Creep

by Jennifer Hillier

  Morris dashed across the street, crossing Wolfe’s front yard in five long strides, and rang the doorbell without hesitating.

  Nobody answered. He rang the bell again, holding his ear to the door. Unable to make out any sounds or movements from inside the house, he rang the bell once again and listened to the echo of the chime within. Frustrated, he pounded on the thick door with his fist.

  A light went on in the house next door.

  Jerry had been hovering on the sidewalk, seemingly unwilling to set foot on Wolfe’s property. But when Morris shouted at full volume, Jerry was on the porch in three seconds.

  “Sheila!” Morris bellowed, banging on Wolfe’s door several more times. His deep baritone rang out in the sleeping neighborhood.

  “All right, all right.” Jerry grabbed Morris’s arm. “Enough!”

  “Go to hell.” Morris wrangled his arm away while continuing to bang on the door with his other fist. “Sheila!”

  Jerry made a move to grab Morris’s other arm. Before Morris could stop himself, his clenched fist socked the private investigator right in the eye.

  Jerry fell backward over the steps and onto the wet grass. He landed on his ass, legs splaying out awkwardly in front of him, pants hiking up to expose white athletic socks stuck into black running shoes.

  “Aw fuck,” Jerry said, his hand at his face. “You ass. I can’t believe you hit me.”

  Morris stared at Jerry in horror, the knuckles on his right hand aching from where he’d struck hard orbital bone. He staggered down the porch steps and reached out a hand. “Jesus Christ, man. I’m sorry.”

  Jerry touched his eye gingerly with one finger and ignored him. Even in the dim light, Morris could see the man’s face scrunched up in pain. Morris felt a wave of shame roll over him.

  The sound of a door opening caught the attention of both men.

  An elderly lady stepped out onto the front porch of the house next door. She was dressed in a long flannel nightgown, her hair in rollers and tucked under some kind of net cap. Bony arms crossed defiantly over her chest, and her eyes darted back and forth between Jerry and Morris. “What’s going on out here?” Her voice was shrill. “I’ve called security!”

  As if on cue, a small, white car with a familiar green logo pulled up. Henry the security guard stepped out. He shone his flashlight at Wolfe’s house.

  “What’s going on, guys?” Henry kept his voice low, but another light flickered on from a house across the street. “I’ve received a noise complaint.”

  Jerry got to his feet. His jeans were dark where the wet grass had soaked them. “Everything’s fine, Henry.”

  The security guard stared at the PI’s swelling face. “Everything doesn’t look fine.”

  Jerry waved a hand. “Just a misunderstanding.”

  Henry looked at the two men. “Did something happen with Mr. Wolfe?” he stage-whispered.

  “Nothing to be concerned about.” Jerry used his best cop’s voice. “We’re leaving. Sorry for the disturbance, ma’am,” he called to the elderly lady, still watching them with birdlike intensity. “Please go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  The woman ignored his apologies. “Everything okay, Henry?” she asked.

  “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Hoffer.” The guard tried to smile, but it was clear he was as rattled as she was. “It’s under control, ma’am.”

  “I told my son and his floozy wife not to move to this ghetto neighborhood. If it weren’t for my grandchildren, I wouldn’t step foot here.” Grumbling, the old woman started back inside. “But no, he says, the East Side’s too expensive. Too uppity, too crowded . . .” Her voice trailed off as she went back into the house. The door slammed behind her.

  Henry looked uncomfortable. “Did you guys get what you needed? Because you should get going now. If you’re not visiting anyone here . . .” He nodded toward Wolfe’s house.

  “We’re done,” Jerry said, more to Morris than the security guard.

  It was a long ride back to Seattle. Morris tried to apologize several more times, but each attempt was met with icy silence. When Jerry pulled into the empty parking lot where Morris had left his car earlier, he gave it one more shot.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  Jerry’s eye had swollen considerably since they’d left Lake Stevens. Morris knew his words were probably meaningless, but he forged ahead anyway. “I went a little nuts. You didn’t deserve it, God knows.”

