by Hill, Brenda
“Get out, Sergeant, just get out.”
***
That evening, after everyone else was in bed, Tracy and Diana sat talking in Diana’s living room.
Sighing, Tracy sorted through the mail she’d received while in the hospital.
“Bills, and a reminder from Ritchie’s doctor for his last check-up. And rent. That’ll be coming up pretty quick. What am I going to do? I’ve got about two days pay coming, but that’s all.”
“Honey, don’t worry about the rent,” Diana told her. “You have enough on your mind. Between us we can make it just fine till this thing’s straightened out. You know Greg and I want to help, and we haven’t been able to do much. So let us help in the only way we can. Please.”
“Thank you.” Tracy felt so much gratitude that she knew she’d never be able to repay it all. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about staying here and babysitting. If I’m careful to stay in, and he doesn’t ever see anyone in my apartment, maybe he’ll think I left. It might work out, at least for a couple of days. Just until I figure out what to do.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so glad. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.” Yawning, Diana got up from the chair. “I’m beat, and you must be, too. Let’s go to bed.”
As she rose, Tracy saw a postcard on the floor. It was from the business school.
Suddenly it all came back to her. She had been so concerned with Ritchie’s safety that she had forgotten that her plans for her future were in limbo.
“What’s the matter?” Diana asked. “You’re white as a sheet. Here. Let me see that.” Diana pried the card from Tracy’s trembling fingers. “It’s from the business school. What happened?”
“I looked at the card,” Tracy said, “and at first, I thought, ‘Oh! I better get registered.’ Then, I realized I can’t register. How can I plan to go to school? I’m already so behind in everything. I don’t know if I can go back to work to get the money, and if I can’t, how will I manage then? I can’t even plan on going to my own home! There’s a madman out there, watching me, watching Ritchie. How can I plan for a future when I don’t even know how I’m going to get through the next few days?”
“Oh honey,” Diana hugged her again. “I don’t know. We just have to hang in there and have faith that things will work out. You know I’ll help. Greg and I will do anything we can. Try not to think about next week, or next month. We’ll worry about the future as it happens. Let’s just take it day by day. The main thing is, you and Ritchie are safe here with us, and that’s all that matters.”
***
The next morning, Tracy fixed breakfast for Ritchie and Joey. Everyone else had left for work or school, and she enjoyed the quiet of the house. Later, when the kids were down for a nap, she would run upstairs and grab a few needed items. Mentally, she listed the things she needed, as she wanted to get them quickly and get out. Strange, Diana’s apartment was just downstairs, but here, she felt safe.
She heard footsteps at the front door, then the squeak of the mailbox lid. Wiping Ritchie’s face, she put him down on the floor to join Joey and went to get the mail.
Gathering up the envelopes, she saw a sale catalog from a department store, something fun to look through. Since her income was so low, she never charged anything, so she never received the catalogs. Wish books, her mother called them.
Back at the kitchen table, she put the catalog by her coffee cup and the envelopes in a neat stack for Greg and Diana. One was addressed to her at Diana’s address.
Odd, no one knew she was there. She picked it up and looked at it. No return address, and, no stamp. Her heart pounded when she realized that someone had to have personally placed it in the mailbox before the mailman came.
As if it contained a bomb, she carefully opened it and pulled out one folded sheet of white paper.
“You think you can hide from me?” she read. “I know every move you make. Told you I got connections. Ready to go another round?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Karr sat in his van and watched the Goldens’ house. He had parked down the street under the sweeping branches of a willow tree so he wouldn’t be too noticeable. He didn’t think Tracy knew what he drove, but it didn’t hurt to be careful. After all, that’s how he’d made it this far.
He picked up a Styrofoam cup from the dash. Damn, that coffee was hot! He set it down to cool. He rolled his head, getting the kinks out. He was getting a headache and his whole body felt like shit. What he needed was a good night’s sleep. If he didn’t have the back of the van loaded with all his stuff, he could sack out there. Bitch. It was all her fault he’d had to sleep in his van.
