Watch Them Die

by Kevin O'Brien

  Hannah had stopped working to stare at Seth. “That’s awful.”

  “Well, that’s Paul Gulletti,” Seth grunted. “He mentioned you were writing something on the Hollywood blacklist for him. Don’t be surprised if your work turns up someplace with his name on it.”

  “What’s this book called, anyway?” Hannah asked. “I’m interested in reading what you had to say, Seth. Even if Paul grabbed the credit.”

  He blushed a little. “Well, thanks. It’s called Darkness, Light, and Shadows: Essays on Film, published by one of those small university presses.”

  “I’ll look it up in the library,” Hannah said. She was telling the truth. She very much wanted to read what Seth Stroud had to say on the subject of certain film directors and their obsessions with leading ladies.

  Hannah put away the Windex and dust rag. “Paul’s kind of a sleazoid, isn’t he?” She leaned on the back counter. “The other day, when you were telling me about that Angela woman from his class, the one who was strangled, you hinted that Paul might have had something to do with it. Were you serious?”

  Seth chuckled. “Not really. He’s sleazy, but he doesn’t have the guts to actually kill anyone. Ha, though if he did, he’d probably copy someone else’s murder.”

  Seth laughed, then smiled at Hannah.

  She stared back at him. She tried to laugh too, but she couldn’t.

  “Hannah, line one is for you,” Seth announced, as they wound down from a rush. “It’s Jennifer Somebody. Says it’s personal.”

  It was unusual to have a swarm of customers descend on them at three-thirty, and, of course, the phone had started ringing off the hook at just the same time. But Seth and she had sailed though it without incident. Tish was right; unless Seth turned out to be a total psycho, he was a keeper.

  Both Hannah and Seth were just finished up with her last customers. She spotted Nutty Ned approaching the register, smiling at her. “Seth, can you cover for me?” she said, moving around the counter. “I need to take this call in the break room. Hi, Ned.” She bypassed him, then called back to Seth. “Give me a shout if it gets crazy again!”

  Hannah ducked into the break room, stepped over to the desk, and stared at the blinking light on the telephone. She needed a moment before saying hello to Ben’s wife.

  She finally picked up the receiver. “Hello, this is Hannah.”

  “Hi, Hannah. It’s Jennifer Dorn calling.”

  “Dorn?”

  “I kept my name,” she explained. “It’s a bit easier to carry around than Podowski.”

  Hannah let out a nervous laugh. “I’m sure.” She sat down at the desk. “Um, listen, Jennifer, I want to thank you for helping us—or helping me, actually. It’s very nice of you to do this for a total stranger.”

  “Well, Ben asked me,” she replied. “Anyway, ten minutes ago, I got an e-mail on that account I set up this morning. It’s from W-KIRK-A-BEE-at-G-L-I-dot-web. I did a trace on that, and it’s someone named Kirkabee at Great Lakes Investigations in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. But the e-mail was sent from the Pacific Coast, according to the send time.”

  “Ben was right,” Hannah said. “You are good.”

  “Thanks. Are you ready for the message?”

  “Yes.”

  “It reads: Who the fuck are you? and it’s signed K. Woodley. That’s all, short and not-so-sweet. Do you want me to respond?”

  Dumbfounded, Hannah was at a loss for a moment.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, I’ll respond,” she said. “Are you ready?”

  “Go ahead,” Jennifer said.

  “Okay, here goes: Mr. Woodley—Someone else is following her. If you or Mr. Kirkabee—” Hannah paused. “Is that the name?”

  “That’s right. Kirkabee, go ahead.”

  Hannah continued. She could hear the faint clacking of fingers on a keyboard as she dictated. Jennifer was taking it all down. “If you or Mr. Kirkabee have seen this man, please furnish a description or identification at this address as soon as possible. He is dangerous. Be advised, he may be responsible for the death of Ronald Craig, and could target you next. Avoid sailing or boating. There is a high risk of sabotage to a sailboat or yacht.”

  “Is that it?” Jennifer asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” Hannah replied, with a sigh of relief. Yet she was still gripping the receiver a bit too tightly.

