No Cure for Love

by Peter Robinson

  At least he hadn’t tried to overtake her or run her off the road. If he had wanted to, he could have made her pull over at any time, broken the window, killed Stuart and made her go with him. He still could. Carjackings happened all the time in LA, and nobody in their right mind would stop to help.

  But he hadn’t. Why?

  Perhaps, she thought, if he did try to run her off the road, he might injure her accidentally, and he didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t in the script. Whatever the full-range stretch of his fantasy was, he still felt the need to protect her at this point. It was his hallucination; nobody else could be allowed to control it. So he was running protection for her, saving her; he would bring things to an end his way, in his own time. Unless she could do something to stop him.

  Suddenly, she noticed there were streetlights, and the street signs were white, with little bumps on the top. That meant she was in Beverly Hills. The road broadened here, east- and west-bound separated by a grass meridian, and the traffic started to move faster. Tall palms lined the roadside and beyond them stood the high walls of wealthy estates.

  Suddenly a white stretch limo shot out of a hidden driveway, and she couldn’t swerve aside without clipping the front before the driver jammed on the brakes. It was only a glancing blow, but it shook her up and the panic sent her skidding over into the fast lane, causing another flurry of horns and squealing brakes.

  She righted herself and got back into the outside lane, moving slowly and carefully, ignoring the impatient drivers who honked at her from behind. Maybe hitting a limo in Beverly Hills would bring the cops down on her? She hoped so.

  The radio was playing the Grateful Dead’s “Casey Jones” now. Up ahead, Sarah could see a tall glass office tower. Some of the windows were lit, but there would be no one around so late at night. There was also a large billboard advertising KOOL cigarettes. Civilization. Surely there must be cops around?

  The road veered sharply to the left ahead, and as Sarah approached the corner she noticed the first flashing red light in her rearview mirror. The limo driver, she bet, got straight onto the cops on his car phone.

  She was just about to take her foot off the accelerator and put on the brake, when a bright cone of light shot down suddenly from the sky and enveloped her.

  She put one hand up to shield her eyes, lost concentration and pressed the gas pedal instead of the brake. The car bounced over the curb at the corner and ran straight through the plate-glass window of the Hornburg Jaguar showroom in a shower of glass and screech of tortured metal.

  PART FOUR

  37

  WHEN SARAH OPENED HER EYES ALL SHE COULD see around her was whiteness. Her mouth felt dry and her eyes prickled, as if they were full of ground glass, her lids under heavy weights. Pennies? Like they put on dead people’s eyes? Maybe she was dead. Then the sounds and sights of the hospital room came into focus and someone bent over her.

  “Sarah?” the voice whispered. “Sarah?”

  She groaned. “What happened?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  Sarah closed her eyes again; they were so heavy. She tried. It was all very vague, but she thought she had been driving. Impossible. She couldn’t drive. Something must be wrong with her mind, then. Brain damage; that was it. She was a vegetable. She tried, but she couldn’t move her head. Her neck must be broken. She would be in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

  Seeing if she could move her hands, she reached out and touched skin. Hairy. A man’s hand. Slowly, she opened her eyes again. It was the detective, Arvo. So she wasn’t dead.

  “Take it easy, Sarah,” he said.

  She opened her eyes wider. They were beginning to feel better, less spiky. Arvo looked tired, his sport jacket all creased, bags under his red-rimmed eyes. “You again,” she croaked. “Have I really died and gone to hell?”

  He smiled. “I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

  She licked her lips. “What happened?”

  “You went off the road at Sunset and Cory. Want the good news first, or the bad?”

  “The good.”

  “You didn’t hit anyone and you’re not badly hurt.”

  “And the bad?”

  “You ran into a brand new Jag. The showroom owner’s really pissed.”

  “It’s true, then? I was driving?”

  “You might call it that. Others would disagree.”

  “But I . . . I can’t drive . . .”

  “That’s what the traffic cops told me.”

  Slowly, her memory started coming back. “There was a bright light, all around the car. It made me go off the road . . .”

  Arvo nodded. “Police helicopter. Thirty-point-five billion candlepower. No wonder it damn near blinded you. They’d been chasing you since about the sixth car you drove off the road. Which says a lot about the general level of driving in LA, don’t you think?”

  Sarah suddenly remembered something important and tried to sit up. “Stuart? Is Stuart all right?”

  She felt Arvo squeeze her hand and push her gently back down onto the pillows. “Stu’s going to be okay. He lost a lot of blood but they got him here in time. He might not be eating any burgers with the works for a while, but he’ll live.”

  “Thank God,” Sarah murmured. “He was after us. I think he stabbed Stuart. I had no choice. I didn’t know any hospitals, how to get to one . . . I was scared of turning corners.”

  “I know,” said Arvo. “You did the right thing. You saved his life. Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

  “I . . . I’m very thirsty . . . Do you think . . . ?”

  Arvo passed her a plastic container of water with a bent straw and she sipped it greedily. When she’d finished, she gave a little burp and blushed. “’Scuse me,” she said, putting her hand to her chest. “What about me? You said I was okay, but I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. I can’t move my neck. Am I paralysed?”