He took a bite of his egg and sausage sandwich and spotted the mailman striding up the street. Stuffing the rest of the breakfast biscuit in his mouth, he picked up the binoculars and aimed them at the mailbox by the Goldens’ front door. The mailman bustled up to the house, deposited the mail, then, hot damn! Tracy cracked open the door, got the mail and disappeared inside. Grinning, he put the glasses next to the warm sack of food on the passenger’s seat.
He knew she’d show up sooner or later. Her kid was there.
He’d better get the hell out of there, just in case someone came looking for him. He turned on the ignition and fought the impulse to floor it. Wouldn’t do to call attention to himself.
Heading down Colfax, he finished his coffee. Damn, he felt good. He’d sure like to be a fly on the wall when she opened his note. What a stroke of genius! Bet she turned all kinds of colors. He didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking of, running like a scared rabbit. That put the control right in her hands. And didn’t he vow never to let another goddamned female have that kind of power over him again?
Thinking of females, maybe he’d look around for a broad. A good stunt like the one he’d just pulled was enough to give a man a hard-on.
But he’d be back. Just so he could keep an eye on everything.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Revulsion and horror washed over Tracy as she read the note from Karr. He knew she was at Diana’s! He was out there, watching. She crumpled the note and ran to the front door and quickly bolted the lock. The children watched her, their eyes growing larger and larger as she raced around like a madwoman, checking locks on windows and closing curtains.
She’d call the police, and—no, she couldn’t call them. Who could she call? Suzy! She’d call Suzy. She grabbed the phone, fumbled and punched a wrong digit. Damn!
Ritchie started to whimper; she picked him up.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” She held him on her hip and tried to appear calm. She hit the buttons again; this time, it went through. Please, please be there.
“This is Susan Banning.”
“Oh thank God!”
“Tracy, what’s wrong? Where are you? Why did you leave without letting anyone know?”
Ritchie, watching his mother, started to cry.
“Just a minute,” she said to Suzy. “It’s all right,” she crooned to her son. “Everything’s going to be just fine.” She forced herself to breathe deeply and smile for him. He stopped crying, but he stuck his thumb into his mouth and kept his eyes on his mother. “Sorry,” she said into the phone. “I need your help.”
“Are you at a place I can call you back?” Suzy asked. “I’m in a hallway and there’s no privacy. I’ll use Sharon’s office. She’s at a meeting.”
“Just please, don’t let anyone know I called.” She gave Diana’s number, hung up and put Ritchie back down on the floor next to Joey. He still wanted to cling.
When the phone rang a few moments later, Tracy felt a little more calm and told Suzy everything that had happened, including her talk with Sergeant Sanders. She ended with the note in the mailbox. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I just know I have to get out of here.”
“I understand,” Suzy said, the familiar levity absent from her voice. “Give me a little time to make some arrangements.”
“I have to do someth
ing quick,” Tracy’s voice rose. “He’s out there, watching.”
“I have to make some calls, but I’ll get right back to you in a few minutes. In the meantime, get enough together for you and Ritchie to last for a few days. Okay?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about that. Let me take care of it for now. Just do as I tell you.”
“Okay,” Tracy said. “Oh! I can’t go anywhere until Diana or Judy gets home. I’m taking care of Joey, Diana’s little boy.”
“When will they be home?”
“About five-thirty or six.”
“Tell you what, I’ll come over. Sometimes another person in the house will discourage a nut from doing anything rash. Then we’ll get you out of there. In the meantime, keep your doors and windows locked.”
Thank God for Suzy. Tracy didn’t feel quite so alone. After hanging up, she went around and checked the back and front doors, and for good measure, put a kitchen chair against each door. Then she double-checked all the windows. It would get a little stuffy, but she could always haul out the fan.
