The Danger Next Door (Anne Lambert Mysteries)

by Kris Langman

  “Dear me. How upsetting. I seem to recall reading something about it in the Daily Mail. Yes, it’s coming back to me now. Earl’s son arrested for stalking pretty blonde receptionist. Poor Daniel.”

  He chuckled and adjusted his shirt cuffs by a fraction of an inch. “I have to admit I was surprised when I read the article. I wasn’t aware he even knew Lindsey. In fact, I was under the impression that it was you that Daniel was interested in.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We barely know each other.”

  “Really. Daniel doesn’t normally get many female visitors to his flat – well, except for the kind he pays for – so imagine my surprise when I found out that you’d been to see him.”

  Anne dropped her Coke can to the table with a clunk. “How could you possibly know whether I’ve been to Daniel’s flat?”

  The doctor delicately rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “Bribery, of course. Extremely useful custom. I highly recommend it. Can be adapted to any situation. I make weekly payments to a security guard in Daniel’s building. They have CCTV cameras in the hallways. The guard tapes all of Daniel’s visitors and sends me a copy. I have quite a collection of hookers, drug dealers, trust-fund trash, and one American computer programmer with lovely green eyes.”

  “Who has lovely green eyes? Anne does?” Nick set down a pint of bitters and a greasy paper plate overflowing with curly fries smothered in catsup. He leaned over the table towards Anne, peering at her as if he’d never seen her before.

  Anne gave him a small, indulgent smile. One of her favorite things about Nick was that he’d never tried to hit on her. She suspected that he considered her too old, which didn’t bother her. She also didn’t have any piercings or tattoos, which seemed to be a membership requirement for Nick’s pool of potential dates. He liked them punky and spunky, with spiked hair, too much kohl eyeliner, and enough metal accessories to make playing with magnets a hazardous undertaking.

  “You’re right. She does. Huh.” Nick sat down with a grunt of surprise, as if he’d just noticed that Anne had grown a second nose. He grabbed a handful of fries and pushed the plate into the center of the table. “Help yourselves.”

  Anne selected a fry which had escaped the catsup deluge and chewed on it while she considered the situation. She wasn’t really sure what to do. Her normal response to Dr. Davidson was always to remove herself from his vicinity as soon as possible, but in this case it was probably safer to stay where she was. She had a nasty feeling that the doctor was planning something. First waiting for her outside her office, and now this little chat in the pub. It would be better not to go back to her flat. She selected another fry and waited.

  Dr. Davidson took one glance at the greasy plate of fries and frowned in distaste. His reaction to Nick was about the same. Anne watched them size each other up. The doctor’s disapproving reaction didn’t surprise her, but Nick’s did. He was looking at the other man with dislike plainly visible on his expressive face. This from Nick, the guy who liked everyone he met. Everyone. Even the ancient mail carrier who swore at Lindsey every morning when he delivered the day’s post.

  “So, you’re Anne’s neighbor,” said Nick, sounding almost threatening. Unfortunately, his tough-guy attitude took a hit when a glob of catsup dripped from his chin onto his T-shirt.

  Dr. Davidson watched in appalled fascination as Nick scooped the mess off with his fingers and then licked them clean. The doctor’s elegantly-tailored shoulders shuddered, and he took out a snowy white handerchief and wiped his own hands as if they had become dirtied by proxy.

  “Why were you waiting outside our office?” Nick asked in the same belligerent tone, ignoring the doctor’s fastidious disapproval.

  “I was on my way home, and I just stopped by to see if Anne wanted a ride,” said Dr. Davidson in a tone which suggested he was struggling mightily to preserve his good humor in the face of an extremely whiny two-year old.

  Anne could tell by the blank look on Nick’s face that he had failed to find a comeback to this eminently reasonable statement. She could see the doubt creeping into his eyes. Maybe I was wrong, he was thinking. Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all. Anne felt a twinge of panic. She had been so gratified to see that someone else disliked the doctor. Apart from Jason, the art student she’d met at that Tate exhibit, everyone else seemed to find nothing unlikable about the doctor. Nick was an ally, and she wanted him to stay that way. She cast around for something which would turn back the tide.

