Behind Closed Doors

by Carla Cassidy

  The captain had taken him and his partners off street patrol, wanting them to focus on closing up the Carson case before Clay left the department.

  Twenty days. Twenty days were all he had left before he had to walk away from the case. Dammit, why couldn’t they get a break?

  It had been days since the latest contact from the man they hunted. Not a word, a note, nothing since he’d called Clay’s mother’s house. The silence worried Clay. Had the perpetrator discovered Ann was now staying at his apartment? And if he knew...what plans had he made for her?

  The silence was as loud as a ticking time bomb, and Clay couldn’t anticipate when the explosion might come or what form it would take.

  He reached into his top drawer and pulled out a package of antacid tablets. As he chewed one, he contemplated the possibility of not solving the case before he left the department. He could always put off his retirement for a week or two, however long was needed to break the case. His flight plans could be changed with a simple phone call to the airline.

  The alternative was to walk away from the case...walk away from Ann knowing she was still in danger. His heart convulsed and he wasn’t sure whether it was because of the thought of leaving while Ann was still at risk, or simply the thought of leaving Ann altogether.

  There was no way to negate the positive presence she’d had on his life. The apartment that had always been merely a place to hang his hat and sleep, now breathed with a new life. Pieces of Ann were everywhere, from the bottles of perfume on the dresser in the bedroom, to the robe hanging on the hook behind the bathroom door.

  Even the kitchen, which had always been so impersonal, so sterile, now seemed imbibed with the spirit of Ann. On the ride home from the college the night before she’d insisted he stop so she could buy a bouquet of flowers from a vendor on the corner. The bouquet had greeted him first thing this morning, an explosion of yellow blossoms in a vase in the center of the kitchen table. Yellow. Her favorite color. The color of hope.

  “I’ll have all the flowers I want when I get to Hawaii,” he muttered irritably.

  “Pardon me?” The officer at the desk next to Clay’s looked at him.

  “I said I’m not changing my retirement plans for anybody.”

  “Sure, Clay, that’s fine with me.” The young man looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  Clay felt the heat of a blush sweep over his cheeks. He looked back down at the papers, shoving aside any thoughts he might have entertained about postponing his retirement. This was a good police department, and the officers working on Ann’s behalf were fine men. They’d make certain she was safe. She didn’t need him...and he sure as hell didn’t need her messing up his plans.

  One thing was certain. He wasn’t about to make love with Ann again. She was a temptress, stealing pieces of his dreams each time he made love to her. He had to keep some emotional detachment until he gained some physical distance.

  By the time he picked her up from school that evening, he felt he’d once again gained the objectivity he felt so necessary in dealing with her. “What do you want to do about supper?” he asked as they drove toward his apartment. “I’m sure you’re fairly sick of my hamburgers by now.”

  She smiled at him. “Maybe just a wee bit. Why don’t you stop by a grocery store and let me buy dinner.”

  “You can pick whatever we cook, but I’ll buy.”

  She reached over and placed her hand on his arm.

  “Please, Clay. Let me do this. It’s such a small thing for me to do to repay your kindness.”

  Clay hesitated a moment, then nodded. He knew for her it was a matter of pride.

  It was nearly seven o’clock by the time they got back to Clay’s apartment, two bags of groceries in hand. “Why don’t we eat on the patio?” Ann suggested. “The weather is so nice and I bought stuff for a kind of picnic.”

  “Okay. I’ll wash down the outside table and set it.”

  As Clay disappeared out the back door, Ann busied herself unloading the food they’d bought. Walking in the grocery store side by side, as he pushed the cart and she placed the items in it, Ann had seen a whisper of what might have been. If Clay loved her. If Clay stayed.

  But he’d never spoken of love, and he’d reminded her daily that he would be leaving in a matter of days. She shoved these thoughts from her mind. She didn’t want to think about the future. Tomorrow was her last day at the college and soon Clay would be leaving to follow his dreams.

