by Jacob Stone
Chapter 64
Saturday morning at ten minutes past seven, Morris was taking Parker for a walk in the neighborhood when his phone rang. He frowned when he saw there was no caller ID information. He answered anyway.
A woman’s voice cooed, “I know who you are from TV. I saw you on The Hollywood Peeper.”
“Okay,” Morris said. “And whom am I talking to?”
The woman sounded confused. “Rosalyn Krate. You left a business card under my door. Or somebody did who was pretending to be you.”
“I left the card late last night.”
“Well, it scared the heck out of me! I know from TV you’re working with the police to arrest the Nightmare Man. Does this mean I’m in danger?”
“I’m sorry if I scared you. We need to talk face-to-face. As soon as possible.”
“What about?”
“I’m hoping you have information that can help us.”
“What could I possibly know that could help?”
“We’ll talk about that when we meet. How soon can that be?”
“Can you buy me breakfast?” She got coy, adding, “I think that’s the least you can do for getting me so worried.”
“Sure, I can do that. Give me a place and time.”
“Do you know Stephanie’s in West Hollywood? On Santa Monica Boulevard? Eight o’clock?”
“I’ll be there.”
* * * *
When Morris and Parker arrived at the restaurant, Rosalyn Krate was already seated at a table, or at least Morris assumed the thin and pretty woman was Rosalyn. Early thirties, light brown hair, and a clear resemblance around the eyes and nose to Joanne Krate, as well as a similar moon-shaped face. She faced the door, and her expression when he walked in was a dead giveaway that she knew who he was and that she’d been waiting for him. When Morris got within ten feet of her, Parker began misbehaving, growling and trying to bull his way forward. That was unusual for him. Morris saw the frightened look on Rosalyn’s face, and he shortened his hold on the leash and scolded Parker. The dog mixed in a few angry pig grunts with his growling, but after more scolding he complied.
Morris continued on to the table, making sure Parker stayed close to his side. He asked the woman if she was Rosalyn Krate. She nodded, her eyes large as she watched Parker.
“He’s not going to bite me?” she asked.
“No, he won’t. I don’t know what got into him, but he’ll be good.”
Morris took the seat across from Rosalyn and had Parker lie down by his feet. A low rumble came from the dog as he started growling again, but another stern warning stopped him.
“I’ve always been afraid of dogs,” Rosalyn said. She chewed her bottom lip and added, “I think they can sense when you’re afraid.”
“That must be it. I apologize. He usually doesn’t act like this.”
An unhappy moan eased out of Parker, his eyes fixed on Rosalyn as he lay on his stomach, his snout resting on his paws. At least he wasn’t growling.
More lip chewing, then, “I knew you had a dog. I saw him when you were on The Hollywood Peeper. It just didn’t occur to me you’d bring him here.”
Her complexion had paled a shade since Morris first spotted her, and this helped him notice the dark circles under her eyes.
“You haven’t been sleeping well,” he said.
“It’s not just dogs I’m afraid of these days.” She leaned forward so she could confide in Morris, and in a softer voice said, “This is going to sound silly, but I’ve been afraid of the Nightmare Man. It’s almost as if I’ve been having premonitions that he’s going to hurt me. Crazy, huh?”
A waitress came over with menus. Morris had suspected when he walked into the restaurant and saw the food on one of the tables that it was a crunchy-granola vegan place, and sure enough the menu only had items like chia pudding, tofu omelets, and beet burgers. He smiled inwardly thinking this was why Parker had gotten so upset—she had dragged them to a place that served tempeh bacon!
Rosalyn informed the waitress that she already knew what she wanted and ordered a banana, apricot, and hemp milk smoothie and a tofu scramble with quinoa, spinach, black beans, and a cheese made out of something called cassava and arrowroot. Morris stuck with coffee. He waited until the waitress had walked out of earshot before telling Rosalyn that it wasn’t crazy for her to be worried about the Nightmare Man.
“It could be something your subconscious picked up on from when you were a teenager and is now sounding an alarm,” he said. “I’d like to ask you what you remember about Travis Smalley.”
She blinked several times as if she weren’t sure she had heard that right. “Travis rented my mom’s guesthouse,” she said. “But he died when I was fifteen. What could he have to do with the Nightmare Man?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Your mom told me you cleaned out the guesthouse after he died.”
“You talked with my mom?”
“Yesterday.” Morris dug out of his pocket a piece of paper that had Joanne Krate’s phone number and he handed it to Rosalyn. “She’d like you to call her.”
She looked blankly at the paper, then crumpled it and dropped it on the floor. Pink peppered her cheeks.
“That’s not going to happen,” she said in a hurt voice.
“If you change your mind, you can call me and I’ll give you her number again. Her second husband is out of the picture for good, if that helps at all.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about her.” She closed her eyes as if she were trying to wipe the memory of her mother from her mind. When she opened them again, a peacefulness had settled over her face. A tranquil moon once again. “Yes, I was the one who cleaned out the guesthouse after what happened to Travis.”
“Was that the first time you were in there after he moved in?”
She nodded.
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
“Like what?”
“Cage traps.”
