by Ronica Black
She held one up for Shawn. “Ever seen this car before? Maybe outside your gate?”
Shawn set down her mug and leaned forward. “No.”
Kennedy pulled out another one. “Ever seen anyone like this?” The grainy black-and-white photo showed a hooded figure in sunglasses approaching the call box.
“No. Is that—” Her eyes went wide. “Do you think that’s the person doing all this?”
Kennedy thumbed through more pages. “Yes, I do. I think she’s been watching your house for quite some time.”
Shawn took the last photo and studied it. “It’s hard to tell if it’s a man or woman.”
“Look at the hands. I know you can’t see them well, but they appear to be smaller boned than a man’s. Also,” she pointed at the figure in another photo, “there seems to be a slight swelling on the chest in this shot.”
“A breast?”
“Could be.”
“It’s difficult to tell with the baggy clothing. But here also you can see the high cheekbones.”
“I never would’ve picked up on these things.”
Kennedy thumbed through more pages and showed Shawn the latest magazine letter. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand as she read the simple sentence.
I won’t miss again.
Then Kennedy showed her the picture that was sent along with the letter. It showed the Ryan family in a sunny room, sitting on a flower-patterned sofa. Veronica and Shawn sat holding the girls, who were laughing. The photo looked professionally done, only now the eyes had been crossed out with what appeared to be a black marker.
Shawn couldn’t look at it for more than a second. The blood drained from her face and her breathing changed.
“Are you okay?”
“No.”
Kennedy placed the stack of papers on the coffee table. “Do you want to lie down?”
“No. I just need a glass of water or something.”
Kennedy headed for the kitchen. “How about some juice? You look weak.”
“Okay.”
She returned with a glass of orange juice and studied her. Shawn sat staring into space, her face pale, her body drawn in, knees into her chest and injured arm, which she still wore in a sling. She looked very different from the photograph. She had lost weight and her cheeks seemed more sunken in.
Maybe Kennedy should’ve waited until morning to show her. She’d just needed to steer their conversation back to the case so badly. Not just because she needed answers, but because she’d had so many more questions. And they weren’t about the case.
“Can I talk you into some toast too?”
Shawn didn’t look at her. “I’ll try.”
“Good enough.” Kennedy prepared some lightly buttered toast, then took it out to Shawn and sat down beside her on the sofa.
Shawn spoke. “That photo was taken for a magazine article. About two years ago. We showed up and they had this little room all ready.”
“It looks like it was taken in a home.”
“Yes, it does. But it wasn’t. It was at this studio, a loft in SoHo.”
“And it ran in the one magazine?”
“Yes. A magazine for the GBLT community. Called Family.”
“I’m sure the Bureau has already found the issue and are looking into it fully.” She’d also requested that copies of Veronica’s fan mail be sent to her at once. She wanted to go through them all to search for the handwritten letters from the UNSUB. Ones she was sure were there.
“Funnily enough, that was my favorite public photo of us.”
“I can see why.”
Shawn nibbled the toast. “It’s funny how good the media can make your life appear to be.”
“There wasn’t anything good about your life?”
“Aside from the girls? Not much.”
Kennedy was a little surprised at her bluntness.
“The girls were great. They’ve always been great. But our family life—mine and V’s relationship—weren’t good. It hasn’t been for some time. It was all a carefully orchestrated façade.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. It’s the truth.” Her face grew sad. “I’ve been unhappy for some time. I’m just now finally admitting it to myself.”
“Forgive my personal question, but why did you stay?”
Shawn lowered the toast. “I don’t know. I guess that’s something I’ll have to work out within myself. Obviously I was just as sick for staying, for agreeing to put on the happy face, and for agreeing to exaggerate on our lives. I think I wanted to buy into it too. I wanted the happiness and the ideal life.”
“I don’t think there’s any fault in wanting those things.”
“No, there isn’t. But I was living a lie. And I knew I was living a lie. Yet I stayed and I fed into the lie. I watched it grow and grow and I did nothing.”