  At the moment, the future held little interest to her. She preferred focusing on the here and now. Tonight she didn’t want to think about tomorrow. She didn’t want to remember the circumstances that had brought Clay into her life. She just wanted to enjoy a wonderful meal with a handsome man and the beauty of a warm summer night.

  By the time they sat down to eat, darkness had fallen. Clay turned on his porch light, illuminating his patio in a pale, golden glow.

  “What a feast,” he said as they sat down at the table. He eyed the platter of fried chicken, the bowls of potato salad and cole slaw. Sliced cucumbers, chunks of cheddar cheese and hot rolls added to the meal. “There’s enough food here to feed an army.”

  Ann smiled. “We’ll just eat leftovers for the next couple of days.” Again she felt a whisper of what might have been. They sounded like husband and wife, talking about leftovers. But, Clay didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want any encumbrances.

  “Mrs. Woninski came in again today,” Clay said as they began to eat.

  Ann frowned at him in confusion. “Mrs. Woninski?”

  “Remember I told you about her...the old woman who keeps filing missing person reports on her dead husband.”

  “Oh, yes. How sad.”

  He paused a moment to help himself to some more potato salad, then continued. “Today I decided it was time somebody helped her out. I called social services, then I called my mother.”

  “Your mother?”

  Clay grinned. “I think what Mrs. Woninski needs more than anything is a friend. Mom called her and invited her to join their bingo group. Mom said Mrs. Woninski was delighted and I have a feeling the police will be seeing less and less of Mrs. Woninski.”

  Ann thought of Clay’s mother, her warmth and loving. Yes, the lonely old woman would thrive beneath Rosemary’s friendship. “Loneliness is a terrible thing.”

  “I suppose.” He pushed away from the table. “How about some coffee?”

  “No, thanks, none for me.” She looked at her watch. “If I have caffeine this late at night, I’ll never get to sleep.”

  By the time they got the table cleared and the kitchen cleaned up, it was nearly eleven o’clock. “There’s about two glasses of wine left in this bottle,” Clay said, holding out the wine they’d drank several evenings before. “How about a nightcap?”

  “That sounds good.” Ann curled up on the sofa and watched as Clay poured the wine and joined her. “To the good guys...may they always catch the bad guys,” he toasted.

  “Here, here.” She clinked her glass against his, then took a sip.

  The phone rang.

  Ann looked at Clay sharply. It was eleven o’clock. Who would be calling at this time of night? The wine in her mouth suddenly tasted with the bitterness of vinegar. She swallowed. “It’s him,” she said softly.

  Clay’s jaw tightened as he set down his glass and jerked up the phone. “Clinton,” he barked. Ann held her breath. He visibly relaxed. “It’s Raymond,” he told her.

  Ann sagged against the sofa, her heart resuming a steady beat. Okay, so it wasn’t him. This time. But if he didn’t know already, sooner or later he’d discover that she was here.

  The pleasantness of the evening shattered beneath the cold harshness of reality. She could pretend she was safe here, could even pretend she and Clay were building something lasting, but the reality was that neither was true.

  She refocused on Clay as he hung up the receiver. “I’ve got to go to the station,” he said.

  “Now
?”

  He nodded. “Raymond thinks he’s got something. He wouldn’t go into it over the phone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He stood and disappeared into the bedroom. He returned a moment later, holding a small gun in his hand. “This is a snub-nosed .38. I want you to keep it.”

  “No...I don’t know anything about guns.” Ann eyed the weapon with apprehension.

  “You don’t need to know anything but how to remove the safety and how to pull the trigger.” He sat back down next to her. “I can’t leave you here alone without some protection.” He held the gun out to her. “It’s loaded and ready to fire. All you have to do is remove the safety here.”

  Ann took the gun from him. “It makes me angry that I even have to think about handling a gun.”

  “Yeah, well, better angry than dead.” He stood and grabbed his car keys. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Raymond could have something...he could have nothing.”