“What do you mean? Like for rabbits?”
“Sure.”
“I remember those,” she said. “He had a bunch of them stacked up inside his apartment. But he was head of security for a bunch of apartment buildings, and I thought he must’ve needed the traps for his job. Like what if any of these buildings had flower gardens and he needed to catch rabbits infesting them? But I did find it odd.”
“How about a hunting knife?”
She squinted and scrunched up her slightly upturned nose as if she were digging deep into her mind. “I don’t remember weapons of any kind,” she said. “He had a tool chest. I remember that. But I didn’t open it. I didn’t want Craig to take it—he was the awful man my mom hooked up with and married—so I packed it up to be stored, but all of Travis’s belongings ended up being thrown out. You’re acting as if you think Travis might’ve been the Nightmare Man?”
“There’s a chance of it,” Morris admitted.
“But how would that be possible? He’s been dead for years.” Her eyes opened as wide as half dollars and her mouth formed a small perfect circle. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “What if he really didn’t die? What if Travis is still alive?”
Morris felt his heart beat a tick faster. Was it possible that wasn’t Smalley’s corpse found in a downtown alley back in 2001? Smalley could’ve found someone who looked like him and planted his wallet on the body so it would be mistaken for him. But why would he do that? No obvious answer came to mind, but it explained one of the riddles that needed solving—how the Nightmare Man’s secrets were able to live on after Smalley was killed so suddenly and before he would’ve had a chance to train his replacement.
“I’ll find out today if it really was Travis Smalley killed in that alley,” Morris promised. “Do you know if he had a girlfriend?”
“I was just thirteen when he moved into the
guesthouse, but I had a hopeless crush on him and he knew it.” She smiled tragically. “He used to tease me about it all the time. Telling me that when I got older, he’d make sure to find me and that we were destined to someday be together. But he was just joking and seeing how much he could make me blush. He wouldn’t have told me about a girlfriend if he had one. He knew it would’ve absolutely destroyed me.”
Morris decided he’d have Polk watch Rosalyn, at least until he knew for sure whether Smalley was really dead. Which also meant he needed the body exhumed and dental records checked, assuming the body had been buried and not cremated. He dug into the briefcase he had brought along and pulled out the police sketch of the blond thirty-something man who had bothered Joplin Cole. He showed the sketch to Rosalyn and asked if she had seen him.
“I probably see dozens of guys each week who look like that,” she said. “I couldn’t tell you who this is. But how is he connected to Travis?”
“I don’t know,” Morris admitted. “Did you know any of Travis’s friends?”
“I never met any of them,” she said. “I can’t remember him ever talking about any.”
“Anything you can think of about him that you found peculiar?”
“You mean something that makes me think he was the Nightmare Man when I was fifteen?”
“Yes.”
She gave it a try but shook her head. “Nada. Sorry.”
“If something comes to mind, call me?”
The waitress came with their food. Rosalyn might’ve been showing a tragic smile, but it didn’t adversely affect her appetite, and she attacked her tofu scramble with vigor. Morris took a sip of coffee. It tasted like the real thing. At least they didn’t make it out of soybeans. He put his mug down and took a couple of photos from the briefcase. He first showed Rosalyn a photo of Lori Fletcher and asked if she had ever met her.
“I recognize her from TV,” Rosalyn said after swallowing a mouthful of tofu scramble. “She was one of the victims. But no, I never met her.”
Morris next showed her a photo of Joplin Cole, and Rosalyn told him she hadn’t met her either.
“Okay, I’ll take care of the bill. Thanks for your help.” Morris pushed his chair away from the table and stood. He gave Rosalyn a long look. “You still have my business card?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“If anything weird happens, call me immediately. Anytime.”
She smiled at that. “And you’ll come running. Because I’ve got a friend?”
Morris smiled over the Carole King reference. “Exactly.”
He had to tug on Parker’s leash to get the bull terrier up on his feet. The dog let out a bunch of grumpy, unhappy grunts as he plodded along behind Morris. He found the waitress and handed her enough money to cover the bill and a nice tip, and once he was outside, he called Polk.
Morris asked, “I didn’t wake you?”
“Uh uh. I’m here at MBI drinking coffee, reading everybody’s notes, and trying to piece together in my mind what we know about this investigation. You know what conclusion I’ve come up with?”
“Enlighten me.”
“It’s a mess.”
“I can’t argue with you there.” He gave Polk the address for Stephanie’s. “There’s a woman here I’d like you to tail and make sure she stays safe. How fast can you be here?”
“Ten minutes?”
“Good enough. I’ll stick around so I can point her out to you.”
“Are you expecting this Nightmare Man psycho to target her?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what I’m thinking right now.”
After he got off the phone with Polk, he called Roger Smichen and told him what he needed. Smichen sounded grumpy over the idea of searching for a seventeen-year-old record from the coroner’s office but told Morris he’d handle it personally. He also warned that Morris would need to work the proper channels for an exhumation, assuming the body still existed. Polk had also sounded grumpier than usual, and Morris wondered whether Parker’s grumpiness was contagious.
