Creep

by Jennifer Hillier

  Jerry drove around the block a few times, and after the fourth or fifth time—Morris had lost count—the silly little parking-enforcement vehicle was gone. Jerry edged right back into the spot where they were initially.

  “The motorcycle’s gone,” Morris said.

  Jerry was distracted as he straightened the wheels of the Honda. “What?”

  “The motorcycle? The whole reason we’ve been sitting in this hole of a neighborhood for the past three hours listening to the radio when we could have been in a nice warm bar having a cold beer?” Morris pointed. “It’s gone.”

  Jerry looked around. “Shit. We lost them.”

  “You think?”

  “You shut up or I’ll frigging leave you here.”

  There was another tap on the car window, this time on Morris’s side. In the dark it was hard to see who it was, but Morris was guessing the damn meter maid had come back.

  He rolled down his window. It was harder than it should have been because Jerry’s piece-of-crap car didn’t have power windows. The handle groaned in protest.

  A face blacker than Jerry’s stared in at Morris. The man was covered in grime and he smelled like a garbage can, only much worse, because he also smelled like feces and urine. His hair, a snaked mess of dreadlocks, hung down inside the Accord’s window. He was smiling.

  “We got no money. Move on now.” Jerry elbowed Morris, not bothering to lower his voice. “Roll the window back up. It stinks in here.”

  “I ain’t ask for none.” The homeless man’s breath could have killed an elephant. His voice was a deep baritone.

  “What do you want?” Morris asked.

  “I got some information for you.”

  “About?”

  “About the white dude you was followin’.”

  Morris and Jerry exchanged a look. “Who says we were following anyone?” Jerry said.

  “Man, shee-it. I ain’t got no home, but that don’t mean I got no eyes.” The man stared at them.

  Finally Morris’s curiosity got the better of him. “Okay, what information?”

  “That white dude, his name is Wolfe.”

  “And that means what to me?” Jerry was staring hard at the homeless man.

  “He a hunter. You best watch yourself before he hunts you.”

  “And you know this how?” Morris asked.

  “I just know,” the man said with a shrug, backing away from the car. He lifted up his tattered shirt and scratched his stomach with soiled hands. “And his woman? The pretty white girl he with?”

  “What about her?” Jerry asked.

  “She the leader of the pack.”

  “Hey—” Morris called out, but by the time he got out of the Honda, the man had disappeared.

  Ethan rode just under the speed limit, taking comfort in Abby’s arms wrapped tight around his waist. In the bike’s side mirror, the unevenly dulled lights of the black Honda Accord finally caught up to him. His stalkers had guessed his route correctly, and knew he was heading home. Clearly the big black dude and Morris the fat fuck weren’t going to give up.

  Ethan had first noticed the car idling by the curb as he and Abby were leaving for the soup kitchen. He had no idea how long they’d been following him, which bothered him. It meant he wasn’t paying attention, and that was not good. He’d been losing focus. The drive to Lake Stevens and back every day, often twice a day, was taking its toll and he wasn’t sleeping. But that was no excuse for getting sloppy.

  Ethan couldn’t see their faces, but he could imagine the two men sitting inside that ugly car, talking about him, talking about Sheila, thinking they were onto something by following his every move. They were persistent fuckers, he’d give them that. It might have been flattering had it not been so completely inconvenient.

  He dropped Abby off at the apartment, explaining that he had some work to finish up. She hopped off the bike and pecked him on the cheek.

  She wouldn’t wait up. She never did.

  On the highway, Ethan accelerated and moved into the passing lane. Sure enough, the Honda sped up behind him. There was only one place to lead them to, only one place where things could happen the way he needed them to with the least amount of risk.

  Let them come.

  It was what he’d built his kill room for.

  CHAPTER : 34

  The vintage Triumph took the exit off I-5 for Highway 204. Jerry followed suit, his face scrunched in concentration as he carefully wove his way through the light traffic. Rain was making the road slick, and Ethan Wolfe wasn’t going slowly.