  Jerry cut the engine. “I’d say it’s okay, but you know what, man? It’s not. I was trying to help you back there, trying to stop you from doing something that might get you arrested, not to mention embarrass you and push Sheila away, but—”

  “I was too pigheaded to listen. I know. I can be a total ass.”

  Jerry shook his head. “I can’t stop you from going back there if that’s what you’re gonna do. You’re as stubborn as a bull, Morris.” Jerry touched his face and winced. “But I hope you don’t. You hired me to find Sheila and I finally have a solid lead. But she’s not found yet. Do you want me to keep doing my job or not?”

  “I do.” Morris felt terrible about hitting Jerry. The goddamned alcohol was making him crazy and paranoid and stupid.

  “From now on you stay out of it. I’ll call you if I learn anything, but I work by myself. As I always have.”

  Morris tried to think of a polite way to say what he needed to say. He chose his words carefully. “I understand that. I’m too close to this, I get that now. But it’s really difficult for me to back off. I can’t take feeling this helpless. There’s gotta be something I can do.” He rubbed his head. “Maybe I should call Sheila’s therapist. She’s not supposed to tell me anything, but I never did ask her about Ethan Wolfe. I’m sure Sheila’s talked about him—”

  “It’s late. You have her home number?”

  “No.” Morris’s frustration swelled again.

  Jerry sighed and pulled out his notepad. “What’s her name? I’m sure I can find it for you. Don’t get your hopes up, though, because these people take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously. I doubt she’ll give you anything.”

  “It’s worth a shot.” Morris reached for his BlackBerry. “Her name is Chang. Marianne Chang. I have her office number here in case you need to cross-reference—” Morris stopped when he saw the PI staring at him, his pen poised over his notebook. “C-H-A-N-G. What, you want me to spell out Marianne, too?”

  Jerry tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket, his face the picture of amusement, even with the swelling eye. “It’s your lucky night. I know the lady. Personally.”

  “You do?” Morris grinned with relief. “Finally, something’s going our way. Maybe you can get something out of her.”

  “If anyone has a shot, it’s me.” The private investigator gave Morris a sideways glance and cleared his throat. “Of all the therapists in all the towns in all the world . . . craziest thing, Morris. Dr. Marianne Chang? She’s my wife, Annie.”

  CHAPTER : 36

  The house was dark when Jerry let himself in, but he knew Annie might still be up. In a hurry, he kicked off his shoes and raced up the staircase, his leather jacket still on.

  He was glad to see his wife wide-awake when he entered their bedroom, but was dismayed at the pissed-off look on her face. He moved in to kiss her but she turned her head at the last second. Instead of her lips, he got a freshly scrubbed cheek.

  “Are you nuts?” Annie had a book in her lap and her dark eyes glared at him behind thin reading glasses. “Keisha’s sleeping. You sounded like a gorilla coming up those stairs.” His niece and part-time receptionist often slept over.

  “Sorry,” Jerry whispered. He shrugged off his coat and flopped next to her on the bed. “We gotta talk.”

  “I figured.” She wasn’t amused. She bookmarked her page by folding in one corner, a trait he’d always found strange since she loved books and otherwise took good care of them. She took in his face. “What happened to you?”

&nb
sp; “Tell you later. Right now I want to talk about Sheila Tao. She’s your patient, yes?”

  Annie removed her glasses. “Yes,” she said warily. “And how, exactly, would you know that?”

  “Because her fiancé, Morris Gardener, is my client. He’s hired me to find her.”

  Annie’s jaw didn’t quite drop, but her mouth did open slightly. “You’re shitting me.”

  Jerry couldn’t help but grin. His wife didn’t swear often.

  “I had no idea he was going to hire a PI.” Annie’s voice grew faint as she processed this information. “Since he hadn’t called me, I assumed he’d let it go and was moving on. He said Sheila had made it very clear . . .” Her face clouded over.

