Behind Closed Doors

by Carla Cassidy

  It had been so long since she’d given herself physically to a man. Not since her college days with Mark Livingston had she indulged in an intense physical relationship.

  How nice it would be to give herself completely to somebody, not worry about the tomorrows or the forevers, just live in the moment of being consumed by the fire of passion. How wonderful it would be to allow herself to be possessed physically, know the joy of intimate union with a man who she suspected would be a tender, sensitive lover.

  With this thought in mind, she closed her eyes and fell into pleasant dreams of making love to Clay.

  “Close call tonight, sweet Ann. Next time I might not miss.”

  Clay punched the Stop button and rewound the answering machine tape, then played it again. “Close call tonight, sweet Ann. Next time I might not miss.”

  Once again he hit the Stop then Rewind button. He’d listened to the tape about a hundred times, trying to discern any background noise, anything that might glean a clue to the identity of the caller.

  The first thing he’d done upon arriving at the station was make a call to the phone company to find out what pay phone had been used. He hadn’t been surprised to find the phone wasn’t far from Ann’s residence, a drive-up phone in front of a convenience store.

  Clay had driven there and checked it out. Gathering fingerprint evidence was useless as when he got there a teenage boy was using the phone, having a fight with his mother about curfews. There was no way to know how many other people had used the phone since the call had been made to Ann’s.

  Besides, he had a feeling the caller was too smart to leave behind fingerprints. As with the note, Clay suspected gloves would probably have been used, some sort of care would have been taken not to leave behind any incriminating evidence.

  He’d gone back to the station from the phone booth, unsettled by the way disturbing events were unfolding in Ann’s life. From notes to phone calls to a personal attack... an escalation of danger that implied worse to come. Was he dealing with a killer? Or a deranged nut who got his kicks from frightening helpless women? Would the attack with the car last night be the end of it or was there more to come? More terror for Ann, terror that would culminate in another attempt on her life?

  And who was responsible? Clay’s instincts told him it was somebody Ann knew, a student, an old lover... somebody from her past. Her past. She’d had very little to say about her past, only that she had grown up in the area.

  Was it possible she had an idea who might be behind this assault on her? Mark Livingston? Greg Thorton? After arriving back at the station, he’d spent the next few minutes finding the address for Mark Livingston.

  “Hey, Clay.” Raymond approached Clay’s desk. “The lieutenant just assigned me to help you with the Ann Carson case. He told me she had some more trouble last night,” he said as he sat down.

  “Somebody tried to run her over. Unfortunately it was too dark for any of the witnesses to get a color or model of the vehicle. The witnesses stated it was either a van or a Jeep.” Clay quickly filled Raymond in on the events at the mall the night before, then grabbed the tape player once again. “She also received this on her answering machine after the incident.” He played the brief message for Raymond.

  “At least we know now for sure that the threats are legitimate.”

  “I knew they were all along,” Clay replied.

  “Let me hear that tape again.”

  As Clay replayed the message, Raymond frowned with concentration. Clay wasn’t surprised the lieutenant had assigned another man to Ann’s case. Clay had filled the senior officer in that morning on the latest events. With Clay’s retirement looming, he suspected the powers that be wanted somebody else on the case should it not be resolved before Clay left the department.

  “The way he says ‘sweet Ann’ seems to me to hold a familiarity,” Raymond said.

  Clay nodded. “I felt the same way. I also think some sort of instrument must have been used to disguise the voice. Although it’s obviously a man, it doesn’t sound quite human.”

  “Sounds like he used a voice synthesizer. You can buy cheap ones at any toy shop. One of my kids has one.”

  “So even if Ann knows this man, it’s possible she wouldn’t recognize his voice.”

  Raymond grinned. “I wouldn’t recognize my own mother’s voice if she was using one of those things.” He reared back in his chair and eyed Clay thoughtfully. “Where do we go from here?”