Sitting back down in the kitchen, she poured another cup of coffee, tasted it, and dumped it. She was thirsty, so she poured a glass of soda, took it to the window and stood looking out.
Everything seemed so normal on the residential street, no one would think there were monsters out there. She sipped her drink, reluctant to move away from the window. She felt safer keeping watch. What she would do if she actually saw him, she didn't know. But she just felt better watching.
She heard the boys behind her. Joey was getting restless, tired of the building game, and Ritchie, trying to learn to walk, was all over the place. He had tried to pull himself up by holding onto the chair propped against the door, and from there, it was total chaos. The chair fell, and he fell, landing in the dog dish by the door. Chunks of dry food from the bowl next to him were scattered all over, and Ritchie was sprawled in the dish of water.
Muttering under her breath, Tracy rushed to him. He laughed, and after she was sure he was okay, she thanked her lucky stars her son had such a sunny disposition.
Suddenly, she heard a shuffling sound at the back door. The knob turned from side to side. Tracy froze. She couldn’t swallow.
Oh, God, she had to call the police. She ran for the telephone and couldn’t find it. Where had she set the damn phone?
“Tracy! Tracy, it’s me.” It was Suzy’s voice.
Tracy shoved the chair out of the way and opened the door. “You scared me to death!” She threw her arms around Suzy. “God, it’s good to see you. Thanks for coming.”
“Is everything okay? Didn’t you hear me? I knocked several times.” Suzy had on a large knitted shawl and a flowered metallic headscarf.
“Sorry. Things got noisy.” She pointed at Ritchie, still sitting in the water. He looked perfectly happy.
Suzy bent to talk to Ritchie.
“Well, hello, young man. I’d say you picked an odd place to make yourself comfortable.” Ritchie smiled brightly, then tried to talk, showing his snaggle-toothed grin. “You’re certainly a good-looker,” Suzy continued, “I go for men with dark hair and eyes.”
Ritchie laughed and preened for her, just as if he understood everything she said. “He’s a sweetheart,” Suzy said, smiling. She sat down at the table and waited while Tracy took Ritchie to change his clothes. “Why is the chair turned over?”
“I had it propped against the door.” Tracy’s voice carried from the bedroom. “Made me feel better, having some kind of barricade.”
“Good idea.” Suzy placed the chair back against the door.
Tracy changed Ritchie’s clothes, placed him in the playpen, and tried to talk Joey into joining him, which he finally agreed to do when she offered them a cookie.
At the kitchen table, Tracy told Suzy about the poem she’s received in the hospital, and showed her the note that had been left in the mailbox.
Suzy read the note. “What a sick-o. What do the police say?”
“I’m afraid to call them. He’s out there, watching me. If for some reason they don’t pick him up right away, what’s to stop him from getting to me or Ritchie before the police can do anything?”
“Um hum,” Suzy murmured. “Like my husband used to say, ‘you’re between a rock and a hard place.’”
“I’m so scared. I’m afraid to stay, and I’m afraid to leave. I don’t know what to do, but I have to do something.”
“Maybe they can’t do anything, but I can. First, you’re gonna have to get some clothes together, for Ritchie and yourself, enough to last awhile. Since this maniac already knows you’re here, it shouldn’t be a problem to get the things from your apartment.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’ve been afraid to go up by myself or even to send Diana. But now, when Greg and Diana get home, we’ll do it.”
“Good. Just get some things for a few days. We’ll worry about later, later.” She patted Tracy’s hand. “Tonight, we’re gonna get you and Ritchie out of this house.”
“But how?” Tracy’s voice rose. “If he’s watching, he’ll just follow wherever I go.”
“Just leave it to me,” Suzy told her, a hint of the old mischief in her eyes. “I’ve dealt with this sort of thing before, and I have something pretty terrific worked out if I do say so myself. My husband always did talk about how devious my mind was, especially when I wanted something. Will your friends be home by about eight tonight?”
