Chasing Venus

by Diana Dempsey

  “It’ll take forever.”

  “Live with it. I’ll be there.” She hung up. Within three minutes she was dressed; within five she was backing her Jetta out of the carport and speed-dialing Reid’s cell.

  “Hey, Sheila,” he answered.

  Her heart did a tumble. He was okay. “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Home. Why?”

  “Were you at the cabin earlier?”

  “I just got back a little while ago.” He paused, then, “Why are you asking?”

  “Something happened.” She gave him the details.

  “What about Annie? Did Rajiv see Annie?”

  Sheila stomped on the accelerator. Annie. Always Annie. Annie the Innocent. Annie the Victim. “He told me he didn’t see anybody.”

  “Then where is she?”

  “You’re asking me? How am I supposed to know?”

  “Sheila, don’t you get it?” His voice rose. “Something happened to her. After I left. Dammit!”

  “Listen, Reid, I have had just about enough of Annette Rowell.” Sheila hightailed it through a just-turning-red light. “I am in serious trouble here. What if the cops find out about this? What if Simpson finds out? My parents own that cabin. And a wanted fugitive was hiding out there? How am I supposed to explain that?”

  “Don’t call the cops. Then they won’t find out and you won’t have to explain.”

  Sheila slammed her palm against the hearing wheel. Those were his top two solutions these days. Lying and covering up.

  “I’m going up there,” he said. “Don’t do anything until we talk again.” He hung up.

  *

  Action. Finally, after nearly 24 hours on this surveillance assignment, Sam Trotter was getting some action.

  From the driver’s seat of his GM sedan, parallel-parked half a block from his target’s Glendale home, he watched Reid Gardner’s black Ford pickup back out of his garage, then his driveway. The garage door slid shut and the truck pivoted on the street to face away from Sam. It headed off at a sedate pace. Sam waited a few beats, turned the key in his own ignition, and once Gardner’s truck hung the first right, edged out of his space to follow.

  He glanced at the digital clock on the dash. 8:42 PM. Sunday nights were usually a lot less exciting than Saturday nights in this business, but in this case it was impossible to be more dull. Gardner had been AWOL the prior night and Sam had been stuck watching a darkened suburban home with no occupant. But that didn’t mean he could stop watching. For—in the surveillance business as in war—anything could happen at any time. Alertness was key.

  Sam tailed the truck easily as it navigated the one mile to the Ventura freeway, then rolled up an on-ramp heading east. The traffic flow on the four wide lanes was Sunday night lite. Initially Sam was surprised when Gardner stayed in the slow lane, on the extreme right, then figured he intended to exit quickly. They passed through the 2 interchange. Another half mile went by. Still Gardner stayed on the right, driving at the speed limit, something Sam never did except under duress.

  He maintained his distance when Gardner exited the freeway shortly after the interchange with the 210. Now they were in Pasadena, home of the Huntington Library, Cal Tech, and the Rose Bowl, and altogether a more upscale community than Glendale. The Ford pickup made its way to the Old Town area, a commercial district loaded with gentrified redbrick buildings housing boutiques and restaurants. Sam hung back as Gardner slid into a short valet parking line for a high-end Thai restaurant that looked to be hopping. Sam joined the valet line, too, but pulled out after Gardner stepped out of his truck, handed his keys to the valet, and shouldered his way into the restaurant with the rest of the hungry mob.

  Time to park, again. Time to watch the front door.

  It took some deft maneuvering to find a satisfactory spot, given that curbside parking was at a premium. Eventually Sam did. He settled in to do what he did best. Or, more accurately, what he did most often.

  Wait. And watch.

  Minutes passed, minutes during which Sam informed Lionel Simpson of Gardner’s whereabouts and kept an eye peeled for females bearing the faintest resemblance to Annette Rowell. It would have been cocky—or stupid—for the pair to hook up in such a public place. But sometimes, Sam knew, people enjoyed hiding in plain sight. They got a kick out of it. And it made his job a lot easier.

