by Pamela Cowan
Howard was not a person who avoided conflict. He dealt with conflict directly, immediately. She knew so little about him, but she knew that. This march of days with no response was so unlike him, or so she believed.
Now that she thought about it, she realized how little she knew about Howard. A few pages in a case file told her next to nothing. No matter how well one knew people they were often enigmas. Hitler was a vegetarian who liked to paint. The worst sex offender she’d ever met had baby-blue eyes, chubby cheeks, and a job that kept him in sports cars and Rolex watches. People were annoyingly unpredictable and complicated.
At least she had followed through on one of her promises. She’d taken the SIM card from her cell and thrown it and the phone away. What she hadn’t followed through on was asking a coworker to take Howard on as a client. It seemed like a good idea, and she might still have done it, but the truth was she and Howard were bound by their partnership in a way that was inescapable. Damn it, she wished he’d call.
She regretted tossing the cell phone. Maybe he was reluctant to call her at work. The last time he called her there, she’d jumped all over him. She had not handled him very well.
The more she thought about it, things like his demand to let him be the one to decide when they stopped, made a certain kind of sense. He was expressing how he disliked being made to feel like an underling, and she couldn’t blame him for that. Maybe if they talked it out and she explained calmly, without being bossy, her reasons for them taking a break. Or, what if she gave him some incentive to do what she asked? She could pass him through probation without a hitch. If he got the job in Seattle or one like it up there, maybe she could help him with some money for a first and last on an apartment or something.
That was the thing to do: treat him like a friend, not like a minion. Convinced she was on the right track, Storm decided if she hadn’t heard from him by Friday afternoon, she would drive to Traynor Chemical and have a talk with him.
With that resolved, Storm opened the door to her office and got on with her workday.
* * *
The table was set, and dinner was being placed on it when Storm walked in. “What’s all this?” she asked.
“We’re celebrating spring,” explained Tom. “You will note that the forsythia are in bloom.”
Storm saw a jelly jar had been placed at the center of the table. It held half a dozen thin branches. They were almost bare except for rows of tightly closed leaf buds and several bright-yellow flowers.
“The goofy things. They’re blooming early.”
“Aren’t they pretty, Mom?” asked Lindsey, who stood next to Storm’s chair. “We picked them for you.”
“I helped. I helped,” insisted Joel.
“I said we,” Lindsey said, exasperation clear in her voice.
“She did,” agreed Storm, pulling her daughter close and hugging her. “That was very nice of you to remember that your brother helped.”
“Who’s ready to eat?” asked Tom. “We’ve got some nice broccoli casserole here, followed by eggplant soup, and dessert will be a yummy Brussels sprout pie.” He smiled as he recited the list of foods the kids disliked.
“Eww, that’s gross,” said Lindsey.
“Pie, pie, pie,” sang Joel happily.
Storm shook her head at all of them and felt her spirits lift. It was so nice to be home.
“How was your day?” she asked Tom, after everyone had taken their seats and were working their way through macaroni and cheese casserole.
“Good. Helped Rylan on his project, and he’s coming out tomorrow to work on mine. We’ve decided he’ll take lead on the bank in Tigard and I’ll be lead on the county project. Should keep us from bumping heads too much.”
“Sounds smart.”
“We like to think so. I was also a good husband and got the back forty mowed and the flower beds raked out pretty well. Not exactly all the spring cleanup, but a good start.”
“Sounds like a productive day.”
“Yeah, my back says it was productive.”
“Don’t forget to say about Mommy’s friend,” said Joel.
“Mommy’s friend?” Storm asked.
“Oh yeah, totally forgot. A friend of yours came by and dropped off the seeds for the kids.”
“The what?” Storm asked.
“The seeds. He said you ordered them a while ago from one of his kids, one of those fundraiser things parents get suckered into. Anyway, he said to tell you thanks. His son didn’t win, but he had a good time learning how to harass people into buying stuff they didn’t want. Nice guy.”
“Yeah.” Storm made her voice calm, but a dreadful coiling was going on somewhere deep inside. “What did he look like, this nice guy?”
“I don’t know. Just a guy. Pretty average. Medium build. Brown hair. Sorry, I can’t remember his name or if he even gave me a name. Why? Don’t you remember who you bought the seeds from?”
“What are you talking about?” Storm insisted, pushing hard past Tom’s puzzled look, searching for an answer she didn’t want to hear. “What did this nice guy give you for our kids?”
“I told you. Seeds,” Tom said. “Packets of seeds for the garden. Simple things that anyone could grow—zucchini and corn and some flowers. The kids were excited about planting them. That’s why I thought I’d get started on the yard work. What’s wrong?”
“We have to leave,” Storm said, her voice still calm but her eyes, wide with terror and locked on his, transmitted her fear more clearly than any words. “I need you to help me pack a few things for us and the kids. We have to get out of here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA who the man was?” The investigator’s piercing blue eyes studied her. A notebook lay open on the table before him, waiting to capture everything she said.
“No. No idea,” Storm said. She hadn’t wanted to call the police, but Tom insisted. Now, Tom was in their room with the kids, and she was in the hotel’s empty breakfast room, being interviewed by an investigator from the detective division of the sheriff’s office.
