might diffuse her suspicions.

  Megan pulled away. She grabbed Abby by her shoulders. “You’ve been amazing. My rock, really. You’ve been here for me every step of the way.”

  Abby brushed a strand of Megan’s hair off her forehead. She smiled. “You’d do the same for me.”

  Megan broke down. She began to sob. Abby hugged her again and let her get it out. Finally, Megan broke the embrace, swiped tears from her eye, and sat up straight. She sniffed.

  “Look at me,” Megan said. “Acting like this. It’s just not me.”

  “These are stressful times. I’m amazed you’ve held it together so well.”

  “Did you feel this way? When that guy was stalking you?”

  Abby rolled her chair back. She gave a weak laugh. “Oh yeah. I was a lot worse than this. I spent a lot of time in my apartment, peeking through the curtains and wondering where he was.”

  “You knew who he was. Right?”

  “Yes. That made it easier. A little anyway. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Not knowing. To me, that’s the terrifying part.”

  It is, Megan thought. She tried to read Abby’s face. Was she enjoying this? Was her concern real or was she that good an actress? Was she the source of Megan’s terror?

  “Did you ever consider running away?” Megan asked. “Changing identity and disappearing?”

  She immediately regretted the questions. In her head they seemed innocent but when said out loud, they felt more intrusive, even accusatory.

  Abby didn’t react as if she felt that though. “I did. Move away, that is. I hoped that would end it, but when he continued sending me messages, I did look into changing my name.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “In the end, I decided I liked being me.” She smiled. “I wasn’t going to let some deranged fool take that away from me.”

  “He eventually gave up?”

  She nodded. “He did. At least I haven’t heard from him for years.”

  “Do you ever worry he might reappear?”

  “I do. I did anyway. It’s been so long I doubt I’m of interest to him anymore.”

  “Maybe he found someone else?” Megan said.

  “Maybe.”

  Megan’s cell buzzed. She answered. It was Nicole.

  “Hi,” Megan said. “What’s up?”

  “Can you talk?”

  “Sure.”

  “Part of Ray’s new plan,” Nicole said. “Invite Abby to dinner with us tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll explain the details later.”

  “Okay.”

  “Six thirty. The Cannery.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Megan said. “I’ll let her know.” She ended the call.

  “That was Nicole,” Megan said. “Group dinner tonight if you’re free.”

  “Free? Me? I’ll have to check my busy schedule.”

  Megan smiled. “I take it that’s a yes.”

  “It is.” She raised an eyebrow. “I assume Pancake—I still can’t get over that name—will be there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. He’s cute.”

  CHAPTER
45

  “THIS LOOKS GOOD,” Ray said.

  “Of course it does,” Pancake said. “It wasn’t too hard to rig.”

  It wasn’t. It had taken Pancake all of thirty minutes to cobble it together. The petition was to block the destruction of two apartment complexes, including the one where Abby and perhaps Greg Morgan lived. It was totally bogus. Pancake hatched the idea as a way for Ray to see the dude face-to-face and to make sure he was indeed Greg Morgan. In reality, they knew it was, but verification never hurt. Besides, Ray wanted to get up close and personal and get a better handle on this guy. Threat assessment was Ray’s take.

  Since Ray was new on the scene, there was less chance that Morgan had seen him before. The risk wasn’t zero since they had no idea what kind of intel and surveillance Morgan had been doing while they had no idea he existed. But it was lower than Pancake or Jake doing the door knocking.

  An added benefit of his plan was that with Ray looking Morgan in the eye, Morgan couldn’t surprise Pancake while he did his thing. His thing being placing a GPS tracker on Morgan’s car.

  The problem was that they had done a couple of drive-bys and the Toyota wasn’t there. They parked in a convenience store lot a block from Abby’s place, a location that gave them a direct view up the street to the complex, including the parking area entrance. They settled in to wait. Pancake worked on a bag of Cheetos—the large family size—and a massive cup of Coke. Ray worked on a can of Mountain Dew.

  “What if he’s gone?” Pancake asked.

  “Then we’re wasting our time.”

  “Not like we ain’t done it before.” Pancake slurped his Coke. “We’ve been involved in some crazy shit before, but this is right up near the top.”

  “It is,” Ray said. “Maybe not Billy Wayne Baker crazy, but this’s an odd deal.”

  Dear old Billy Wayne. A serial killer now biding his time in Union Correctional in Raiford, Florida. He had hired them to prove he had only killed five of the seven women he confessed to killing. That was still number one on the hit parade, but this had the potential to slide into second place in Longly Investigation’s long list of weird cases.

  “I hope to hell he’s not gone.” He crunched some Cheetos. “I’d love to wring his neck and watch him flop around.”