  “I thought you might have been waiting for Lindsey,” she said to the doctor before turning a guileless face to Nick. “He’s dating Lindsey, you know.”

  Nick stared at her in disbelief. “This guy?” he said incredulously, pointing a dripping curly fry at the doctor. “No way dude. He’s not good enough for her.”

  According to Nick no one was ever good enough for Lindsey. He was constantly explaining to Anne what Lindsey’s man of the moment was lacking. They were all very nice, he was sure, but they just didn’t quite meet The Standard. To his credit, Anne didn’t think Nick considered himself this elusive standard. He’d never actually hit on Lindsey. It was more a case of admiration from afar.

  Another man might have been stirred to anger by Nick’s insult, but not the doctor. He shrugged and gave a tiny, impatient wave of his hand as if brushing away a fly. “I need to talk to Anne. Make yourself scarce for a while.”

  Nick glared at him and crossed his arms, leaning back against the red leather booth. Anne watched as they stared each other down. She’d never seen Nick act like this before. Usually he was so easy going he seemed like a pushover. She wasn’t sure she liked the effect the doctor was having on him. She felt as if she was responsible for corrupting an innocent.

  After a tense, seemingly endless moment Anne was shocked to see the doctor, not Nick, give in. “Fine. I’ll wait over at the bar.” He gathered up his overcoat, which Nick had dumped on the table, and disappeared to the far end of the bar, perching on a stool underneath a crooked sign advertising Bulldog Ale.

  “Man, what a nasty dude,” said Nick, running a hand through his hair and then rubbing off the resulting hair gel on his jeans. “How did you meet this guy?”

  “He lives right next door to me in the Barbican. It was kind of hard not to meet him.” Anne was still watching the doctor. She noticed that the seat he’d chosen was near the front door of the pub. To get out they’d have to go past him. She sighed. Maybe they could out wait him. She waved at a passing barmaid and ordered another Diet Coke. She didn’t mind waiting, it was better than the alternative, but she couldn’t keep Nick here forever.

  “Why don’t you take off,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than babysit me all evening.”

  Nick started shaking his head before she’d even finished. “Nope. No can do. I’m not leaving until that creepy dude does. Like I said before, you don’t have to tell me all the details, but I can tell something’s going on. He’s watching you right now.”

  Reluctantly, Anne glanced over at the doctor. Nick was right. Dr. Davidson was staring at her. He raised his glass in a salute. Anne turned away. “Well, you shouldn’t have to sit here being bored. Why don’t you go play?” She nodded in the direction of a group of stockbroker types who were drunkenly throwing darts. The dartboard had only one lonely green dart sticking out of it. The other missiles were scattered over the floor, with a red one hanging from the nostril of a stuffed Moose head over the bar. The pub’s other customers were giving them a wide berth.

  “Sweet.” Nick jumped up and wiped his catsup-stained hands on his jeans. “I’ll whup their sorry little arses. If Mr. Creepy comes over just yell. I’ll stick a dart up his nose.” Nick caught Anne’s rather alarmed look. “Dude, not really. I’m strictly non-violent.” And with that he marched off to massacre the dartboard.

  Anne was regretting her last Diet Coke. She’d been drinking them for two hours now, and she had to pee. Badly. She turned her head slightly toward the bar, ju
st enough to check the doctor’s position. He was still there, staring into the mirror which ran the length of the bar behind bottles of brightly colored optics. At first Anne thought he was admiring himself, but then she realized that he was using the mirror to watch her. She sighed and slumped back into the booth. Her last visit to this pub had been several months ago, a birthday party for one of the programmers at work. She tried to remember the layout. The ladies room was at the end of a narrow hallway crammed with boxes of liquor bottles. The hallway didn’t lead anywhere – no back door, damn it.

  Anne dithered and delayed for another twenty minutes, bladder ready to burst. To pee or not to pee, that was the question. She was worried about the doctor cornering her. He had made no move towards her table after Nick decamped to the dartboard, which probably meant that he had something else in mind besides just a chat. It had to be her visit to Daniel’s flat which had set him off. He might even know that they’d shown his picture around Daniel’s office. Whatever the cause, she sensed that he was no longer content to patiently wait out events. Maybe she should ask Nick to walk her home . . . no, bad idea. The last thing she needed was for Nick to get into an actual fistfight – or worse.