There was a fast food joint on the same block that sold breakfast sandwiches, and Morris bought egg and bacon sandwiches for himself and Parker. He didn’t want to reward Parker’s earlier aggressive behavior, but he knew bad moods could be contagious also, and it was time to turn things around.
Chapter 65
Woodland Hills, October 29, 2001
Rosalyn couldn’t stop weeping. When she came home from school and her mother told her Travis was dead, she refused at first to believe it.
“You’re making that up,” she insisted.
“Now honey, why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. But it must’ve been Craig’s idea!”
“You’re always thinking the worst of Craig.” Mrs. Krate sighed. “I don’t know why you do that. But honey, the police came today and they showed me Travis’s driver’s license. They also brought back his house key.”
“Prove it!”
Mrs. Krate searched through her pocketbook and found a key, which she held out to her daughter. Rosalyn started trembling. If she took the key and used it to open the door to the guesthouse, that meant Travis was really dead.
“You poor thing.”
Mrs. Krate made a clucking sound and took a step toward Rosalyn with the intention of hugging her. Rosalyn would’ve let her if it wasn’t for Craig. She remembered every nasty comment and innuendo he had made about Travis when Travis wasn’t around to defend himself. Rosalyn despised her mother’s live-in boyfriend, and because of that she ran from her mother and fled to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and flinging herself onto the bed. For several minutes she felt too numb to even think. Then it hit her that her mother was telling the truth and this wasn’t a nasty joke Craig thought up. The realization that Travis was really dead left her feeling like she could be crumpled up like a piece of tinfoil.
Rosalyn wasn’t a foolish, empty-headed girl, even though Craig routinely called her that. She had been well aware that Travis was twenty years older than her, but she also knew in ten years their ages wouldn’t be all that insurmountable. She also understood he was joking when he talked about how they were destined to be together someday, but she wasn’t just a silly child either. She’d see the flashes of hunger in his eyes, and in her heart she knew they truly were each other’s destinies. But if he was really dead, that meant she was rudderless and utterly alone. And so she wept.
At five thirty her mother knocked on the door and told her dinner was ready. Rosalyn got up, wiped her eyes and nose, made a stop in the bathroom to wash her face, then headed to the dinner table. She felt completely dead inside and had no intention of eating even a morsel of food, but she wanted to be at the table in case Craig said anything mean about Travis. If he did, she was going to stab him in his fat face with a fork!
Her mother had made Rosalyn’s favorite—vegetable lasagna. Craig, of course, had to complain about it. “You couldn’t add any sausages?” he grumbled.
“Hush! It’s good the way it is. And Rosalyn needed something special tonight.”
“She’s not even eating it,” he said, his face folded into a surly frown.
Mrs. Krate looked with alarm at Rosalyn. “Honey, I know how fond you were of Travis, but starving yourself isn’t going to do you any good. And I did make tonight’s dinner specially for you.” She put her fork and knife down and fretted with her hands. “Please, Rosalyn. I even added roasted eggplant. Just try taking a bite.”
Rosalyn conceded to cutting off a piece of the lasagna and pushing it around her plate with her fork. She had no appetite for food. That wasn’t why she had joined them at the table. She wanted an excuse to stab Craig in the eye! He must’ve sensed this, because he behaved himself and only made disgusting eating noises as he shoveled food into his mouth. Sausage or no sausage, he cleaned his plate and wai
ted until then to comment that they needed to box up Travis’s belongings.
“There’s no reason you should miss out on any rent,” he told Mrs. Krate, one eye carefully watching Rosalyn.
Rosalyn was furious that he’d suggest that, even though logically she knew there was nothing unreasonable about it. But Craig was a freeloader, and that he believed he had the right to tell them how to handle their affairs left her fuming.
“We can wait a few days on that,” Mrs. Krate said.
“Why throw money away?”
Rosalyn’s hands tightened on her fork.
“I’ll hire someone to box up the guesthouse,” Mrs. Krate said.
He made a snorting noise. “Why do that? Why not have Rosalyn earn her keep for a change?”
Rosalyn was ready to leap across the table and unleash all of her grief on this fat, hideous man by plucking out one of his eyes with the fork, but then she realized how much she wanted to do what he was suggesting. The idea of spending time in Travis’s room and being the one to fold up his clothing and other belongings was all she wanted right then.
“That wouldn’t be right,” Mrs. Krate insisted. “I’ll hire someone first thing tomorrow.”
Craig started grumbling some more and was going to argue about the matter, but Rosalyn cut him off. “I’ll do it tomorrow when I get home from school,” she said.
“You bet you will,” Craig muttered under his breath.
Mrs. Krate ignored him. Concern weighed heavily on her face as she studied Rosalyn.
“You’ll need your strength, then,” she said.
Rosalyn accepted that they had a deal. She halfheartedly began eating the lasagna on her plate.
* * * *
When Rosalyn returned home from school she found the boxes and packing material her mother had delivered beside the door to the guesthouse. The plan was for Rosalyn to box up Travis’s belongings, and they’d store everything in the basement until they found a relative to claim them. She wasn’t sure they’d find anyone. Travis had once told her that both his parents were dead and, like her, he was an only child.