  Jennifer read the message back to her. It sounded all right. With the note mentioning both Ronald Craig and the new detective, Kirkabee, by name, at least Kenneth would know to take it seriously.

  “No changes? I’m about to send it,” Jennifer said.

  “Go ahead. Thanks.”

  “Okay, it’s sent, Hannah,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get a reply. What time will you be home tonight?”

  “Around six.”

  “All right. Is—um,” she paused. “Is Ben going to be there?”

  “He might be,” Hannah answered carefully.

  Jennifer didn’t say anything.

  Hannah let out a skittish laugh. “This sure is awkward, isn’t it?”

  “Ben asked me to do this for him,” Jennifer said. “That’s why I’m doing it, Hannah. I want my husband back.”

  “I understand,” Hannah murmured.

  “So I’m not asking any questions I don’t want to hear the answers to. I’ll call you when I get a reply here.”

  “Thank you, Jennifer,” Hannah said.

  She heard a click on the other end of the line.

  “Darkness, Light, and Shadow: Essays on Film, edited by Brendan Leonard,” said the librarian at Seattle’s downtown branch. The wiry, middle-aged black man stood behind the counter at his computer terminal. Hannah could see the computer screen reflected in his glasses. “That’s checked out right now. Went out today, in fact.”

  “Today?” Hannah asked. “Does it say what time today?”

  He nodded. “About two hours ago; four twenty-three P.M., to be exact.” He started typing something. “And I’m sorry, but that’s the only copy we have in the whole system. The current due date is November twelfth. Would you like to put it on hold?”

  Hannah sighed. “Thanks anyway. You couldn’t tell me who checked out the book, could you?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

  Hannah worked up a smile. “I understand. Maybe you could help me with something else. Does it say there in your computer when the book was previously checked out?”

  With a sigh, the librarian started typing on the keyboard again. “Yes, the book was last checked out on February sixteenth of this year.”

  “So—it just sat on the shelf for eight months, up until two hours ago?” Hannah said.

  “At four twenty-three,” the man said, nodding.

  “Just a little over an hour after someone told me about the book.”

  “Funny coincidence,” the librarian said. “But then, isn’t that the way it always is?”

  “It’s no coincidence,” Hannah murmured.

  She thanked the man, then turned away.

  Ben was waiting to walk Joyce home, while Hannah helped her on with her raincoat.

  Joyce paused in the doorway and peeked inside her purse. “Oh, my keys…” She smiled at Ben. “Could you be a dear and check Guy’s room? I think I left them there.”

  Ben nodded. “No sweat.”

  Once he started down the hall, Joyce pulled Hannah out to the walkway. “Honey, I don’t mean to be a buttinski,” she whispered. “And if it’s none of my beeswax, just say so. But I don’t want to see you get hurt—”

  “What is it?” Hannah asked in a hushed tone.

  Joyce grimaced. “Oh, Hannah, I hate to tell you, but he’s married. His wife called here tonight.”

  Hannah quickly shook her head. “It’s okay, Joyce. I know he’s married. He’s separated. In fact, I talked with his wife today myself.”

  “Oh, I see,” Joyce replied, her brow wrinkled. “Kind of.”

&nbs
p; “It’s hard to explain,” Hannah said, taking hold of her hand. “In fact, it’s pretty messed up, but I think it’ll work itself out. At least, I hope so.”

  “All right, honey.” She squeezed Hannah’s hand. “You’re like my own daughter; you should know that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Hannah kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks, Joyce.”

  Ben came from the hallway, empty-handed. “Sorry, no luck…”

  Joyce pulled her keys from her purse. “Oh, silly me,” she announced. “They were here all the time. I must be getting senile. Thanks, handsome. C’mon, walk me home. I’m liable to lose my way.”

  Hannah watched them leave; then she stared out at the city and the Space Needle. She would have to leave Seattle very soon. It’ll work itself out, she’d told Joyce. Her packing up and skipping town with Guy was the only way it could work out.