  Finally, bodily functions won out over fear. When a group of women wearing party hats lurched drunkenly past and headed in the direction of the bathroom Anne slid out of the booth and followed. The ladies room they all shoved into was not much bigger than a closet, with only two stalls. Ignoring the tight squeeze, Anne crowded in, squashed between the sink and a large woman who smelled of equal parts Shalimar and gin. Anne jigged in place until a stall was free, then she hurriedly locked herself in. Aah, relief.

  She kept an ear tuned to the conversation outside the cubicle. Two other women were still in the room with her. She finished her business as quickly as she could – she wanted some company when she left the ladies room. She was okay so far. The women were at the sink, drunkenly debating the merits of Ralph versus Joseph Fiennes. One lady declared that she’d like to get Joseph alone, while the other insisted that you should never separate brothers. She flushed the toilet and stepped out – into an empty room. The door to the ladies room was just swinging shut. Anne frantically rinsed her hands under the tap then made a dash for the door.

  Her cast took the impact. The edge of the door cracked against the plaster, sending a spasm of pain shooting from her wrist to her elbow. There was no room to dodge. Dr. Davidson picked her up and slammed her against the sink, holding one hand over her mouth as he bent her head back against the dirty mirror.

  “Stop struggling or I’ll break your neck.” To illustrate his point the doctor pushed her head down until Anne could feel the edge of the tile shelf which ran behind the sink. It bit into the back of her neck, crunching against bone. She stopped fighting and held as still as she could, though her shaking knees refused to cooperate. She glanced desperately at the door. Where were all the drunks with full bladders when you needed them?

  “Now. You’re going to tell me exactly what you and that little worm Daniel have been up to. If you scream I’ll get nasty.” He took his hand from her mouth and grabbed her by the hair, giving her head a sharp rap against the tile.

  Anne scrabbled behind her with her right hand, trying to take the pressure off her neck. Finally she found the edge of the sink and managed to raise herself up slightly. At least her whole weight was no longer resting on a tiny point at the back of her neck. “Went to see Daniel,” she gasped.

  “Yes?”

  “Went to look at his car. The one that was used to run me down. Only caught a glimpse of it at the time of the accident.”

  The doctor’s pale eyes narrowed. “Why would you need to see his car? The police have already ID’d it as the one which ran you down. License plate and all.”

  “Not the car, the garage. Wanted to see if anyone else could have taken the car.”

  “Really,” said the doctor softly. “And what conclusion did you come to?”

  Anne winced as his fingers tightened on her hair. “Not possible. Would need access code to the garage lift. Plus security cameras.” As she said this the doctor’s mention of his bribes to Daniel’s security guard flashed into her mind. Of course. Dr. Davidson could have paid the guard to remove the garage tape on the day of her accident.

  The sound of voices outside the door caused them both to freeze. The door handle started to turn. Anne watched as an internal debate flickered across the doctor’s eyes, and for a split second she wondered if this was it. She was only thirty-three. Way too young. Her scream died in infancy as the doctor’s hand wrapped around her throat. He shoved her against the opening door, eliciting angry yells from the other side.

  “Stay away from Daniel,” he breathed into her ear, his hand crushing her windpipe. “If I hear even a hint of a rumor that you two have been seen together I’ll kill you both.”

  Anne’s vision had narrowed to a tiny speck of light by the time she felt the pressure on her throat ease. She lay on the floor of the bathroom, sprawled on the dirty tile where the doctor had thrown her. There were voices above her, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting air into her lungs.

  When her vision cleared she found herself nose to toe with a pair of lilac suede stilettos.

  “Had yourself a little bit of toilet noogie I see. Good for you honey. Nice looking guy too.”