“I think so. Everyone should be here.”
“Great. We need the house well-lit and busy looking. Here’s what we’ll do…”
Tracy listened carefully. It was a wild plan, but it could work.
It had to.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Reese sat at his desk, files spread in front of him, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Tracy’s situation. She was so frightened now that he doubted she’d even stay in the same room with him, much less tell what she knew.
She had every reason to feel that way.
But he had to do something, needed to find some way to help her. No way would he sit back and let her face this thing alone. Because of his moronic behavior, he’d lost someone dear to him, and though he’d never be able to redeem himself with her, he could help someone else. There came a time when one had to put the past aside and go on with life. For him, that time was now.
It was the damnedest thing. When she lifted those beautiful doe-eyes and looked at him, he felt the strongest urge to take her in his arms and never let anyone upset her again. Including himself.
He suddenly realized what he was thinking. Christ! What the hell was the matter with him? He needed all his wits about him, and here he was thinking about her eyes. Besides, he was at least fifteen years older than she. And had the beginnings of a middle-age spread. Well, to be honest, he could afford to lose about twenty-five pounds. What could she possibly see in an aged, worn-down cop?
Sighing, he tossed some notes on top of the piled clutter on his desk and loosened his tie. Ah, what the hell. Placing his feet on the desk, he leaned back in his chair, trying to find a comfortable position to ease his nagging stomach. Even though he knew better, he’d grabbed a Chicago-style hoagie, strips of beef smothered with fried onions and green pepper. Would he never learn?
His gaze fell on the Anna Mae Foster file, at the glossy of the dark-haired girl. She had the same look as Crissy before the attack, a wide-eyed innocence, but with that little extra sparkle in her eyes.
If only Anna Mae hadn’t skipped. He felt sure Karlton Wolfe was the perp, but he’d like to get a positive ID from someone.
Cooper was still down with strep and, although it sounded harsh, he was glad. Someone was going to have to talk to her about her attitude. Not him. He might be considered brave, but he wasn’t heroic. Or that stupid.
He thought of Lucy Peterson, the angelic-looking Scandinavian blonde who, according to what she had told them, had been raped by a stranger who jimmied her wind
ow open. The UV had no trouble picking up semen on her abdomen and inner thighs. There had been bruising, although nothing as bad as Crissy or Tracy. The prints in her bedroom led to a family guy, but one who had a record for soliciting prostitution.
It had been Cooper’s first case as a detective, and she had been ecstatic she’d found her man. She arranged counseling for the victim and scheduled a psychologist and a sociologist to testify in the girl’s behalf. She stayed with the victim, trying to talk her into counseling. When the case finally went to trial, everything was looking good. Until it came to light that the perp was Peterson’s lover and she was getting back at him for not leaving his wife.
Sighing, Reese took his copy of the file, slipped on his navy jacket and grabbed his keys. Her last place of employment was on East Colfax; maybe someone there would recognize Wolfe’s picture.
His stomach gurgled. First, he’d get a soothing milkshake, then cruise down the boulevard. The air might clear his head.
Traffic was heavy for late morning, probably because for once, it wasn’t raining. Denver’s notorious brown cloud was absent, the temperature a pleasant seventy-five degrees. He headed east on Colfax Avenue.
A few years ago, the section beyond the capitol held X-rated bookstores, theaters, and marital-aids shops. But after an outcry from the neighbors, great efforts were made to clean up the area and pressure was put on the owners until a great many moved out. The few who remained enjoyed a brisk business.
The ‘ussy Palace, large enough to occupy almost a block, advertised nude dancers, and as their main attraction, Berta Big Boobs, billed as The Largest Bumps in the Plains. Across the street and down one block, The Mons Review boasted that their girls were younger and better looking. About two blocks down and sandwiched between two adult bookstores, The Peter Piper advertised an all male review, with no cover charge for ladies on Thursdays.