The detective looked so calm in his dark-gray suit and blue tie, so confident and relaxed. Seated across from him, she rested her forearms against the cool granite surface but could not help tugging at the ragged cuffs of her sleeves as she tried to express the reason for her fears.
“I have no idea. All I know is that I didn’t order any seeds. I probably wouldn’t have thought much about it, but lately I’ve had this creepy feeling. It’s as if someone’s watching me. You know how you get that feeling sometimes and you turn and there’s someone looking at you?”
The detective nodded.
“Well, when I turn around to see who it is, no one is there. It’s odd, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. Now this. I know I didn’t buy any seeds, and I’m starting to think one of my clients is harassing me.”
To Storm, this embellishment seemed worse than simply lying about knowing who the mysterious man might have been. Of course it was Howard, and of course she had to get the kids and Tom out of the house. She even had to follow through and call the police, just as she would have if an angry client had figured out where she lived and shown up there. But did she have to send the police down a blind alley and waste their time?
The answer was yes, if she valued her freedom. Of course, she could just opt to tell the truth. She could simply say that Howard Kline was the visitor. That he’d been angry when she put an end to their killing spree. Somehow she didn’t think that would get her much help. No, this one she’d have to handle all alone.
“I probably sound crazy to you,” Storm said with a wry grin. “Going off about someone following me. Pretty dumb, huh?”
He shook his head. “No ma’am. I teach defense classes, and we always tell our students if they feel funny or uneasy, or if they get that hair-standing-up-on-your-neck feeling, they should trust their instincts.”
“My instincts are on high alert,” said Storm. Some of the
people I work with . . . well, you know.”
“Yes ma’am, I sure do.”
They spoke for a short time longer. He jotted down a few notes but inevitably said what she’d expected. “If you don’t know which of your offenders came to your house, if that’s who it was, there isn’t much we can do. We’ll send more cars to drive by your house, but you might want to consider installing a security system.”
“Thank you. We’ll think about that,” she said. “I need to get back to my family now. They stood up, and she was happy to see him leave.
“So they aren’t going to do anything?” Tom asked a few minutes later. Storm heard disbelief in his voice. “Aren’t you, I don’t know, like, one of them? Don’t they get all protective of their own?”
“Oh honey. I’m not one of them. I’m just a probation officer. There isn’t much love lost.”
“They could at least think about the kids,” he whispered furiously.
She saw him glance at the kids lying on their stomachs on one of the two queen beds watching television and scribbling in coloring books with crayons.
Storm thought the kids were treating the whole thing as a special getaway. They begged for trips to the snack machine or the ice machine, and they loved the strange room with the sink in the same room as the beds and the teeny bars of soap.
She was not enjoying it, not one bit, and she was sure the kids wouldn’t for much longer. The novelty would soon wear off, and they’d become restless and cranky. Also, she’d caught an expression of fear on Lindsey’s face when they’d first climbed into the van. They had tried to shield the kids from the truth of why they were spending the night in a hotel, but Lindsey might have understood more than she and Tom realized.
Her suspicion, that Lindsey was playing the happy older sister as a way of keeping her little brother from sensing her fear, seemed very grown up. Storm bitterly regretted the necessity.
“I think it’s our job to think of the kids,” she said to Tom. “That’s why I wanted them out of the house.”
“How dangerous do you think this guy is?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know which guy this guy is. I make people mad a lot, and this week was no different. I think I may have some ideas, though, and I’m going to make some calls in the morning.” She hated lying to Tom, but what was one more after the hundreds she’d already told him?
“Maybe we should do what they said and get a security system installed.”
“Can we afford it?”
“I have no idea what one costs, but we can afford it if we have to. Damn it, Storm, I wish you’d give up that stinking job.”
“I know.”
After a few moments of silence, in which the kids continued scratching away at their coloring and the television provided a mundane backdrop, Storm placed her hand on Tom’s.
He sighed, looked up, and gave her a small smile. “I guess we’ll get that security system. I’ll also invest in a baseball bat, a nice Louisville Slugger. Unless you’d like to loan me your gun, that is.”
“A bat it is,” she said, curling her fingers around Tom’s. She could see it, Howard sneaking into the house, Tom striking out with the bat, one single, lethal blow.
She shook off the fantasy. Tom was gentle, like a sleepy-eyed basset hound. Howard was a fight-trained pit bull, savage and untrustworthy. Tom would never have been prepared to defend himself against Howard. He’d never have expected the level of viciousness and lack of conscience that Howard brought.
No, the only way to make sure this ended was to end it herself. She would have to make Howard go away. The good news was that she was more than angry enough to make him go away forever.
“Tom. I know it’s late, but I have to run to work and print up some information for the police. They’ll want to contact some of my clients in the morning, and I need to make it as easy as possible. Will you stay here and make sure the kids—?”
“They’ll be safe,” he told her. “You go do what you need to do.”
“I won’t be long,” she promised.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
IT HAD JUST turned 11:00 p.m. when Storm drove into the parking lot of Traynor Chemical, the time they felt it was safe, when the building would be free of employees. Her timing was perfect. The lot was empty except for Howard’s car.