  There was no adequate response to this. Anne reached up and grabbed the lip of the sink, pulling herself to her feet. She swayed slightly as she checked out the damage to her neck. There were red marks which would morph into purple bruises later on, but they were barely noticeable right now. Anne felt illogically annoyed by this. After what she’d just been through she deserved obvious injuries which would elicit some much needed sympathy. Instead she had a couple of twenty-somethings in heavy makeup smirking at her. Lilac stilettos gave her a thumbs up sign before disappearing into a cubicle.

  Anne cautiously pushed open the ladies room door. Dr. Davidson was nowhere in sight. The drunken dart players were also gone. As she approached her booth she noticed a pair of muddy Reeboks hanging off the end of the red leather seat. The Reeboks were attached to Nick, who was stretched out on the seat, snoring loudly. Anne sighed and gave one of the Reeboks a jiggle. Nick grunted and tried to turn over, nearly falling off the seat onto the floor.

  “Nick, come on. Wake up.” She gave his foot another shake, then went off to find a pay phone. The cab dispatcher told her one of their drivers would be there in ten minutes. When she got back to the booth Nick was sitting up, a dazed expression on his face.

  “Dude, that Stolisshhnaya is way intense. Don’t usually down the hard stuff. No stomach for it. But Bill and whats-name, Gary, they said I had to try this pepper flavored stuff. Nasty going down, but man what a buzz.” Bee noises commenced. Anne lifted her eyes to the heavens and went to find the barman.

  The good-natured bar staff loaded Nick into the cab with only minor detours. The longest delay was caused by the window display in a novelty store next to the pub. Toy chipmunks doing the Hula and a drunken IT geek were a dangerous combination. Nick insisted on proving he could Hula with the best of them, be they chipmunks or no.

  When he fell asleep in the cab Anne gave a sigh of relief. A drunken Nick was really more than she felt capable of coping with right now. She managed to pry his address out of him before he nodded off, then sat back wearily as they sped toward Bethnal Green.

  Anne gave one last look up and down the street. The row of crumbling Georgian tenements was quiet, not a car or pedestrian in sight. The traffic had been light as they journeyed from the City to the East End, and she was positive that no one had followed them. The cab driver helpfully dragged Nick out of the cab and propped him up against his front door. Anne gritted her teeth and fished in the pockets of Nick’s jeans for his keys, jerking her hand out with lightning speed when a certain region started to swell. When she unlocked the door and pus
hed it open Nick slid down it and collapsed in a snoring heap in the entranceway. She tugged him until his feet cleared the doorstep, then closed and double-locked the door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There was a cat on her face. Anne grimaced as a whiff of its nether regions reached her nose. Grumpily, she picked up the Persian and dumped it on the floor. It stalked off, tail in the air, apparently used to better treatment.

  Anne ran a finger gingerly along the spot on her throat where Dr. Davidson’s hand had been. Pain emanated from just below her chin. She was willing to bet that a lovely multi-colored bruise was blossoming there. She sagged back into the broken-down sofa, ignoring the spring which was poking into her left buttock. Maybe she’d just stay here. Permanently. Nick could bring her takeaway curries each night after work. She’d never have to face the outside world again. The cat could keep her company. After it had gotten over its snit.

  She was just dozing off again when the sound of retching hacked its way into her consciousness. Nick was awake. Reluctantly Anne sat up, pulling off the Batman and Robin duvet which she’d found in the hall closet underneath the latest issues of British Surfer magazine. Apparently Cornwall was set to knock Maui off the Hot Spots list. Having seen what passed for waves at Newquay, Anne was inclined to doubt this.

  “Duuude, what a night.” Nick clumped down the stairs and gave her a half-hearted peace sign before disappearing into the kitchen. He didn’t show any surprise at finding her on his couch, so Anne surmised that at least a few of his memories from last night remained intact. She pulled up the collar of her parka – which she’d slept in – to cover the bruises on her neck and looked around for a clock. A plastic monstrosity shaped like a can of Schlitz which would have looked at home in any dive bar in Milwaukee informed her that it was ten minutes after nine. Anne had a momentary twinge of guilt at being late for work, until she remembered that it was Saturday. She entertained and then quickly nixed the idea of using the bathroom. A Nick-maintained bathroom was a horror too monstrous to contemplate. She stiffly pushed herself off the couch and wandered into the kitchen.