  He hit the 45-minute mark. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The radio was on low volume, tuned to sports talk. There was no sign of his mark.

  At an hour, Sam started to wonder. It seemed a long time if Gardner was eating alone. But maybe he’d arranged to meet someone there; Sam had no way of knowing. It was also possible he’d met someone once he got there and was talking her up.

  At an hour and a quarter, Sam decided to poke his head inside the restaurant. It carried a risk, as he didn’t want to Gardner to take note of him, perhaps have some stir of recognition later. But Sam was motivated to take the chance, as he’d gotten a niggling bad feeling, the kind he didn’t like to ignore.

  He entered the restaurant, which looked good and smelled better. The clientele was young, southern California good-looking; the Thai female servers, given Sam’s taste for the exotic, were sublime.

  He pushed through the packed bar area and got his usual share of sideways glances from the ladies. But he was atypically stingy with his own appraisals. Tonight he wasn’t on the make. He was on the job.

  One tour left him dissatisfied. He bore down and did another. This time he was seriously concerned.

  No Reid Gardner. Where the hell was he?

  He sidled up to the maitre d’ at his podium, complete with table chart and small lamp. “Hey.”

  The guy, in his black pants and white dress shirt uniform, acknowledged him with a nod. “What can I do for you?”

  Sam kept his voice low. “I got a favor to ask. The girl I’m with swears she saw Reid Gardner in here. You know, the Crimewatch guy?”

  The maitre d’ nodded. “He was here.”

  Sam froze on the past tense. “He’s already gone? I was hoping I could get her an autograph or something.”

  “Sorry. He left like an hour ago.”

  Sam controlled his reaction. “So fast?”

  “He didn’t even eat. Told me after like ten minutes that something came up. Left a nice tip, though.” He moved his eyes to the couple next in line and Sam turned away.

  He didn’t go out the front door, though. He wound his way to the rear of the restaurant, past the unisex restrooms and the telephones, past the kitchen, down the last hall he could find. Which, he realized when he opened the EXIT door, let out into an alley. It smelled of garbage and urine but would do the trick. Gardner hadn’t even had to hop a fence.

  All he had needed was a spare car key in his pocket. And a tail focused on the front door.

  *

  As Reid exited the freeway for the last stretch of road leading to the cabin, he knew he’d used the last trick up his sleeve. He wouldn’t be able to elude that tail again. And now that he had willfully evaded whoever had him under surveillance, Simpson would know for sure that Reid Gardner had something to hide. Whatever breather Reid’s “Brandy” story might have bought with the FBI was now gone.

  He drove fast, not allowing himself to think through what all of that meant. An odd brew of panic, guilt, and determination kept his foot heavy on the gas. He barreled up the cabin’s private lane from the main road, then had to swerve to avoid hitting the two cars parked on the usually empty graveled lot. One was Sheila’s white Jetta. The other was an ‘80s-era red Corvette that screamed RESTORED BY RAJIV BANEERJEE!

  Not good. Now he’d have to waste precious time doing PR when priority one was scouring the cabin for clues as to what the hell had happened. And then searching the area for Annie.

  Who might be anywhere. Who might be wounded, or worse.

  And the killer could be in the vicinity, too, unless he accomplished what he came for.

  Reid exited his t
ruck, refusing to dwell on the worst-case scenario. For the time being he left his .38 in the glove box. He didn’t know what he’d be facing later but he didn’t intend to face it unarmed.

  As he approached the cabin, he saw both car owners and a young blonde appear at the open front door. From Sheila’s scowl, he guessed that her mood had not improved in the last ninety minutes. Rajiv looked like his usual Gen X self, with his soul patch, faded jeans and untucked tee shirt. Reid didn’t have to think hard to guess how the blonde figured into the equation.

  “Reid! What are you doing here?” Rajiv asked.

  “Yes, Reid.” Sheila’s tone was challenging. “Tell us why you drove up all this way.”

