by Brenda Novak
Rod shook his head. “Hell, no. You have a family now. I’ll handle this on my own.”
* * *
The house at 211 Birch Street in Hayward was quiet. Although it was nearly three, there were no kids playing in the yard. But it was a hot afternoon. And someone was home. None of the cars had been moved. There were other signs, too. If India watched carefully, she could see the flicker of a television reflecting off the glass beneath drapes that didn’t quite fit the window.
Knowing Sebastian might be so close made her damp with nervous sweat. But she’d done everything she could to prepare herself to approach his neighbors. She was standing on the stoop of the house across the street from his right now, wearing a dowdy, billowing skirt with a flowing top she’d purchased at a secondhand store. She’d visited a few other shops as well and picked up a briefcase, a short-haired brown wig and a pair of “reader” glasses. Her goal was to look middle-aged and frumpy, so that if Eddie, Sheila or Sebastian happened to notice her in the neighborhood, they wouldn’t immediately recognize her.
Her disguise wasn’t a lot to rely on, but she was determined to see this through, do something to fight back. These days she had no doubts about the kind of man Sebastian was, felt no sense of obligation to be kind or helpful to him. So at least she knew who and what she was dealing with.
She was going to stay calm and outsmart him. He’d never expect her to go on the offensive like this. She supposed she had that in her favor...
Pressing one hand to her chest as if she could slow her racing heart, she lifted the other to knock. She had no idea who’d answer the door, if that person might be a friend of Sebastian’s or how he or she would react to questions, even if there was no friendship involved.
The knob turned and a giant of a man, bald with rheumy eyes and a scraggly gray beard, stared out at her.
“Hi.” She summoned what she hoped was a disarming smile, but he interrupted before she could say another word.
“Whatever you’re sellin’, we’re not interested,” he said and closed the door.
India was tempted to leave it at that. She didn’t have the nerve to push very hard. The tattoos on the man’s neck and arms made him look dangerous, despite his age. But this house faced 211, so the people here were likely to know more than anyone else on the street. They merely had to look out a window to observe the comings and goings at Sebastian’s place.
Do it for Cassia... Forcing back the fear that welled up, she knocked a second time.
The same man opened the door. “What do you want?” he growled.
A woman called out above the TV that was droning in the background. “Who is it, Frank?”
“If you’ll shut up for a minute, maybe I can find out,” he yelled back.
Acting as professional and confident as she could, India handed him one of the cards she’d made at an office supply store.
“You’re a private investigator?” he said after eyeing the fake name, fake business and other fake information she’d given him. Only the phone number and email address were real. The number was a new Google number that went to a voice mail attached to the email address.
“I don’t usually do fieldwork,” she said, as if she was making an admission. “I’m a computer geek, working with a firm of investigators, and I’m not quite comfortable banging on people’s doors. You can probably tell.” She fanned herself as if she was a bit flustered, which should be convincing, since it was true. “But I feel very passionate about this particular case, so I thought it might be worth coming to ask you a few questions.”
His eyes narrowed. “What case? What’re you talking about?”
“How well do you know your neighbor across the street?” she asked.
“Which neighbor?”
When she pointed, she could only hope there was no one looking out at her. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself.
“Three people and some kids live in that house,” he said.
As she’d guessed. “Is this man one of them?” She pulled out the picture of Sebastian she’d gotten at the library from one of the many newspaper articles on Charlie’s murder.
Frank glanced at it, but he didn’t take it from her. He scowled as his gaze returned to her face. “Why do you ask?”
“Although I still have to prove it, I believe he’s guilty of—” she hesitated as if she was being careful not to go too far “—some crimes against children, and I’m looking for the evidence to prove it.”
His manner changed immediately, which was why India had devised that particular lie. Even most drug dealers, addicts, burglars, ex-cons, gangbangers and other thugs were protective of children. “What kind of crimes?”
Again, she pretended to be making a conscious effort not to poison his mind, all the while hoping his imagination would fill in the blanks. “I’d rather not say. He’s innocent until proven guilty, as you know, and I’m not here to stir up any negative sentiment.”
“This must be serious.” He peered more closely at her. “Are you saying he’s a pedophile?”
She raised her free hand. “We don’t have enough proof to bring charges...”
“He’s suspected of it, though? Way I heard it, he was arrested for killing some doctor. The police came ’round asking questions about him last year.”
“They couldn’t make those charges stick, which is why he’s back in the neighborhood. And now there’s reason to believe he’s done a lot more than shoot one doctor.” India hoped this guy hadn’t followed the coverage of Charlie’s murder too closely. She wasn’t sure how well her disguise would hold up. There’d been pictures of her in the papers, too. “He’s obviously not a law-abiding citizen. I don’t condone murder of any sort, but I especially don’t condone victimizing children.”
