“Twas too hard to just sit,” Mr. Applegate said. “Ye sit and twiddle y’r thumbs whilst y’r profits dissolve away. I’d heard y’rself was here in Phoenix, and the missus;” he caught himself; “and things a-happening here.”
Tommy was nodding. “I know the feeling all too well. Just before I got Joe at the hospital this morning, I spoke with the lass who rented Stover the car. He used his passport and driver’s licence as ID. He recited off the card number from memory, saying twas his employer’s card and he was to bring Mr. Applegate the car. The strong Irish accent; everything added up; so she processed the transaction. It seemed legitimate.”
Maria asked, “Joe? In your brief contact with Mr. Stover, what was your impression?”
He thought a moment. So much had happened that day. “Socially clumsy. Inept. He doesn’t know what to say in a novel social situation, so he zeroed in on Bridgid and talked almost exclusively to her. She spoke his language and was the person and culture most familiar to him.”
Gretchen took it up. “Not just because she was a familiar face, Joe. Stover has a strong crush on Bridgid. The way he was fawning over her, smarmy, staring at her from across the room. Creepy. I’ve seen it more than once. In fact it happened to me. Not much scares me;” (Joe could drink to that) “but I was scared. I was thinking I was glad Bridgid was getting clear out of Ireland.”
Maria was bobbing her head.
Gretchen continued, “My whole life, girl and woman, I’ve had to deal with these men. My friends; me twice. They’re stalkers. I believe Jimmy Stover is a stalker.” Gretchen looked sad, almost stricken. “A socially inept guy fixates on a pretty girl, obsesses, pesters, and he thinks the girl ought to be as sold on him as he is on her. It happens oftener than you’d think, and it scares the bejabers out of you, because the more you refuse him the more desperate he becomes; the harder he pushes. You don’t know what he’s going to do next, and he won’t let you alone. And no one else thinks it’s important enough to help you.”
Maria was nodding vigorously now. “Eloquently expressed, Gretchen. And yes, it’s a frequent phenomenon. I see it often. If Gretchen feels that Mr. Stover is a stalker, I believe her. It’s on our radar, if you will. Women are aware of it far moreso than are men.”
Joe knew a few cases like that, but his was academic knowledge. Gretchen was talking from experience, and it frightened her. There was not much that could frighten Gretchen Weimer. “So you’re saying that Mr. Stover became so enamoured of Bridgid that he wangled his way to Phoenix to find her.”
“Aye!” Mr. Applegate became animated. He looked from face to face. “When she and her family came to me farm, I noticed that Bram—Mr. Wilkie—seemed instantly smitten with her. I paid no attention to Stover. Tis next to worthless, that lad. The most I use ‘m for is to shovel shit about. Stover followed them out onto the lea, tagged along after them even though he had plenty of work to do in the barn. I was depending on Mr. Wilkie to sell them me ponies and he did so, brilliantly.”
Maria was nodding knowingly. “You’re suggesting that Mr. Stover could be as smitten as your other employee.”
“That he could, aye. A charming lass, that. Looking back now, I recall how he begged me six ways from Sunday to take him with me to Murrica instead of taking Bram. Desperate, he was. But worthless. I had no intention, but then Bram was gone and I had no choice.”
“Ye sold all three dozen ponies?” Tommy asked.
“Nae, actually, no. Didn’t want to glut the market on one day. Did some pencil and paper figuring and thought it might pay to sell a dozen that first week, the rest two weeks after. Do some advertising in between. So they be pastured in New Holland on a nice Amish farmer’s lea until the twenty-second.” He stared at the flagstone floor. “Still, I’ll not be making a profit, not with half me gross stolen and Bram lost to me. Stover took nearly all me sales receipts, and there was barely a profit to start with. Ye pay for health papers, vet exams, Coggins tests, and the ponies have yet to leave the barn. Then the shipping and auction fees. Twas more a lark than a get-rich-quick scheme. Dismally thin profit margin. That bastard may well have bankrupted me.”
Tommy wagged his head. “I doubt much of his stolen money is left.”