  Jerry put a comforting hand on her thigh. “You’re not a babysitter, honey. If a patient wants to take off, what are you supposed to do? Assume the worst every time? You deal with adults who need therapy, not children who aren’t allowed to run away. And by the way,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “when did you start treating sex addiction? That’s news to me.”

  His wife gave him a look. “And when did you start handling missing persons again? I thought all you’d been doing since you went civilian is catch cheating spouses.”

  She didn’t know about the deal Jerry had going with Torrance, so he quickly changed the subject. “What can you tell me about Sheila?”

  Annie frowned at him. “You know I can’t tell you anything about our sessions.”

  “Give me a break.” Jerry stifled a sigh. “You’re not on trial here. I’m not going to do anything to make you lose your license. I’m your husband. I just need some information.”

  “About?” Her tone was careful.

  “Ethan Wolfe.”

  She exhaled slowly. “You think he had something to do with her leaving?”

  “So he is the one she cheated on him with. I can tell by the look on your face.”

  His wife didn’t respond.

  “You’re seriously going to play this game?” Jerry said, exasperated.

  Annie’s frown deepened. “This is my job we’re talking about. What I do is confidential. Just like what you do is confidential.”

  “Yeah, and how’s that working out for us?” Jerry didn’t bother to rein in his sarcasm. “Sheila Tao is missing, her fiancé’s going crazy wondering if she’s okay, I’m discovering all kinds of skeletons in her closet like sex addiction, online cheating, an affair with her teaching assistant, and you, my wife, might have been able to provide answers to this whole thing days ago if we were the kind of couple who actually talked to each other about our goddamned jobs. She’s your patient. You care what happens to her, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.” Annie’s eyes misted. “I also consider her a friend.”

  “And she was my teacher.”

  “What are you . . .” Annie’s face showed confusion, then she blinked. “Oh, right. You took that night class at PSSU way back, when she was teaching under her married name. I can’t believe I never put that together. Mind you, in the past couple of years, we talked a lot more about her personal life than we did mine.”

  His wife was quiet for a long moment. Then her mouth twitched. He had her.

  “You used the word missing,” she finally said. “Is she missing missing or did she leave?”

  Jerry told her about the tape he’d gotten from the Briar Woods security guard. “She looked fine, like she was sleeping, but the driver wasn’t Wolfe. Her phone message to Morris when she canceled the wedding—”

  “You heard it? How did she sound?”

  “Like a woman breaking up with her fiancé. Upset, crying. Said she was leaving town to go to rehab. Didn’t want Morris to follow her. Apologized a bunch of times.”

  “Shit,” Annie said again, thinking hard. Finally she looked at Jerry. “All right, I don’t care. I need to know Sheila’s okay, and right now I don’t know that she is. So screw confidentiality. Ask me whatever you want and I’ll tell you what I can.”

  Jerry kissed her hand. “I would never let this jeopardize your career, you know that.”

  Her smile was anxious. “I know.”

  It was his turn to think for a moment. “Okay, so I’ve met Ethan Wolfe. I didn’t like him—something about him seemed off. He was twitchy. He maintained eye contact but he was trying too hard to convince me they weren’t having an affair. Were they getting it on?”

  Annie’s nod was firm. “The affair lasted about three months, but he pursued her long before that. It ended when Sheila got engaged to Morris. Ethan flipped out when she suggested he work with a new adviser. Threatened to release a sex video they’d made. It would have ruined her career.”

  Jerry felt a flutter in his stomach, something that always happened when his instincts were right on the money. “Release it how?”

  “Internet.”

  “So he is an asshole.” Jerry grinned, triumphant. “I knew it. What’d she do then?”

  In contrast, Annie’s face was grim. “At first she played along, gave him what he wanted. Didn’t transfer him.” Annie looked as if she were about to add something more, but then stopped. “He dangled that video over her head. After a while, she became convinced he didn’t really have it, because they did quarrel a couple of times. If he had it, he’d have used it.”

  “But what about her job?”

  “She was prepared to risk it. If Ethan didn’t have the tape, he wouldn’t have proof, and she thought the university would back her if it came down to he said, she said. She was waiting it out. Though she did come clean with Morris about her sex addiction and the affair.”