“Hell, no!” he said. “The wife and I have grandkids who come over here. He’d better not touch one of ’em.”
“Frank?” The woman who’d called out before did so again.
“Be there in a minute, June!”
India hoped “June” wouldn’t decide to come to the door. The fewer people who saw her, the better. “If you could help me, we might be able to put him away for good. He belongs behind bars.”
“Yeah, he does. Like I said, there are kids living with him. What do you want to know?”
“First of all, I’d like to make sure I’ve found the right man. Could you look at this picture?”
“That’s the guy who’s living across the street,” he confirmed without hesitation. “I recognized him immediately.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not well. People come and go in this neighborhood. When he lived here before, I passed him on the street a few times. Then he was gone, probably in police custody. Now he’s back.”
“When did he return?”
“No clue.”
“When did you first notice him?”
“Night before last?”
“So you can’t tell me if he has a job.”
“No, I’m guessing he doesn’t work. They’re night owls over there. Sleep most of the day.”
“Have you ever spoken to him?”
“Not directly.”
“Would any of the other neighbors be able to tell me more?”
“Doubt it. Like I said, people come and go in this neighborhood. Most of these houses are rentals. It’s not like anyone’s ever going to throw a block party.”
India hadn’t learned a great deal, but she’d confirmed that Sebastian was living with his wife again. “I understand. Well, if you see anything...unusual, would you please alert me at that number?”
He held up her card again. “You bet.”
“Frank, what’s taking so long?”
He turned as the woman he’d been hollering with walked up
behind him.
India froze. She’d been hoping to get away before she could come face-to-face with anyone else, but she hadn’t quite made it. “This gal works for a private investigator,” Frank explained. “The guy across the street’s some pervert.”
“He is?” June, who was obviously Frank’s wife, squeezed into the gap between him and the door.
India held her breath as their eyes met.
No recognition. Thank God. Perhaps she hadn’t followed all the media coverage...
“What kind of pervert?” she asked.
“I really can’t—” India started, but Frank answered.
“Sex offender.”
June shook her head. “There are so many of ’em these days. They oughta cut off their nuts.”
India let her breath seep out. Not only was there no recognition in June’s eyes, she was buying the pedophilia story. “I’d be satisfied if we could just get him off the streets,” she said. “So if you see anything you think I should know about, anything he could be arrested for—” she indicated the card she’d given Frank “—please feel free to call or email me if you’d rather not contact the police.”
“Okay, but...what should we be looking for?” June asked.
“The license plate numbers of any people he seems close to. Whether or not you see him carrying a gun. That sort of thing.”
“I remember the cops were looking for the gun he used to kill that doctor,” Frank said. “Did they ever find it?”
“I’m afraid not,” India told him.
“We’ll keep an eye out,” June promised. “His wife sits out front with the kids every once in a while. Not that she watches them very well. But I’ll speak to her next time I see her, find out what I can.”
India reached out to shake her hand. She’d come to this street fearing the neighbors, had judged them by the depressed state of the houses and shabby yards, but she really liked this couple. “Be careful what you say, though,” she warned. “He’s dangerous.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’m a tough old gal. I’ll call you if I learn anything.”
India turned to go. She got all the way to her car. But she felt so guilty for lying to them, was so afraid that what she’d said would persuade them to stick their necks out too far, she turned back and knocked on the door again.
This time June answered. “Is there something else?” she asked.
India cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder. She wanted to keep herself and her child safe, but she didn’t want to put others in jeopardy in the process. “I’m afraid I’m not working for a private investigator who’s on a pedophilia case,” she said.
June blinked several times. “You’re not?”
“No.” She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “That card I gave your husband? It’s fake. And this wig and...and the rest of what I’m wearing? It’s a costume.”
The bewilderment on June’s face made India cringe. “Why?”
“That doctor you mentioned? The one who was shot?”
Frank came up behind his wife. “Yes...” he said.
“I’m his widow.”
“So what are you looking for?” June asked.
India told them the truth. How Sebastian had gotten off and was contacting her again. How she’d moved away and yet feared he might come after her. How desperately she wanted to protect her child. That the police weren’t able to do anything to change her situation. “I feel like...like finding more evidence or something else that might put Sebastian back behind bars is my only choice,” she finished. “I’m sorry for telling you that big story. If I wasn’t so desperate, I would never have lied.”
Instead of being angry, as India had expected, June pulled her into an embrace. “Honey, you got nothing to apologize for. I’d lie, cheat or steal to protect my family.”
India squeezed her eyes shut. This total stranger was being kinder to her than her own mother-in-law. “Then you won’t tell him I came by, asking about him?”