“I’ll never see it again, that I know. This be a big country, Murrica, and a big city, Phoenix. How did he find her so fast?”
Joe thought about that a moment. “During the wedding, the vicar asked me to explain why I was late. He loves the story; I’m sure it will be told often. I mentioned that I work for Phoenix metro. So all Stover needed to do was learn where Phoenix is, then find the police station and watch until he saw me. Then follow me.”
Tommy added, “Ah, but in Phoenix ye cannae get about without a car, much less follow someone. So he learnt he had to rent a car. A clever lad, in a twisted sort of way.”
“That he is,” Mr. Applegate agreed. “Fiendishly sneaky and clever when it came to avoiding work.”
At least a few little somethings were clicking inside Joe’s head. “You’re saying he wangled a way to America just so he could find Bridgid?”
“Aye, it would almost appear so.” Tommy sipped his tea.
“Enough that he would kill Mr. Wilkie in order to take his place?”
Jerry looked grim. “We were thinking that could be a possibility, but nothing definitive to point to it.”
Joe started to wag his head and stopped that instantly. “I was so certain it was Stegener. I was going to bring along a couple cousins from Guadeloupe and lean on him.” That hangover juice was working its miracle. His pounding headache no longer pounded, almost gone so long as he remained still.
Jerry could wag his head without a rush of pain. “No indication that Stegener is involved.”
Maria explained, “Usually, a stalker does not strike instantly. He provides increasingly bold hints of his presence, of his obsession. However, this is a special circumstance and speed might be of the essence. He followed her from Ireland to her home in Phoenix. Perhaps he felt urgency in achieving his goal.”
And remorse stabbed Joe’s heart as deeply as remorse can possibly stab. “He did, Maria!” Oh God! He did! “He wrote Bridgid’s name in the dust on my MG. Hers is an unusual spelling, but he misspelled it B R I D G E T T. He also left an unsigned note under the windshield wiper with her name misspelled twice, telling her to meet him at a nearby McDonald’s. I took it along and was going to show it to you, but then we both forgot about it.” His voice was rising and he couldn’t control it. “He left signs for us and I kissed it off! I’m a police officer, and I kissed it off.” His eyes were wet now, and he was shouting.
They were staring at him.
“I should have picked up on it; at least shown you the note, Maria; I should have recognized the danger. And I kissed it off!”
Maria said quietly, “I agree with you, Joe.”
He leaped to his feet, took a deep breath, and muttered “Excuse me.” He rushed into the house to the downstairs half bath and simply leaned on the sink, breathing. He blew his nose and washed his face. It didn’t do any good. His soul was still in torment. How utterly, completely had he let Bridgid down, probably fatally!
Bridgid
He sucked in deep breaths and waited.
Nice Job, Rodriguez, losing it like that. Jerry grounded you for less. Welcome to forced leave. Again. But who the hell cares? He managed to regain some measure of control, now that the damage was done, and was finally able to rejoin the human race. He forced himself to go back out to the patio and sit down. “Sorry about the meltdown.”
Maria’s voice was still soft, dulcet. “In a perfect world, any police officer would have seen it. Our world is not perfect. There are only two people in this gathering who might possibly have recognised the signs for what they were. Might have, no certainty. Gretchen, and me. I deal with the situation professionally, and she knows from personal experience. Not Jerry, a seasoned police officer with even more time in the service than you. Not Tommy, also
a seasoned police officer. Incidentally, he told us about the prowler behind your apartment and we agree it was most likely Stover. You certainly would not be expecting it or see something amiss. I’m sure you will continue to beat yourself up. I can’t help you there. But you don’t deserve it. You could not reasonably be expected to recognize that there was a danger, let alone that it was real and immediate.”
He took another deep breath. You better believe he would continue to beat himself up. But he didn’t say that aloud.
Maria was smiling pleasantly now. “I’m sure you surmise that we’ve been talking about you behind your back. Considering the hideous pressure you’re under, your meltdown was remarkably subdued. Controlled. Jerry wondered if he should relieve you of duties temporarily and I’ve asked him not to. Like Mr. Applegate, you cannot simply sit by and twiddle your thumbs. You’ll be better off keeping busy.”