  She went to check on him. He was dozing. His chicken pox seemed to be clearing up. Joyce said he was on the mend. All this week, he kept talking about how he wanted to be better in time for Halloween. He would probably be spending the holiday in a motel someplace—away from his friends, and Joyce, whom he adored. He was becoming too fond of Ben as well.

  Hannah grabbed a sweater and walked back out to the balcony. She saw Ben emerge from the stairwell. Smiling, he came up to her and kissed her on the mouth.

  Hannah carefully pulled back. “I hear Jennifer called tonight,” she said. “Joyce told me.”

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “In fact, Joyce is worried. While I was walking her home just now, she said I’d better not break your heart.”

  “She’s a little late,” Hannah murmured. The chilly night wind kicked up, and she rubbed her arms.

  Ben leaned against the railing. “Are you still sore at me for calling Jennifer this morning?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Maybe not so sore as I am confused. I don’t understand how you can be so—cool about it.”

  He smiled sadly. “The thing is—staying with you and Guy these past few nights has been pretty terrific. It would be easy to fool myself into thinking we have a future together, Hannah. But we don’t. You made that clear to me early on. Anyway, this morning, it hit me—my future is with my wife.”

  He gazed out at the cityscape, and sighed. “So—I went out this morning, had a cup of coffee, and called her from the pay phone in Starbucks. And I asked for her help. You know, you can’t be mad at someone and ask them to help you at the same time. It’s impossible.”

  “That’s very nice,” was all Hannah could say.

  Ben touched her shoulder. “But it doesn’t change how I feel about you. For me, last night was wonderful. I realize we have to go in separate directions. But you know something? If I never see you again after tomorrow, I won’t ever forget you—or the past few nights with you.”

  Hannah started to cry. She turned away from him and clung to the railing. “What did your wife call about tonight?” she asked, her voice strained.

  Ben sighed. “She was relaying another message. Kenneth and this private detective, Kirkabee; they’ve seen your stalker. They even have a couple of photos of him.”

  She gazed at him. “Really?”

  “Well, we still need to find out if Kenneth is on the level. I’m meeting him tomorrow night at Duke’s restaurant.”

  Hannah started shaking her head. “No, you can’t. It’s probably some kind of trap—”

  “Hannah, he’s agreed to show me the photos of this stalker. We could put an end to this nightmare. And maybe I can work something out with Kenneth, get him to drop the charges. You won’t have to spend the rest of your life on the run—”

  “You don’t know him,” Hannah said. “He’d never give me a break. He’s going to take Guy away. He’ll follow you back here. He’ll break in, and take Guy. I’d have no recourse—”

  “Hannah, I’m pretty certain he already knows where you live,” Ben said. He motioned with his arm toward the parking lot where Ronald Craig had been mowed down. “Hell, Kenneth or one of his detectives is probably out there right now, watching us. Isn’t it crazy? We’re communicating through my wife in New York and her e-mail account, while they’re right out there. HEY!” Ben yelled, “SEE YOU TOMORROW AT DUKE’S! FIVE-THIRTY!”

  “Stop it!” Hannah hissed. She quickly pulled him inside and shut the door. She broke down and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, everything’s so screwed up,” she cried. “I don’t want to hurt your marriage, but I can’t stand losing you, either. Don’t take any chances tomorrow. Kenneth might try to hurt you, and whoever is behind these murders—he, well, if anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Ben kissed her forehead and rocked her back and forth in his arms. “Hush now,” he whispered. “It’s okay. We’ll get these guys before they kill anyone else. Quit worrying about me. Everything’s going to work out…”

  Hannah held onto him. She didn’t believe a word. Still, she held onto him.

  Nineteen

  “Say cheese!” Tish called, aiming her Polaroid camera at them.

  Seth put his arm around Hannah. She tried not to tense up. “Cheese,” they said in unison. The flash went off, blinding her for a moment.

  “All right, now I want just Seth in this next one,” Tish declared. “Oh, and take off your glasses.”

  Hannah stepped toward Tish, who handed her the undeveloped photo.

  Seth removed his glasses, then smiled self-consciously for the camera. “I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” he said.

  “It’s for my personal Rogue’s Gallery,” Tish replied from behind the Polaroid camera. “I put all the newbies through this. Now, say cheese.”