  “I’ve got Ann coming in at two to fill out a report. In the meantime I thought I might take a drive and talk with Mark Livingston. He’s an old boyfriend of Ann’s.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Within minutes the two men were in Clay’s car and headed toward Mark Livingston’s residence. “Did you hear there’s a new guy coming over from homicide?” Raymond asked, focusing one of the air conditioner vents so it blew directly on him.

  “Yeah, I heard he’s been working mostly the Kansas side of the city. He’s coming in the next couple of weeks, as I go out.”

  Raymond shook his head. “I still can’t believe you’re actually going to follow through on this retirement nonsense.”

  “It isn’t nonsense,” Clay protested. “I’m not going to make the same mistake so many people do, working all their lives, growing old under the burden of providing for a family, dreaming of the day of freedom. I’m grabbing my freedom now.”

  “Funny, I’ve never considered taking care of Ginger and the kids a burden. If it is, certainly the benefits far outweigh the hassle.”

  Clay grunted, wondering if all men managed to somehow rationalize the daily grind. Certainly as death approached, his father had, although Clay had sensed the disappointment of dreams left unfulfilled, adventures not explored. Clay wasn’t about to be trapped by the same oppressive life-style. He didn’t intend to wait until he was too old, too sick, too tired to enjoy retirement.

  He looked back at Raymond, wondering if he liked being married, having the same woman to come home to each night, the same woman to make love with...it was a concept... the happily-ever-after.

  Clay sometimes wondered if he was missing out. Missing out on what? an inner voice asked. Working his butt off to pay for a mortgage and a wife and kids? Spending his spare time painting shutters to please a wife?

  Still, there were occasional moments in the night when a wave of loneliness swept through him and he wondered what it would be like to have a woman by his side, perhaps a baby to look at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

  Clay didn’t think the benefits would outweigh the burden. He’d watched his father grow old and sick, dreaming of the time he could retire and go on a month-long Alaskan fishing trip. He’d died before he’d gotten the opportunity. Clay refused to make the same mistake.

  He pulled his thoughts outward as he spotted Mark Livingston’s residence. He parked in the double wide driveway and together he and Raymond got out of the car. “How do you want to play this?” Raymond asked. “You want me to ask the questions, or you?”

  “You question, I’ll take notes,” Clay said, knowing how his partner loved to do interrogation. Raymond had perfected the Columbo bumble and Clay never tired of watching him work. He only hoped Raymond could get them some answers.

  An hour later they were once again in the car and headed back to the station. “What do you think?” Raymond asked.

  Clay frowned thoughtfully. “I think he’s telling the truth. He hasn’t thought about Ann in years.”

  “Yeah, I got the impression he was telling the truth, too. He seemed like a nice guy.”

  Yes, Mark Livingston had appeared to be a very nice guy.

  Tall, with dark hair and an open, boyish face, he’d expressed genuine concern for Ann, and a fondness that came from past memories. He’d also mentioned he was getting married in two months time, making the theory that he was obsessed with Ann less viable.

  “Looks like we’ve hit a brick wall,” Raymond observed.

  “Yeah,
I’m not sure where to go from here,” Clay admitted. “I can’t help but feel certain whoever is bothering Ann knows her personally, that this isn’t some sort of stranger obsession. But right now I can’t even be certain about that.” He sighed in frustration.

  “It’s like chasing a phantom,” Raymond said.

  Clay nodded. “Except I have the feeling this phantom is dangerous and smart, and that’s a combination I don’t like.”

  “Amen,” Ray agreed fervently.

  The radio crackled and the dispatcher’s voice filled the airway. “911 possible intruder call. Any units in the area respond to 921 Evergreen Avenue.”

  Clay hit the switch on the siren, setting it wailing as he stepped on the gas.

  “What are you doing?” Raymond asked, bracing himself as Clay maneuvered the car in a sharp right turn.

  “Responding,” Clay said tersely.

  “Why? I’m sure there are other cars closer to the address than we are.”

  “Yeah, but that’s Ann’s address.”