  “This guy’s nuts.” The PI had not taken his eyes off the bike’s taillight. “Who drives a motorcycle in this weather?”

  “Rides,” Morris corrected. “You don’t drive a motorcycle, you ride it.”

  “Whatever. The kid has a death wish.”

  Morris looked out the window, but the Honda’s tinted glass made it too dark to see much of anything. “I think we’re in Lake Stevens. I haven’t been here in years.”

  “It’s a nice area. Me and Annie looked at a place here after I retired. Thought we’d get away from the hustle and bustle of Seattle life.” Jerry grinned. “The thought lasted about a day.”

  The streets were quiet and Jerry was forced to drop back a good distance from the Triumph. They followed for about ten minutes until Wolfe made a left into a gated subdivision. A stone half-wall engraved with fancy lettering proclaimed it THE BRIAR WOODS RESIDENCES.

  Jerry didn’t turn left to follow Wolfe through the wrought-iron gate. Instead he continued straight at five miles below the speed limit. Straining his neck as they passed, Morris watched as Wolfe punched in an access code at the metal box next to the gate, which opened to let Wolfe inside. He saw Wolfe give an easy wave to whoever was manning the guard’s booth before the gate swung shut behind him.

  Jerry made a right at the next street, parking at the curb of a small neighborhood, not as ritzy, with no gate or fancy sign to proclaim its exclusivity. He cut the lights.

  “We’re stuck,” Morris said. “We can’t get through the gate without an access code.”

  Jerry smiled. “O ye of little faith.”

  The two sat in silence for a few minutes, then Jerry turned the lights back on. In less than thirty seconds they were back at Briar Woods.

  The security guard lifted his head at their approach. Jerry rolled down his window.

  “Good evening, sir. Can I help you?” The guard didn’t seem the least bit suspicious that two visitors had pulled up to the gate at eleven at night. He had a wrinkled, spritely face and a full head of neatly combed white hair. An ill-fitting brown polyester uniform displayed a name tag that read HENRY, and an embroidered shoulder patch said BRIAR WOODS SECURITY. Morris pegged the man as a part-time worker in his late sixties, trying to supplement his pension.

  Jerry flashed his replica detective’s shield through the open car window. Unlike the meter maid they’d met earlier, Henry was suitably impressed.

  “Detective Isaac.” Jerry was all business.

  “Yessir.” Henry put down the magazine he’d been reading. “Did one of the residents call you? Is there a problem? They’re supposed to let me know as well.”

  “There could be.” Jerry sounded just like a cop and Morris suppressed a grin. The tactic worked well, even in the business world. If you sounded authoritative enough, people believed anything. “Do you know the man on the motorcycle who went through here a few minutes ago?”

  “That’s Mr. Wolfe.” The guard’s eyes widened. “He’s a resident. Why, what’d he do?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Jerry’s face was stone. “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.”

  “Of course.” Morris could practically read the guard’s mind. Ongoing investigation sounded wonderfully ominous.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “For starters, you could let us in.”

  The man pushed the button for the wrought-iron gates. They opened slowly to a low buz
zing sound. “Mr. Wolfe lives at three five one three Maple Lane,” he said, though Jerry hadn’t asked for the address. “Straight ahead, first left, then a right.”

  Jerry nodded. “Thank you, Henry. I’m sure you already know this, but do not under any circumstances let Mr. Wolfe know that anybody was asking about him. Is that absolutely clear?”

  “Yessir.” Henry swallowed and adjusted his shirt collar.

  Jerry’s gaze was focused on something attached to the side of the guard’s booth. Morris craned his neck to see what the PI was looking at.

  “Say, Henry. Does that camera work?”