  “No. You’re fine. It’s mostly shock. Some minor cuts and bruises. Mild concussion. Nothing broken. They kept you in overnight for observation, that’s all. You’ve been sedated. That’s why you feel a little strange. And your neck’s in a brace. Whiplash. You should have worn your seatbelt, you know.”

  “Yes, well, I had other things on my mind. Does Karen know?”

  “She’s with Stu right now. Really, Sarah, don’t worry. You both came through it okay. Would I lie to you?”

  The left corner of her mouth twitched in a smile. “You’d better not. Was I right? Did he stab Stuart?”

  “Yes. Twice, in the stomach. Like to tell me what happened?”

  Sarah collected her woolly thoughts and found that they were getting sharper. The sedative was wearing off and she was regaining her normal clarity. As best she could, she told Arvo everything, right from the start, when Stuart stumbled back into the car and she saw the man beckoning her. There was something she’d forgotten. The silver Toyota in the carport, that was it.

  “Zak. Have you caught him? It was Zak, wasn’t it?” she said. “My so-called bodyguard.”

  Arvo shook his head. “I must admit that’s what I thought, too, for a while. But no. Zak was in an auto accident on the west-bound Santa Monica Freeway earlier that evening.”

  “The accident Stuart saw,” she said. “The one that made him late. But I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense. He can’t have been. It was Zak’s car at Stuart’s. I saw it.”

  “Maybe it was like his, but it wasn’t his car.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “A few broken bones, but he’ll live.”

  “Thank God for that. I don’t think I could stand another death on my conscience.”

  “It’s not your fault, Sarah. Try to remember that. Now what did the man look like? Did he look like Zak? Do you remember?”

  “You haven’t caught him?”

  “No. He didn’t bother hanging around when the cop car came after you.”

  She shook her head. “
He was in the shadows, or my face was reflected over his in the window. He was dressed in black.”

  “What color was his hair?”

  “Blond.”

  “How tall was he?”

  “Not really tall. Medium, I’d guess.” “Fat or thin?”

  “Medium, again. That’s why I thought it must be Zak. I’d only seen him from a distance and they were the same size and coloring.”

  “I know. Was this man muscular?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, he wasn’t skinny or fat. It could have been muscle. I’m sorry I’m not being much help. I was so scared, so worried about Stuart, so confused.”

  “It’s okay. Did you recognize him?”

  Sarah frowned. “I didn’t get a good look. Why? Should I?”

  “Do you remember someone called Mitch? Mitchell Cameron?”

  Her brow furrowed. “The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

  “From the tour with Gary. He was a kind of unofficial bodyguard, wanted to write songs for Gary, be part of the band. You met him in Vesuvio’s in San Francisco. He looked after—”

  “Yes,” Sarah said, her hand tightening on Arvo’s. “Yes. I think I know who you mean. I always called him ‘The Creep.’”

  “I was given to understand that he liked you very much.”

  “Are you saying this Mitch is the one?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Arvo said, “but it’s looking more than likely. We know he came here to LA with the tour and we think he’s still here. Could he have been the one?”

  Sarah tried to picture the face at the car window. The problem was that she really hadn’t got a good enough look, and she couldn’t remember Mitch Cameron clearly. She knew the name, had a vague memory of his being around with his quiet brother, opening doors for her and such. But the truth was she had been either too stoned or too depressed to really notice anyone at that time. Sadly, she shook her head on the pillow. “I’m sorry.” She felt something pushing at the surface of her memory, trying to get out, like a hand reaching through the darkness, clawing away the cobwebs. “Just a minute.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve remembered something. It was my birthday. We were in San Diego, I think, and someone—maybe even Gary—hired a restaurant for a party with a cake and everything. They were all there. All stoned. I just have this mental image of someone starting to sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” and everyone joining in. I think it was him who started it. Mitch.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! Yes.” She started to sit up but Arvo pushed her back gently and told her to take it easy. “I knew I remembered it from somewhere,” she went on. “I’m sorry, I really wasn’t holding back before. When I first saw it written there, on the letter, it rang some sort of distant bell, but I didn’t know why, or where. Now, all of a sudden, I can picture him singing it very quietly, almost under his breath, and looking at me with those eyes.” She shivered at the memory.

  “Can you remember anything else about him?”

  “Not really. I mean, he was a presence. He was around. He must have liked me because he was always smiling at me and calling me pet names, but he gave me the creeps.”

  “Did he ever make a pass at you?”

  “No. I don’t think so. He never got that close, really. He was always just on the periphery, in the background. I think the closest he ever got physically was opening a car door for me.”

  “When did you see him last?” Arvo asked.

  “Before I went to stay with Ellie. He was . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just something I thought I’d remembered, but it slipped away again.”

  “You broke all contact with Gary and his entourage?”

  “Yes. I never saw or talked to any of them again, and none of them ever tried to contact me.”

  “Could they have found you?”