  Ann got up and followed him to the door. “You’ll call me?”

  “Of course.” He hesitated at the door, his gaze lingering on her. “You know the routine, don’t open the door for anyone. If you hear anything or see anything that doesn’t seem right, call 911. Keep that gun next to you until I get back home.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  He touched her cheek in his sweet, familiar fashion, then turned and was gone.

  Ann closed the door and carefully locked it. Her gaze landed on the gun lying on the coffee table. She didn’t know whether its presence made her feel safer or not. Would she be able to use it on somebody? She didn’t know.

  She sat on the sofa, hoping, praying Clay wouldn’t be gone long and that while he was gone no monsters would come.

  Chapter 15

  The ringing phone awakened Ann. She opened her eyes, surprised to find herself on the sofa in Clay’s living room. Then she remembered. Clay was at the station. She’d fallen asleep while awaiting his return.

  The phone rang again and she checked her watch. A little after six. Almost time for her to get up anyway, she thought as she answered the phone.

  “Ann, it’s me.”

  She shoved her hair away from her face and smiled at the sound of Clay’s voice. “Good morning.”

  “Michael Johnson.”

  She frowned into the receiver. “Pardon me?”

  “Michael Johnson...does that name mean anything to you?”

  “No, not off the top of my head. Should it?”

  “Twenty-one years ago Michael Johnson was tried and convicted of murder. The sole witness against him was a six-year-old girl named Ann Carson.” Clay’s voice rang with excitement. “Was it you, Ann?”

  Ann frowned, playing and replaying the name in her mind, searching back over her distant childhood for memories of a trial. “I...I don’t know, Clay,” she finally admitted.

  “That’s the time where I don’t have many memories at all.”

  “Ever been to Englewood Park?”

  “Sure,” she answered, thinking of the northland community park. “I occasionally go there to feed the ducks.”

  “I mean as a kid. Were you ever there with your mother?”

  Again Ann frowned. “I don’t know, Clay. Probably. Whenever the weather was nice and we had no money, we sometimes slept in parks. Why?”

  “Ann Carson and her mother were at the park late one night. Ann saw a man putting something into a garbage Dumpster. The man was Michael Johnson and he was throwing his girlfriend’s body into the trash.” Ann gasped. “Does that jog loose anything...anything at all?”

  “No,” she answered softly, horror sweeping through her. “But that’s the kind of heinous thing a child would want to forget, isn’t it.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.” He hesitated a moment. “In any case, it doesn’t matter whether it was you or not. Apparently Michael Johnson thinks it’s you.”

  “So you’re sure this Michael Johnson is the man after me?”

  “Nothing is sure, but it all makes sense. Michael was released from prison six months ago, just in time to stalk and kill Anntoinette Carson. The notes you received said revenge was sweet when it was long in coming. I’d say twenty years in prison might have produced a burning need for revenge.”

  “But I don’t know a Michael Johnson.”

  “Unfortunately, our information is still sketchy at best. We’re trying to locate Samantha Whitling. She was the assistant prosecuting attorney who handled the case. She retired several years ago. We’re hoping once we find her, she can fill in some blanks.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “In the meantime, we know for sure that Michael Johnson is at least forty years old, so anyone younger is no longer suspect.” He hesitated a moment. “Ann, I really hate to leave here to get you to work this morning. Why don’t you skip today.”

  “Clay, I don’t want to do that. Today’s my last day and there are several students I specifically need to talk to before the substitute takes over their classes.” She frowned. “Look, I can call a taxi to take me to work and bring me back here when I’m through for the day.” She felt his disapproval emanating over the line. “Clay, please. It’s just one more day. I’ll be fine.”

  “Take the gun with you.”

  “But, I’m sure I’ll—”

  “Dammit, Ann, take it with you,” he interrupted. “Carry it in your purse or whatever. Just don’t leave without it. And forget about the taxi. I’ll send a car to pick you up.”