  “Havarti,” Seth said. Then he blinked as the flash went off.

  “Okay, customers in the store,” Tish announced. “Back to work.” She plucked the first photo out of Hannah’s hand, and started for the break room.

  Seth put on his glasses and stepped back behind his register.

  Hannah followed Tish. “We need to talk about next month’s schedule,” she said, ducking into the break room after her. Hannah closed the door.

  Tish gave her the Polaroid photos. “Okay, so why did I have to bring in my camera this morning?” she whispered. “What’s with the photo session?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” Hannah said. She glanced at the two Polaroid photos. The images were starting to emerge.

  “I want you to take a look at these pictures for me,” Hannah said.

  Scott was sitting up in his hospital bed. His chicken pox seemed to have cleared up—at least on his face. He frowned at her. “Well, that’s a fine greeting. No Hello, how are you, how are your chicken pox? Just a very brusque Take a look at these pictures for me. Sweet.”

  Hannah figured he couldn’t see her smiling behind the surgical mask they’d made her wear along with the disposable smock. Scott was still in isolation. “Mea culpa, mea culpa,” she said, stepping up to the foot of his bed. “So—how are you? How are your lousy chicken pox?”

  “Well, I must be okay,” he said. “Because they’re springing me from this joint day after tomorrow. And remember that cute intern I liked? Guess what?”

  “He’s straight?” Hannah asked.

  “No. Gay as a Maypole—and a resident, not an intern. We have a dinner date next week. Can you feature that? I’m going to be the wife of a doctor.”

  “Well, that’s fantastic. So—you’re not holding out for Nutty Ned?”

  “No, Ned’s all yours, babe,” he replied. “I know you’ve had your eye on him. So what’s going on with you? I haven’t talked to you since the day before yesterday—”

  “The day after Britt’s funeral,” Hannah said soberly.

  “Yeah,” Scott muttered. “Well, we’ve managed to avoid the obvious. What about this video-killer? Do these pictures have anything to do with him?”

  Hannah nodded. “Maybe. This is the teacher’s assistant in my film class. He just started workin
g at the store. We had a strange discussion yesterday about an essay he wrote for my film professor. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I think he could be involved in these murders somehow. Anyway, this morning I had Tish take these snapshots. I thought you might recognize him from hanging around the store.” She pulled the Polaroids out of her purse and started to hand them to him.

  “You have to show them to me, Han,” Scott said, leaning forward. “I can’t handle anything yet.”

  “Oops, sorry.” She walked around to the side of the bed and held up the photos for him to see. “Does he look familiar?”

  Scott squinted at both pictures. “Oh, yeah. He used to come into the store a lot. It was a while back—before you started working there. The glasses are new. Is he a pal of yours?”

  “I’m not sure. Like I said, he’s the new guy at work. He took over for Britt.”

  “Well, that’s gonna suck.”

  “What do you mean?” Hannah asked.

  “It’s gonna suck working with him. He’s an arrogant SOB, if I remember correctly. The guy had attitude up the wazoo.”

  “Does the name Seth Stroud ring a bell?”

  Scott shook his head. “Nope, that’s not it. I mean, if he’s who I think he is. This guy went by some other name.” He shrugged and sat back against the bed pillows. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

  “Well, Tish thought he looked familiar, too.”

  “She always works the day shift. I doubt she would have seen this guy very much. He usually came in at night. He was a real film buff, and snotty about it, too. I remember him taking off on me one afternoon because I mispronounced Akira Kurosawa. Very big deal.”

  Hannah frowned. “That sounds like Seth.”

  “Well,” Scott said, settling back. “When I knew that SOB, his name wasn’t Seth Stroud.”

  Ben was late.

  They were supposed to meet in the hospital’s little courtyard. Hannah had been waiting on a park bench for the last ten minutes.

  The notion that she’d never see Scott again hit her hard. Somewhere down the line, she might call him from a pay phone from another city, but that was all she could hope for. This quick visit had been the last time she would ever lay eyes on Scott. What a shame she couldn’t even hug her friend good-bye.