“Thank you.” Joe looked at Jerry. “Service weapon?”
“Keep it.” His voice was almost whiny. “But use it judiciously, all right?”
Joe smiled, but it was more a grimace. Another deep breath. “So what can we do?”
Jerry answered. “We have a bolo out on the rental, which was obtained fraudulently, and now we can get folks looking for our suspect. Full description. Mr. Applegate, you may have given us the crucial lead. Thank you very much for coming to us.”
Tommy was smiling, too. “Mr. Applegate will be staying with Gretchen and me until this is settled or he has to go back to Pennsylvania. Ye can reach him at our numbers.”
Jerry looked at Joe. “Joe, you know the police officer has to keep emotional distance. No personal involvement.”
Yeah yeah yeah. As if.
But Jerry was still speaking. “Not this time. This one is personal, for you, for me, for everyone in homicide. You don’t attack one of ours and get away with it. We’re going to nail that fucker.”
Chapter 10 Jimmy Stover
She had no idea how to tell time in this windowless garage. Stover consulted his watch now and then, but he didn’t bother to let her in on the secret. Not that it mattered. At one point she sat at the table, cradled her head in her arms, and fell asleep. She had been unable to sleep at all that first horrible night. Fear for Joe had consumed her. Fear for herself had consumed her. And besides wanting sex several times, he had tied her ankle to his lest she escape. Every time he stirred she came wide awake.
When he untied their ankles and put on his pants, she assumed it was morning.
He peed in the bucket, their only latrine, and plopped a couple of non-frozen frozen dinners out on the table. He fiddled with the boombox until he found something with all music. Loud rock music.
She relieved herself and sank down at the table, bone weary and heart sick. The frozen dinners were suffering dearly from being thawed out so long. She picked at breakfast but ate very little.
The jarring music did nothing to calm her nerves. Mostly for something to do, she tried to pull the tangles out of her hair with her fingers. However, that apparently enflamed him, to use her mum’s word, and he had his way with her again. All she could think of was Joe, poor Joe. I love ye, Joe.
He seemed quite pleased with himself. He put on a shirt, got his length of clothesline rope, sat her in her chair, and tied her into it. Then he got into his car, backed out, and drove away. Hot air washed in around her as the door opened and closed. Her back was to the garage door, but she could see the reflection of the outside on the microwave door. They were in a very ratty neighbourhood. Dilapidated buildings and no people at all.
What next? She could not simply work her way loose if possible and flee barefooted. Her poor feet would suffer second degree burns in a minute or two. He could keep her enslaved for years, or he could kill her before the day was over. He certainly would never simply set her free.
When eventually he returned, he brought a stranger with him, a seedy sort of fellow in a torn T-shirt. Stover untied her and explained helpfully, “Bridey here likes ye to know each other first, she says. Bridey, this be Jay. Jay, Bridey. Bridey thinks she’s a continent.”
Her heart quailed. Every time she thought it couldn’t get worse, it did.
“Take off y’r dress.”
What else could she do? Obediently, she unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to her ankles.
Stover scowled. “Where’s y’r panties, Bridey?”
“In the dustbin. They were so foul and stinking, I had to discard them. And ye tore the hooks off me bra, so I had to throw that away as well.”
Stover grunted. “Whadda ye think?” He asked Jay,
“I’ve had better, but she’s okay. Twenty dollars.”
“Bloody hell. She’s worth a hundred.”
They must have dickered for five minutes while she stood there naked, a cow at a livestock auction. They arrived finally at a price.
And Bridgid made a life-changing decision. As much as possible she would disregard the evil, foul men and the terrible things that were happening to her body and concentrate fully on her two topmost priorities: survival and escape. It would take all her brain power, or will power, or whatever faculties she still had after this torment. Oh, Joe! Her heart wailed.