“Of course not!” Frank said. “We have no loyalty to him. The neighborhood would be safer without him.”
“Let’s make sure he goes to prison, where he belongs,” June added.
“Okay.” India smiled as she wiped the tears that’d begun to fall. “Thank you. I can’t... I can’t thank you enough.”
“We’re going to find that gun,” Frank told her. “He doesn’t stand a chance against the three of us.”
19
India had just reached her motel room and pulled off that itchy wig when she got a call from Rod. She almost answered it, but she stopped herself at the last second. She hated to lie to him again, and yet she couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t like what she was doing. He’d try to talk her out of it—any sane person would—even though she had no better choice. Sebastian had her backed up against a wall. Either she defended the life she deserved to live, or she let him destroy it again, and that wasn’t an option.
Frank and June Siddell’s promise to help encouraged her. She’d left with their phone number, hadn’t even approached the other neighbors. They’d told her to let them poke around instead. Having people who belonged in the area ask a few questions wouldn’t be nearly as intrusive as a stranger showing up at the door, and the fewer people she approached, the less chance of being discovered by Sebastian. She didn’t want to spook him; she wanted him to remain cocky, confident and complacent in the belief that he’d escaped the long arm of the law and had nothing to fear.
As she sank onto the bed, Rod’s call transferred to voice mail. Because she’d had so much to do today—creating her costume, making those fake business cards and finding and printing a photo of Sebastian—she hadn’t been able to get much sleep. She needed a nap and planned to take one as soon as she saw whether or not Rod had left her a message.
He didn’t; he sent her a text message instead.
I know you’re not at your in-laws.
How? You haven’t contacted them, have you?
No, but I could. I have their number.
Suddenly no longer tired, she sat up and crossed her legs as she stared at her phone. He had to be bluffing. He couldn’t have figured out where they lived. She’d never even given him their full names.
But he could’ve easily gotten them from the newspaper articles on Charlie’s murder...
I don’t believe you, she wrote and held her breath while she waited.
A few seconds later he sent their name and address, along with their phone number.
How had he come up with that information? They weren’t listed anymore. But they hadn’t moved since Charlie died. She supposed there was plenty of contact information floating out there in cyberspace.
Don’t call them!
Why not?
Because you’re right. I’m not there.
Now we’re making progress. Where are you?
Oakland. Visiting an old friend.
Bullshit. This has to do with Sebastian, doesn’t it.
His response didn’t include a question mark. He was making a statement.
She nibbled at her bottom lip while trying to devise a reply. She’d never guessed Rod would bother to look up her in-laws...
I’m taking care of things.
How?
Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.
Why won’t you tell me?
Because it’s not your problem.
I’ll help if you let me, India. You don’t have to go through this alone.
He didn’t understand, probably couldn’t even conceive of the danger Sebastian posed. She wasn’t sure she would’ve been able to if she hadn’t experienced what she’d experienced. The ease with which some people could kill hadn’t become real to her until she’d witnessed Charlie’s murder and
then watched Sebastian lie about it and get off.
Why would I endanger someone else?
Because I don’t want you out there alone, doing whatever you’re doing.
I have some help.
Technically, that was true, now that the Siddells were handling reconnaissance for her.
You won’t owe me anything, India. This isn’t an offer based on sex or marriage or anything like that. This is an offer of friendship. I’m sure you could use a friend. Isn’t that what you asked for the night we first met? I’m here. Just level with me.
She took so long to decide what to text back that he called her. And this time she answered.
“Finally!”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be mysterious. It’s not like I wanted to leave you hanging.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
She toyed with several strands of hair on the wig she’d purchased.
“Do I have to call your in-laws?” he threatened when she didn’t speak up. “Tell them that Sebastian’s stalking you?”
“No!”
“Then...”
She doubted he’d act on that threat. But she also knew he’d keep badgering her, wouldn’t back off. “I’ve found out where he’s living, Rod.”
“What does that mean? You’d never actually go there...”
“Well, not to the door.” When she told him what she’d done this afternoon, he remained silent long after she finished speaking.
“Hello?” she said.
“I’m not sure how to react.”
“You could tell me you understand.”
“Which would only encourage you. I will admit that not many people have your courage.”
“It’s more desperation than courage. I don’t have any other choice. But...I appreciate that you’re checking in with me—and all you’ve done to help. I’ll come home when I can.”
“Whoa. Wait a sec. We’re not done yet, sweet cheeks.”
She had to smile. He’d never called her by a nickname before. “Sweet cheeks?”
He ignored that. Clearly, he was more interested in discussing what mattered. “You can’t let everything hinge on whether a neighbor might be able to find out what Sebastian did with the gun.”