  The security guard nodded. “It does now, but somebody broke it last year. The residents didn’t want to pay to get it fixed, so I asked my son to tinker with it and he got it working again. He’s an electrician. I didn’t bother to bill the HOA. They’re cheap and I doubt they’d pay—” Henry’s face reddened. “Not that I don’t like my job, I do, it’s just—”

  Jerry put up a hand. “I’m with you. Does the camera record?”

  “Sure does. I keep it rolling constantly.”

  “Nobody knows it works?”

  Henry lowered his voice. “Don’t think anybody cares.”

  “Good work.” Jerry sounded genuinely impressed and the security guard looked delighted. “Mind if I take a peek at the tapes you’ve got?”

  The guard looked doubtful. “I only have a few weeks’ worth of archives. I have to recycle the tapes—”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Come on in.”

  Morris had his hand on the door, but Jerry turned to him. “Just me. You stay here.”

  Jerry was in the booth for ten minutes.

  Morris fidgeted inside the Honda, wondering what the hell was going on. “So?” he said when Jerry finally eased back into the car.

  The PI was carrying a video cassette, which he placed on the backseat.

  “Was Sheila on the tape? Has she been here?”

  Jerry started the car, and the guard waved as they entered the subdivision. “I’ll tell you what I saw, but I don’t want you to go crazy.”

  Morris felt his heart lurch in his chest. “Goddammit. She’s been here.”

  “Yes, I think so.” Jerry’s jaw was tight. “The video’s time stamped for just after midnight on the night she was last seen at Tony’s Tavern, so the timing fits. She’s in the passenger seat, asleep. The image is grainy and I’ll have to get someone to clean it up before I can be sure, but I’d bet my ass it’s her. We’re lucky the security guard keeps the tape running when he’s not in the booth. If not for that, we’d never know she’d been here.”

  Morris’s hand gripped the door handle as Jerry followed the guard’s instructions to get to Maple Lane. “And the driver?”

  Jerry looked grim. “It wasn’t Wolfe. From what I could make out, he was darker, older, more heavyset. But he definitely fits the description of the man she was talking to at the SAA meeting and Tony’s Tavern. Same with the car. Big black SUV, just like Dennis Fisher said. Couldn’t make out the plate number.”

  Morris frowned. “So Wolfe has a friend in SAA who picked her up and brought her here?”

  “Don’t know. But she was here, and that’s what matters.”

  “It could be Wolfe in disguise,” Morris said, thinking of Tom Young.

  Jerry’s dark eyes flickered. “Doubtful. It would have to be a pretty elaborate disguise, which would suggest a whole other level of . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. “Shit, I suppose anything’s possible.”

  The streetlamps on Maple Lane were dim and it was difficult to read the house numbers. All the homes were dark, as most suburban neighborhoods would be at this time of night. Morris found the quiet unsettling.

  Jerry slowed in front of 3513. Other than the porch light, the house was completely dark. The motorcycle was not in the driveway, which meant Wolfe had parked it inside the garage. Morris wondered if the black SUV was in there, too, but the garage doors didn’t have windows, so there was no way to check.

  Jerry passed the house and continued down the street, looping around the block twice before stopping across the street from Wolfe’s place. He shut off the engine.

  “Big-ass house,” he commented, looking at the sprawling rambler through the car window. “Must be nice to be young and rich.”

  There was no movement on the street, though Morris thought he might have seen a curtain inside Wolfe’s house ruffle slightly. Impatient, he opened the passenger door. The car’s interior lights came on immediately.

  In an instant, Jerry’s arm was on his. “Shut the door!” he hissed. “Are you stupid?”

  Morris glared at him, closing the door as Jerry reached up and flicked the light switch off. “What the hell? We came all this way but we’re not going in?”

  Jerry searched the street carefully before turning back to Morris. “What the hell were you gonna do, walk up to the front door and ring the bell at eleven o’clock at night?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Morris’s face was hot. He kept one hand on the door handle. “Sheila’s in there. I need to talk to her. I need to see her face and make sure she’s okay.”