  “Not easily. I was either at Ellie’s or at the Shelley Clinic.”

  “Did Gary know about Ellie?”

  “Gary might have, yes. But Gary died.”

  “No one else in the group knew you had a friend in the area called Ellie?”

  “No.”

  “So you disappeared into thin air.”

  “Yes. And I wasn’t in the public eye until the series aired in September. A year later.”

  “Which is about the time you started to attract the stalker’s attention.”

  “But I didn’t get the first letter until early December. That’s over two months since the series started.”

  “That makes sense. He’s been trying to pluck up the courage to approach you. The first time he meets you—on the tour—you’re both members of a crowd, a pretty weird crowd, and he forms some sort of attachment to you. Then you simply walk out of his life. He broods about you for a year. His attachment develops into an obsession, then suddenly there you are again, on television.

  “He can’t believe his good fortune. First, he has to find out where you live, then he watches you and fantasizes about you a lot. Guys like him often find anticipation even more exciting than the real thing. Sometimes anticipation is about all they can manage. And fantasizing is a major part of the obsession. At first, he’s tentative. Everything’s at a distance. The letters. Even the first killing. But now he’s edging closer, getting braver. He’s graduated to doing it right in front of you. He wants your approval.”

  Sarah moved her head slowly. It made her feel dizzy. “What will he do next?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s getting more and more reckless.”

  Sarah paused for a moment. “Do you know,” she said, “I had a funny thought while he was behind me in the car last night.”

  “What?”

  “That he was trying to protect me, not kill me.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  “Like at the house, he just stood there and crooked his finger. He could have taken me if he’d really wanted to, but it’s as if he wants me to come to him of my own free will. He seems to think if he arranges things right, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Arvo leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. She could see the stubble on his chin and smell mint breath freshener. “Sarah, don’t think for a minute that he won’t come after you and force you to do his will. These guys, their fantasies don’t work out exactly like they want and they’re only too happy to give you a little help. Like I said, I think he might be unravelling, coming unstuck at the seams. He failed to kill me and he failed to kill Stu, and he won’t like that.”

  “Kill you? I don’t understand.”

  Arvo told her about the attempt to set fire to his house.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. I wasn’t trying to say I didn’t think he was dangerous. I know he is. I mean, just look what he’s done. Jack and all . . . It’s just that . . . he could have taken me easily last night, but he didn’t.”

  “Then he’s not reached that part in his script yet. Listen, this man is so completely self-centered that he has his own explanation for everything, and it doesn’t involve any fault on his part. He can’t be put off. If you slam the door in his face, then you’re only being careful; if you insult him, it’s only for show; if you shoot him, it’s because you want him to enjoy the afterlife. Do you see what I’m getting at? Whatever you do to oppose him simply means you’re not ready yet to recognize how much you love him. And he knows there are certain things he can do to help you come to that realization.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, murder is obviously one of them. Beyond that, we don’t know how far he’ll go to make you see that you love him, that the two of you are meant for one another.”

  Sarah swallowed. “He’s not just crazy, he’s very clever, too, isn’t he? Do you really think you can stop him?”

  “We’ll stop him.”

  “How long?”

  “I wish I could say. At least we’ve got some strong leads now. We’re not just whistling in the
dark any more. The more disorganized he becomes, the more he acts out of panic, then the more mistakes he’s likely to make.”

  “Where can I go until you find him? I can’t go home and I can’t go back to Stuart’s.”

  “I think the doctor wants to keep you here a little longer, this morning at least, just for a few more tests. You’re safe here. We’ve got guards on the door. They’ll keep the media away as well as the stalker.”

  “The media? I’d forgotten about them. I suppose they know all about it now?”

  “They monitor the police radios, so they know you were involved in an auto accident last night. I’m sure they’re busy putting two and two together and making twenty-two. But they’re the least of your worries.”

  Sarah wrinkled her nose. “Do I have to stay here? I hate hospitals. I can’t stand the smell.”

  Arvo smiled. “I suppose I could always put you under arrest, get you a nice comfortable cell.”

  “Arrest? For what?”

  “You’ve got enough traffic violations to get you put away for quite a while.”

  “Swine. What about work?”

  “I don’t know,” Arvo said. “Maybe they can write a black eye, whiplash and a cut forehead into your character. It shouldn’t be too difficult. Things like that do happen to cops sometimes.”

  “It’s not, is it? My eye? Black?”

  Arvo nodded. “Very.”

  She put her hand to it. It didn’t feel swollen, but it was throbbing a bit. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Not at all.” Arvo stood up.

  “You don’t look so hot yourself, you know.”

  He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I know. I didn’t get much sleep. I got the first flight back from San Francisco after I got the phone call from Robbery-Homicide about what had happened to you and Stu. Look, I mean what I say, Sally. You’ve got to stay here for now. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch soon. This afternoon. We’ll work something out.”

  “You called me Sally.”

  “Did I? I’m getting confused. I suppose it must be because I’ve been talking to people who knew you as Sally. Gets to be a habit. Sorry.”