  “You called me, remember?” He smiled, kept his voice mild. “I was hoping I could help. Reid Gardner,” he said to the blonde and extended his hand. She took it silently, gave no sign she was capable of uttering a word. He focused again on Sheila. “Have you called the police?”

  “Not yet. We were just about to,” she added, clearly making a point.

  Rajiv spoke. “Sheila just showed up herself. We were giving her the—” His tone turned sarcastic. “—grand tour.” He turned, waved an arm at the cabin’s interior.

  Reid pushed past the trio to go inside. He headed immediately for the bathroom, which clearly had taken the brunt of the action. Outwardly he donned the demeanor of Cop Investigating Crime Scene. But it was difficult on this occasion to produce the clinical dispassion he’d maintained when he wore a badge. Not when he knew the victim. Not when the victim was Annie.

  Those were her footprints on the toilet, her handprints on the window. He leaned closer. Flecks of blood on the chipped white paint. Hers no doubt, from trying to open the window. While that bastard tried to kick down the door. And eventually succeeded.

  Reid stared at the windowsill as if he were examining evidence when in fact he was trying to control his emotions for his audience of three. He could only too easily imagine what had gone down here. It was as if the tiled walls were screaming at him the story of Annie’s terror, berating him for having left her alone.

  What choice did I have?

  The other voice in his head didn’t think much of that reasoning. You had a choice. You always do.

  He turned away from the window. “Have you looked around outside?”

  Rajiv spoke. “There are a few footprints. You wanna see?”

  He did. Rajiv handed him the lone flashlight and Reid led the group like a grim bandleader out the front door and around the cabin to the rear. He focused the beam on the ground beneath the bathroom window. The dried-out golden-brown oat grass was flattened and a few fresh footprints were visible in the dirt.

  He let out a breath. Good girl. You made it out.

  He panned the area more widely. Here in the cabin’s open-ended back yard, which was partly oat grass and partly dirt, he could see a faint track of prints leading toward the hill. He gazed at the treeline, perhaps thirty yards distant. Oaks poked into the night sky, more densely packed as the ground rose. During the day it was a pretty pastoral scene. At night it was forbidding.

  Annie went in there, Reid knew. And he bet the killer followed.

  He wanted to join them. But first he had to get rid of Rajiv and the blonde. And convince Sheila to hold her fire with the cops and the FBI.

  From behind Reid, Rajiv spoke. “Mom and Dad are gonna freak about this. But the really weird part is that whoever was here didn’t take a thing. And even weirder—” He laughed. “—they left something really valuable. So it’s gotta be a dumb-ass crook.”

  Reid frowned. “What do you mean, left something valuable?”

  “A diamond ring. Can you believe it?”

  That gave Reid pause. This time Rajiv led them back into the cabin. Once inside, he produced exactly what he’d described. Reid examined the ring, acutely aware of Sheila’s eyes boring into his back.

  Where the hell did this come from? He knew how Sheila would answer that question. And that explained, at least in part, her hostility. But he had never seen this ring before. And it was the one thing in this cabin he couldn’t begin to explain.

  For a moment, just a moment, doubt about Annie tripped across his brain. Was this all some elaborate scheme she’d concocted with another man? An accomplice? A lover? Could she be involved in these murders after all? Had she been lying to him from the start, using him for some purpose of her own? Naturally, like the weakness-seeking missile she was, Sheila chose this moment to home in.

  “It’s time to call the cops and stop playing amateur detective. Rajiv, Carrie, you go. I’ll handle this. And I’ll call mom and dad.” She very nearly pushed her brother and his girlfriend out the door.

  Reid was not sorry to hear Rajiv’s spryly tuned engine roar to life. He eyed Sheila with wariness as the engine’s rumble receded in the distance. “How you holding up?” he asked.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you think?”

  “Look.” He waved his hand to indicate the damaged cabin. “I’m sorry about all this. I truly am. But it can be repaired.”

  “You’re going to pay for every last dime of it.”