Briefly she reviewed one of the conversations between herself and Joe on the long flight over. When he told her about shooting the assassin, she expressed concern that he was stuffing the horror away, for it would surely come back and make trouble. He had assured her that this was not the case. He needed tools with which to deal with it, and his best tool, Maria Mercado the psychologist, was not immediately available. So he consciously, temporarily, and deliberately put it aside, but only until he had that tool. Then he would deal with it. Instead he concentrated on prioritized goals. The foremost goal was to stop the assassin. [Ignore what is happening to you now, Bridgid. It is of no consequence] That accomplished, the next goal was getting to the wedding on time. And despite all the nearly insurmountable obstacles, he had done so. In short, he survived the many challenges and horrors in his life by prioritizing and compartmentalizing, taking the most important things first, one at a time.
Very well. She could surely do the same, given his example. She had read all the books, and she now knew something about psychopaths. But that was mere head knowledge. She must apply what she had learned.
How would she accomplish her first goal, that of survival? [Forget these bastards; they mean nothing.] By feeding Stover’s distorted ego, primarily. Stover was certain he was smarter, sexier, better than anyone else. His world centered only on him. She must echo that. He was incapable of thinking of others or of caring. His senses were those of an animal, not a rational man. Therefore she must provide him with as good a lay as she knew how.
And also this; she was now a source of income for him. He would keep her alive, at least temporarily, for those reasons. However, he would not think about profit if he became very angry; he would cheerfully kill her just as cheerfully as he raped her.
Now for the goal of escape. How could she get him to take her someplace where there were people? What were his needs?
They had adequate shelter, however uncomfortable and minimal it might be. He had sex, something that was high on his own list of wants and needs, though not hers.
Food? There was a soft spot, figuratively and literally. The frozen dinners were becoming mushy, even slimy. When they were getting to know each other; (and she had dearly wished the chatting had lasted much longer); he talked about food. They needed more and better food. She would play on that. Also, she must feign a sexual liking for him. He was a murderous psychopath; therefore he did not know or understand love in the least. He used the word without its meaning. But he overestimated his own animal charm and cleverness. She would also play to that. But she must do it carefully, not overplaying it, that she not invite suspicion.
Jay finished up and negotiated for another. More haggling. Stover then insisted that Jay lay out all the money in advance where Stover could see it.
She persevered; she survived. When at last Stover tied her to the chair again and drove away, taking Jay back to wherever, she could rest. And plan.
When he finally returned, she noted during the moments the garage door was open that that the sun was high in the sky. Praise the Lord he had not thought to go grocery shopping. But that must be his idea, not hers, or he might become suspicious.
He untied her and plopped into the other chair. “So how is Jay?”
“What an ultra-maroon.”
He grinned, “Not as good as I am, eh?”
“So much worse. He was not even as good as your masturbating, I heard y’r chair creaking.” She kissed her fingers and laid her hand on his cheek. “Y’re a good man, Jimmy, and a grand lover. But I’m still mad at ye. For killing me bridegroom and for tying me up. Have ye no trust in me atall?”
“Ye might try to get away.”
“Yesterday I would’ve. But not now. Not when I get to know ye.”
“Do ye nae wish to return to Ireland?”
“Aye, in a way, but I see that in this country I can get ahead faster and farther. Nae more running the cash register in a chemist’s shop. I can do well here, and best of all, now I have a fine lover. Besides, y’ll recall how me mum behaved at the wedding, howling and raising a dead horse. She be sure the marriage will fail. If they deport me, and I penniless in the bargain, me life will be a living hell with her endless gloating. Her incessant ‘I told ye so!’ Nae, Jimmy, I be here for good now. Maybe farther north, where tis not so friggen hot. If only the food were more like the Auld Sod’s.” She hesitated. “So, did ye drink up all your money just now, or have we enough for rent?”
“Ye noticed, eh. The whiskey on me breath.”
“Aye, and I also noticed ye did nae bring me any. I do so wish ye cared for me as I care for you. Y’know, that ye might think of things like that. Per’aps with time ye will.”
Pony Up Page 11