  But not about the tape, Jerry thought. Not that he blamed Sheila. The big guy wouldn’t have been able to handle it. “Was she scared of Wolfe? Did he threaten her physically?”

  “She didn’t mention anything like that to me. If I’d thought she was in any physical danger, I’d have told her to call the cops. But there was psychological abuse for sure.” Annie’s eyes fixed on Jerry’s face. “Ethan might not have threatened to harm Sheila physically, but make no mistake—his threat to ruin her career and her relationship was terrifying.”

  “So she wouldn’t have left town with him.”

  “No chance in hell.” Annie reached for her little tube of cherry lip balm and rubbed more on her lips, something she did when she was contemplating. “She hated him. She wanted him out of her life.”

  “So in your opinion, she’d have no reason to be in a car, sleeping, heading to his house, three weeks ago?”

  “None whatsoever. It’s been hell ever since she ended it with him. She loved Morris—she couldn’t wait to get married. We speculated . . .”

  “What?” Jerry prompted.

  “It’s not an official diagnosis, so don’t take my word for it, okay?” Annie shifted her position, stretching her legs out in front of her. Jerry placed her bare foot in his lap and began massaging it, eliciting a sigh of contentment from his wife. “We thought he might have some kind of antisocial personality disorder. On the surface, he fits the criteria. A lack of empathy for others, poor impulse control, a sense of entitlement, the inability to form meaningful relationships.”

  Jerry had come across a lot of people like that in his time with Seattle PD. “So he didn’t love her?”

  “He might have. Antisocials can feel love. But if they’re rejected, they don’t take it well. Ethan lashed out in a big way. He seemed intent on ruining Sheila’s life.”

  Jerry cracked his knuckles, trying to process this information. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’d better go call Torrance. And Morris.” He kissed the top of her foot and got up off the bed.

  Annie’s eyes widened. “Mike Torrance? At this time of night?”

  “Yep.” Jerry threw his jacket back on and headed toward the door. “Going to see if he can reopen Sheila’s case.”

  Annie’s face held both relief and concern. “When are you coming home?”

  “Don’t wait up, hon.”

  “Hey, you
never told me what happened to your face!”

  Jerry shut the door behind him and pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket.

  Up until now there hadn’t been anything to convince him that Sheila hadn’t left Morris of her own free will. But that tape, combined with what he’d learned about Sheila’s relationship with Wolfe, certainly indicated that Morris’s instincts were right. Sheila had no business being in Lake Stevens. And even if the tape didn’t show her in the car with Wolfe, that she was in Wolfe’s neighborhood the night she was last seen anywhere was way too much of a coincidence for a woman who hated her ex-lover and was looking forward to her wedding.

  He scrolled through his phone for Torrance’s number. Once he was in the car, he made the call. His former partner answered after five rings. “Mike, it’s Jerry. Did I wake you?”

  Torrance’s voice was hoarse. “This better be good.”

  “I have some new information about the Tao case. I think we have enough to reopen it. Can you meet me at PD?”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “As a heart attack.”

  Jerry could almost hear the wheels in Torrance’s brain turning. Jerry would never have requested a face-to-face if he didn’t have something compelling, and Mike Torrance knew that.

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Jerry ended the call, then scrolled through his phone again until he found Morris’s number.

  CHAPTER : 37

  Sheila watched Ethan pace the room.

  He hadn’t said a word since he’d arrived an hour before. Instead, he was muttering to himself, going in and out of his workroom, clearly trying to work something out in his head.

  Her instincts told her he was beginning to crack. What had happened—or almost happened—between them a few days ago was proof of that. She had gotten close to him, and she was certain she could do it again.

  It was her only hope.

  Her feet dangled off the bed, not quite touching the floor. She watched as he came out of the workroom for the tenth time, and her heart lurched when she saw that the small silver gun was tucked into the waistband of his jeans once again. She hadn’t seen the gun in days. He made no move to wave it in her face. Instead, he lay on the sofa and closed his eyes.