  “Of course.” And he’d upgrade a few things, too. That was the least he could do. And now for another form of damage control. “Sheila, let me say it again. I really appreciate how much you’ve helped me out. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking that, too. So maybe I’m partly to blame for all this. I’m a, what is it called? That psychology term?” She frowned, then snapped her fingers. “That’s right. I’m an enabler. Well, I’m about to stop enabling this ridiculous enterprise. It’s over for me. Over.”

  “Sheila—” He moved closer. She stepped back and raised a restraining hand. He approached her anyway, while she shook her head in a determined movement.

  “No, I mean it. This is absurd. You are jeopardizing everything, your safety, your reputation, your livelihood, for this woman who could well be a serial killer. You have slept with her, I know you have—” She raised her voice over his attempt to interrupt her. “I’ve seen the goddamn state of that bed so don’t insult my intelligence by trying to deny it. And that!” She thrust a finger at the diamond ring he’d set down on the dining table. Her face twisted in a grimace that was part disgust, part pain. “You proposed marriage to her? What is wrong with you? What the hell’s happened to you? Where’s the Reid Gardner I used to know?”

  “He’s still here. He’s trying to protect a woman who’s been unjustly accused. And whose life may be in danger.” He fought to control his emotions. “And for your information, I did not propose to Annie. I have never seen that ring before in my life.”

  The shaking of her head grew even more vigorous. “Fine. Drown in your own lies for all I care. But you’re not taking me down with you. Because it’s not only affecting me now, it’s affecting my family. And I will not put all of us on the line just to keep Annette Rowell out of custody.”

  “Sheila, whatever damage was done here can be repaired. And I will see—”

  “No, you can’t repair everything. Don’t you get it? The DNA of a wanted fugitive is all over this cabin. This cabin that my parents own. How am I supposed to explain that?”

  “You don’t have to explain a thing if you don’t call the cops.”

  “I don’t have to call them! They’ve already called me.”

  It took a beat or two for that to sink into Reid’s brain. “What are you talking about?”

  “Simpson. Simpson visited me this morning. He came to my apartment bright and early to ask about you and Annette Rowell.”

  He visited me tonight to ask about the same thing. “What did you tell him?”

  “Don’t worry, Reid, don’t get that concerned look on your face.” The expression on hers he’d never seen before. That mix of anger, hurt, and bewilderment, with a dose of disdain thrown in for extra punch. “I lied for you, that’s what I did. I lied. I told him it was
ridiculous to think for a moment that you had a personal relationship with her and that it was even more inconceivable that you were harboring her. That’s what I told him. All the while I knew, I knew, you were up here in this cabin with her. This cabin that’s in my family name.”

  He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t deny the relief her words gave him. But the sensation didn’t last for long.

  “I’m done lying for you. I’m done. I am already risking an obstruction of justice charge for lying to a federal investigator. I have not worked hard all my life so I could land in prison. And for what? I ask you. For what?”

  For you? She might have thrown that contemptuous phrasing in his face, but she didn’t. He saw her features twist before she turned away. He could swear she was a heartbeat from crying, something he’d never seen her do.

  He kept his voice low. “Sheila, listen to me. We’re close to the end of this thing. We’re very close. What happened here tonight proves it.” She shook her head again but he kept talking. “The killer was here, Sheila. He was here. He’s the man who bashed down the bathroom door. You know I didn’t do that. And you know Annie didn’t.”

  “And this is meant to reassure me? That it was done by some homicidal maniac who’s already murdered four people?”

  “I know it’s not reassuring. The whole thing is terrifying, I understand that. But you’re not in any danger. No one in your family is, either.”

  She threw out her hands. “I don’t think so! If what you’re saying is true, my brother nearly ran into that murderer tonight! Rajiv could’ve been killed. Or Carrie.”

  “Just keep your family away from here for the time being. That’s all you have to do.” He edged closer, kept his voice calm and persuasive. “Sheila, I’m asking you to trust me just a little while longer. We’re close to catching the person who’s been killing the writers. Don’t lose faith now. Not when we’re so close.”