  “And then what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what if she is okay?” Jerry said. “It’s likely she’s in there because she wants to be, Morris. She wasn’t struggling on the tape. She was sleeping.”

  “Or passed out from drugs or something.”

  “That’s a stretch.” Jerry’s frown deepened. “You’re jumping to conclusions, my friend. For all we know, she and Wolfe are still having an affair. There’s nothing to suggest he hurt her. Or that he would hurt her. From what I could see, she wasn’t harmed.”

  “Now who’s stupid?” Morris said, huffy. “You saw her on the tape going in. I haven’t heard from her in three weeks. What if that guy’s done something to her? Did you see her come back out?”

  “No, but—”

  Morris opened the door again. This time the car stayed dark.

  “Morris, please.” The urgency in Jerry’s voice caused Morris to stop. “Listen to me for one second.” Jerry reached across and closed the passenger door firmly. “We can’t just bust in. You’re not thinking this through.”

  “You’re a civilian. You don’t need a warrant.”

  “I’m a civilian so I can’t get a warrant, blowhole.” Jerry was exasperated. “Which has nothing to do with anything. Whoever the guy is that drove her here, Sheila was seen talking to him. Flirting with him. I know you don’t want to hear that, but that’s what we know. You ring the bell and start harassing people, especially at this time of night, they’ll call the cops and arrest you. Do you get that?”

  Morris gritted his teeth so hard his gums ached. “Jerry, every bone in my body is telling me that Sheila is inside that house right now. I need to talk to her and ask her to come home. She might not like that I’m here—she might slam the door in my face because she wants to be with that goddamned kid—but I can’t go back home without knowing. And if we have to wrestle before you let me out of this goddamned car, so be it.” Morris’s breath was coming out so fast, the windows of the Honda were fogging up. “You’re a big guy, but I was offensive lineman All-American for four fucking years and I will take you out if I have to.”

  Jerry stared at Morris for a full three seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

  He laughed so hard tears appeared in the corners of his eyes, glistening in the streetlights that shone through the windows. “I’m sorry,” Jerry said, gasping. He threw up a hand, struggling to control his laughter. Then he started all over again. “You should see the look on your face. ‘Take me out’? Jesus Christ, that was funny.”

  Morris didn’t see the humor. “You finished, asshole? I meant what I said.”

  “I could take you.”

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  Jerry shook his head as his laughter subsided. “You’re worse than a five-year-old.”

  “Ok
ay, let’s go,” Morris said, pushing down the door handle again.

  Jerry placed a hand on his shoulder. “Wait.” His voice was gentle. “Just wait. Give me five minutes. Let me call Torrance. At least let him know we’re here, in case something goes wrong. Hell, it’s a long shot, but maybe I can convince him to reopen the case based on the tape. Sheila was with a strange man the night she was last seen, possibly drugged, as you said. Who knows, it could be grounds for a search.” He looked dubious, but he flipped open his cell phone anyway. “Just calm down and give me five stinking minutes.”

  Morris sat back in his seat and made a show of checking his watch. “Four minutes fifty-five seconds,” he said, but only because it made him feel better.

  Ethan watched the black Honda Accord from a window at the front of the house, peering between two curtains. He knew they couldn’t see him; all his lights were off and the house was dark. The car door had opened for a second, illuminating two faces in heated discussion. Then it had closed again.

  His instincts told him they weren’t coming inside. Not tonight, anyway. The PI was an ex-cop, and no doubt he was explaining to Morris right now that they had no cause, no justification.

  Ethan turned away from the window and walked back toward the basement door. It bolted automatically behind him.

  If they wanted to come after him, they’d have to shoot their way in.

  CHAPTER : 35

  Jerry spoke in serious tones before finally hanging up the phone. Morris had been listening to one side of the conversation and needed no explanation.

  “This is bullshit and you know it,” Morris fumed, his hand back on the passenger door. “You both have your heads up your asses. I knew Torrance wasn’t gonna help.” He was out of the car before Jerry could stop him.