She parked badly askew, took up two spaces, climbed from the car, and slammed the door. Each step she took toward the building seemed to drive her anger harder and deeper into her body. It rose from the base of her spine to her brain, hammering through each vertebra, thrumming through each cluster of nerves as she fought to walk slowly, to keep her cool.
After she unlocked the door, she pushed it open with her left hand. Her right was in the pocket of her coat, wrapped around the butt of her Glock 22.
She went straight to the shower room. The space was empty. She retraced her steps and turned down the main hallway. She’d walk the halls until she found him.
She found a door marked OFFICE, and opened it. The space was dark, but a motion sensor detected her presence, and a row of fluorescents flickered on. They highlighted walls the color of hay, decorated with framed photos of colorful electronic circuitry. To the left, were two chairs with a small table between them. On it was a fan of magazines. To the right was a wooden door marked STAFF ONLY. Directly in front was a tall reception desk with two workstations.
She entered the office, walked around the workstation and opened the staff only door. She found herself looking down another hallway, this one with a row of doors on the left. The prospect of checking each room was frustrating. She was reaching for the first door when one near the end of the hall opened, and Howard stepped out. He paused when he saw her. Then, smiling, he strode toward her. He seemed eager to reach her, happy to see her.
“Stay right there, you son of a bitch.” Storm pulled the gun from her coat and held it at the ready. She aimed at the center of his body. Her plan was to shoot him center mass three times and put a final bullet in his head just for the reassurance.
“What the fuck!” Howard raged, still moving toward her.
Storm slid her finger into the trigger guard. Howard flung his hands up and stopped in his tracks.
The others they had killed had earned their deaths. She had told them so. Each time she’d given them the reason. Howard deserved as much.
“Howard Kline, you went to my home. You talked to my husband, to . . . to my children. This is not forgivable.”
“No, Storm, no. You got it wrong.”
“You went to my house, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, but not to hurt anyone. I did it to protect them.”
Storm said nothing. The ugly black thing that burned inside snarled from its home in the dark well of her soul and was not easily contained.
“It was your father, Storm. I followed your father there, to your house. I didn’t even know it was your house until I saw your husband come out for the mail. I recognized him right away. I’ve seen you two together, having lunch plenty of times. Put the gun away, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it before?” Storm asked, her arms beginning to tremble from holding the gun straight and steady on her target.
“I tried, but you didn’t answer the cell phone and you’ve got me all paranoid about calling you at work. I was going to come to the office and see you Monday. Come on, Storm, I didn’t even know where you lived. Honest. Don’t shoot me until I tell you what your dad was up to. You need to know.”
Storm lowered the gun, the muzzle pointed at the floor halfway between them. “Talk.”
“I found your dad. He was staying at a halfway house off Baseline.”
Storm nodded. So far, he was telling the truth.
“I have a friend in recovery staying at a house near there, almost next door actually. I talked to him, and he took me over and introduced me to some of the guys who lived with your dad. Hell, it doesn’t take but a half rack of beer to g
et all the information you need from an alcoholic. You know that, huh?”
“Did you talk to him? To my father?”
“No, he wasn’t there. Found out he had a girlfriend and was staying at her place. I went there, parked down the street, watched him for a few days. Sort of the same way we stake out our targets, you know?”
“I know.” Storm continued to hold the gun at the ready, though she was beginning to believe she might have been mistaken about Howard’s motives.
“So, one day he leaves and I follow him. He drives toward Hillsboro and into a neighborhood. I see him pull up and park, so I figure I’d better do the same. But there’s no more free street parking, so I pull into someone’s driveway.
“After a while, I realize he’s not getting out of the car. Then it hit me. Shit, he was watching a house, just like I’d been watching his. Got me curious, so I stuck around. Finally, I saw your husband come out and get the mail. I knew him right off. I’ve seen you and your man around Hillsboro often enough. You go to lunch with him at that Thai place on Main.”
Storm let the gun fall to her side, her finger resting alongside the trigger guard. Her hands were shaking even more; the adrenaline that had coursed through her system was fading, leaving her feeling weak. Her limbs felt heavy, filled with sand. “What . . . what did he do? What did my father do?”
“Nothing. He just sat there. But then this car pulls in next to me. Scared the hell out of me. Guy comes over to the car, asks me what I’m doing there. I tell him I’m lost, come up with some address off the top of my head. I don’t think he bought it. Anyway I got out of there, drove around a little while. When I came back, your dad’s car was gone. I took the spot where he’d been and watched your house awhile. It was quiet. Didn’t see anyone. I got nervous. What if your father did something? I decided that I should see and that I’d need something better than the being-lost story.”
“And the best you could come up with was seeds?”
“Why not? Some guy at the halfway house was selling seeds for his sister’s kid. I bought some because I wanted those guys to like me and tell me what they knew. They were sitting there in the car, and well, that’s where the idea came from. I went in and told your husband I was delivering the seeds you bought for your kids. Got to see your kids, by the way. Great-looking kids, huh?”