  Chapter 7

  Two patrol cars were already parked in front of Ann’s driveway when Clay pulled up. Ann stood on the porch while two officers spoke with a husky, dark-haired young man.

  As Clay got out of the car, Ann ran toward him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes...yes. I think it was a false alarm.”

  “Who is the guy in the red shirt?” he asked.

  “Barry Namath. He’s a student in my creative writing class.”

  “Let me go find out what’s going on.” Clay left Ann standing by his car and he and Raymond walked over to where the two cops were talking to the kid.

  “I’m telling you, I just came by to deliver some papers for somebody,” the man exclaimed. “Jeez, I didn’t know it was against the law to do somebody a favor.”

  “What’s going on?” Clay asked.

  “We got a call from Ms. Carson about somebody sneaking around the place. When we pulled up, this guy was skulking around the backyard,” one of the officers explained.

  “I wasn’t skulking...I was looking for a place to put these papers so Ms. Carson could get them.”

  “In the backyard?” Raymond asked in disbelief.

  “I knocked on the front door and nobody answered. I figured I’d put the papers on the back porch, then write a note to tell Ms. Carson they were there.”

  Clay took the papers from Barry. Up close, he realized Barry wasn’t as young a man as he’d first thought. Although he had the build of a healthy teenage wrestler, he appeared to be closer to midthirties or early forties. There also seemed to be a coiled intensity about the man, a wariness that spoke of a familiar interaction with the police.

  Clay thumbed through the papers. It appeared to be a short story. “Is this your work?” he asked.

  Barry shook his head. “No. Dean Moore asked me to bring them by. He’s crippled and in a wheelchair, so I told him I’d do him the favor.” Barry’s features twisted angrily. “It’s the last damn favor I’ll ever do for anyone.”

  “What kind of a record have you got, Barry?” Clay asked, working on sheer gut instinct alone.

  Barry’s eyes flashed defiantly. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Just answer the question,” Raymond said with all the authority he could muster.

  Again Barry’s eyes snapped with suppressed anger. “Maybe I shouldn’t say anything else unless I have a lawyer.”

  Raymond shrugged. “That’s certainly your right, but we can get this all settled right here and right now if you’ll just answer our questions.”

  Barry’s nostrils flared as he blew out air like a deflated balloon. “Breaking and entering, assault and battery...but it was a long time ago. I’ve been clean for a long time.”

  “Check it out,” Raymond said to one of the other officers, who immediately went to his car and radioed in.

  “Clay.”

  He turned as Ann approached, her forehead furrowed in a worried frown. “I’m sure this is all just a simple mistake.” Her cheeks flushed prettily. “After everything that has happened, I...I just overreacted.” He could tell she was embarrassed, both for herself and for Barry. “He has Dean’s papers. I’m sure he’s telling the truth. I was in the shower and apparently didn’t hear the doorbell. I saw a man in the backyard and panicked.”

  Clay fought an impulse to caress the furrow from her brow. “You did exactly what you should have done,” he assured her.

  “Are you going to arrest me or what?” Barry asked angrily.

  The officer who’d radioed in walked over to Clay. “No outstanding warrants, no record of arrests for the past five years,” he said.

  “I told you I was clean,” Barry exclaimed.

  Clay nodded to the other two officers. “Let him go.”

  Barry didn’t wait around to say thank you. With a scowl still darkening his features, he shot toward his car, muttering a string of epithets that would make a sailor blush.

  Within minutes the responding officers had left as well, leaving Clay, Ann and Raymond standing in the front yard. “I think it would be wise if we kept an eye on good old Barry,” Raymond said.

  “I agree. When we get back to the station I want to dig a little into his record, find out the details of his prior arrests.”

  “Do you think he’s the one?” Ann asked.

  “I don’t know, but even if it is him, we can’t do anything about it without some substantial evidence.” Clay looked at his watch, surprised to realize it was already after two. “How about you ride with us down to the station and fill out that report, then I’ll bring you back here?” Clay suggested.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Just let me get my purse and lock up the house.”