  Ann hated the idea of a policeman taking her to work, but she knew better than to press the issue. “All right,” she agreed.

  “I’ll have a patrol car there by seven-thirty. You can call the station when you’re ready to come home and we’ll send somebody back to pick you up...and Ann...be careful.”

  “I will.” The conversation ended with Ann promising to call Clay on her lunch break. She hung up the phone and leaned back against the sofa cushions.

  Michael Johnson. If Clay was right, it was the name of Ann’s monster, the man who’d systematically tried to destroy her life. He was the man who’d killed Tina, tried to kill both Twilight and herself. Definitely a monster.

  Had she been the little girl who’d testified against him? Wouldn’t she remember something as unusual, as important as a murder trial? Maybe... maybe not. She’d repressed and forgotten so many things in that particular period of her life. Perhaps the trauma of testifying had helped to create the black holes in her memory.

  She stood and went into the kitchen to make coffee, aware of the silence of the apartment around her. Funny, she’d grown accustomed to spending the early morning hours with Clay. While he showered, she made the coffee, then they’d share a few minutes drinking the fresh brew and talking. She missed him being here now. It was amazing how quickly he’d become a habit in her life.

  “A habit that will be broken,” she murmured, a catch in her heart at the thought. She should have known better than to become intimately involved with him. He’d made it clear from the beginning that his priorities and desires for life were different from hers.

  However, fate had conspired to throw them together and the chemistry between them had been undeniable. Not only had she been drawn to him physically, but emotionally as well. He’d become the left foot to her right, the heart of her soul. And when he left, he’d take with him pieces of her she would never, ever be able to get back. Shoving aside these thoughts, she headed for the shower.

  As she dressed, she thought of Clay’s offer for her to stay here in his place after he left. She’d probably take him up on it.

  He’d told her the night before that her condo had been released. She intended to hire a cleaning crew, then put it on the market. She’d never stay there another night. As soon as Michael Johnson was no longer a threat, she’d begin house hunting.

  At precisely seven-thirty a patrol car pulled up outside Clay’s apartment. Ann eyed the gun on the coffee table. She didn’t want to carry it, didn’t even want to touch it. Bu
t, she’d promised Clay. She checked to make certain the safety was still on, then slid the weapon into her purse.

  As she walked out to the patrol car, the purse, hanging on a strap over her shoulder, bumped against her stomach. She imagined she could feel the cold steel of the gun through the leather. She wondered if she walked too fast, if the gun would somehow go off, shooting her in the stomach and accomplishing Michael Johnson’s goal for him.

  The patrolman who drove her to the college was young, and kept up a stream of nervous, inane chatter. Ann suspected he was a rookie and considered transporting her an important job.

  “Clay said for me to remind you to call the station when you’re ready to leave,” he said as he pulled up at the campus main entrance. “He said for you to be sure to wait for an officer to take you home.”

  “I will, and thank you for the ride,” she said as she got out of the car.

  As Ann walked toward the English building, a bittersweet pang went through her. Today would be her last day here until Michael Johnson was caught and put behind bars. Hopefully now that the police had his name, he would be caught soon and she could get her life back.

  The morning passed quickly. Keeping in mind the information Clay had given her on the phone, Ann found herself studying all the male students who looked to be around the age of forty. There weren’t many, but each one suddenly seemed suspect in her mind.

  Although she’d had her last creative writing class the night before, she immediately saw Barry Namath sitting with a group of other students in the student union when she took her lunch break.

  Barry was approximately the right age. But, the police had checked into his background the day he’d been at her house. Surely had he been in prison the last twenty years, that fact would have shown up in the police files. Barry couldn’t be Michael Johnson. Barry was just a man with a bad attitude. But what about the others? Two of the men seated with Barry were also approximately the right age to be Michael Johnson. She frowned, realizing she was obsessing.

  Before sitting down for lunch, she went to the pay phone and called Clay. “It’s me,” she said when he got on the line.