  “Well, what do you think?” Raymond asked when Ann had gone inside and left the two of them standing on the driveway.

  “You mean about Barry? I’m not sure what to think. Granted he acted suspiciously and had a chip on his shoulder, but he obviously didn’t want us to know about his past arrests.” Clay frowned. “When we get to the station, we should get a list from Ann of all her students in her classes. At least it’s a place to start.”

  “What about Greg Thorton and Mark Livingston?” Raymond asked.

  “I think we can cross Mark off our list of potential suspects. Thorton is another story. Something about that man bothers me.” Clay didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t sure if his dislike of Greg was personal or based on his cop’s intuition.

  They both turned as Ann came back out of the house. “I can’t find Twilight,” she said. “He must have gotten out during all the excitement.”

  “Should we look around for him?” Clay asked.

  “No, he’ll be fine. He’s used to being outside for much of the day, although he always comes home when it starts getting dark.”

  “An alley cat afraid of the dark?” Clay asked teasingly.

  She smiled. “That’s why I love him so much.”

  Lucky cat. Clay bit back the words before they verbalized, irritated by their very presence in his head. “Come on, let’s get down to the station and file some reports.”

  As Clay drove, Raymond small-talked with Ann, commenting on the weather, city politics and favorite television programs.

  Clay listened absently, wondering if it was possible Barry Namath had an ax to grind with Ann. Had he really been at Ann’s on an innocent mission for a friend, or had that just been a ruse in case he got caught. Only one way to find out. Clay made a mental note to check with Dean Moore, see if he’d asked Barry to deliver the papers.

  As Ann laughed at something Raymond said, a flood of warmth swept through Clay. God, he loved the sound of her laughter. She had the kind of rich laugh that could pull a responding smile from a corpse.

  He frowned, wondering if he could keep Ann from harm. Somebody seemed to be enjoying tormenting her. He made another mental note to check the files they had on male stalkers. Perhaps they already had a file on th
e responsible perp and all Clay had to do was match the elements of Ann’s torment to another case.

  He should have done that after the first note, but at that time he hadn’t realized he was dealing with a stalker. He looked in his rearview mirror, catching her reflection.

  He supposed if he were a crazed obsessive type, Ann would certainly be the kind of woman it would be easy to get obsessed about. She was quite lovely, with a light in her eyes that whispered of untapped passion, haunting secrets and unfulfilled dreams. He wondered what it would be like to be loved by a woman like Ann Carson?

  He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, irritated with his thoughts. The reality was loving or being loved by a woman like Ann would mean sacrificing his dreams. She wasn’t the type of woman to chuck her earthly goods, her job security and luxurious life-style to follow a man to a sandy beach.

  Of course, he wasn’t about to fall in love with her, so it wasn’t a problem. All he wanted to do was find out who was giving her problems, give her back the safety of her life, then move on with his plans for his future.

  By the time Ann and Clay filled out reports concerning both the incident in the mall parking lot and the intruder call that afternoon, it was almost seven.

  “Why don’t you let me buy you some dinner since we kept you so long?” Clay suggested as he walked with her out of the station.

  “I’ve got another idea. Since you’re taking me home anyway, why don’t you let me whip something up for us?”

  Clay grinned at her. “Are you a good cook?”

  She nodded. “I’m a good cook, not a great one.” She knew she shouldn’t be pursuing anything with him and yet couldn’t seem to help herself. As they drove to her house, she shot a surreptitious glance his way.

  Something about Clay Clinton intrigued her, drew her to him as if she were cold and he were a blanket. She liked him, and it had been a long time since she’d liked a man. She was also physically attracted to him in a way she hadn’t felt about a man in years.

  Still, there was no way she intended to trust a man with the secrets of her past...not for a very long time. The relationship with Greg had left a bad taste in her mouth, and she refused to fool herself that Clay would be any different. However, the thought of sharing an intimate physical relationship with him appealed to some small part of her.