“Like I said, sometimes it’s hard to step back and change.”
Shawn teared up. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Kennedy had the urge to reach out and touch her cheek. To wipe away the falling tears. But her phone rang before any more could be said.
She answered by the second ring. “Scott.”
“Kennedy, it’s Allen.” She at once knew that something was wrong.
“What is it?”
“It’s Veronica Ryan. We had an incident with her this evening.”
“Incident?”
“She’s okay. But we’ve got a problem. She went out to a club this evening, despite her security’s warnings not to. We were busy tailing Sloan Savage, who showed up at the same place. There was an altercation in the restroom. A woman saw it all. And we’ve got word that two major tabloids are going to run the story.”
Kennedy looked at Shawn, who was watching her intently.
“Not only is the private conversation between Veronica and Sloan going to be published, but so is the fact that we’re looking into Sloan for the shooting.”
Kennedy tapped her eyebrow with the pad of her finger. “This isn’t good.”
“No, it’s not. Having the press around now will only hinder our investigation. And they are going to be everywhere.”
“Where’s Ms. Ryan now?”
“She’s at home. But she leaves for her movie shoot soon.”
“Where is that going to be?”
“Upstate.”
“So not far.”
“No. Listen, Kennedy. You better prepare Shawn. Some of the things this lady heard Sloan and Veronica say—it’s ugly. It could possibly ruin Veronica’s career and her marriage. I thought you might want the heads up.”
“Thanks, Allen. Any word on the gate rammer?”
“Not yet. We’ve put out a search for all early model Honda Civics with front-end damage. We’re also canvassing the neighborhood for any eyewitnesses. I’ll let you know when we know something.”
Kennedy signed off and looked at Shawn. Her throat grew tight as she searched for the words.
“You’re scaring me,” Shawn whispered. “Just say it.”
“I’m not sure how.” She cleared her throat. “Apparently, Veronica went out tonight to a club where she encountered Sloan Savage. There was an altercation in the restroom and a woman overheard everything. Allen called to tell me that some tabloids have gotten a hold of the story and they are going to run it. He said the content was personal and potentially damaging for Veronica’s career and…marriage.”
Shawn stared at her. She looked like a young bird, frail and afraid.
“What does potentially damaging mean?” Her voice was weak, her pulse jumping in her neck. “It means they talked about their affair, doesn’t it? And now it’s going to be all over the world.” She stood. “Why did I do this, Kennedy? Why did I stay when I knew?” She began to cry and then shouted, “Now my family, my little girls…everyone who loves us and cares…they will all know the dirty details and I just sat back and allowed it to happen! What’s wrong with me? And why in the hell was V out tonight afte
r someone just tried to fucking kill us? What’s wrong with her? She can’t keep it in her pants for a few nights? Oh my God. Oh my God.” She slammed the toast down on the coffee table and ran through the living room. Kennedy followed and watched as she hurried up the stairs, crossed the hall, and slammed her bedroom door.
Chapter Five
Yonkers, New York
The supermarket was bright and shiny and it smelled of fruit and detergent. Up the last aisle she went, basket heavy in her hand. She stared at her dirty sneakers as she followed the worn path on the white floor past the soda and popcorn, beyond the candy and chewing gum.
She hated being here and she only came after sunset. It was less crowded and she didn’t have to worry about anyone looking at her. She didn’t like people looking at her.
She preferred having her world under perfect control with little human interaction. She didn’t like big open places and she didn’t like crowds. She liked the dark, but only outside. In her apartment she always had a light on. Even when she slept.
She preferred to be either in her apartment or in her car. But she’d had to abandon her car recently. The front of it was terribly damaged from Veronica’s gate and she couldn’t risk someone recognizing it. So she’d cleaned it from top to bottom, knowing her prints were on file, and left it behind an old gas station, buried in the woods and covered with weeds and branches.
She thought she’d be more upset with herself, having run into the gate and damaging her car, but she found that she didn’t regret it one bit. In fact, she wished she’d done more damage to the gate. She could easily steal another car. She knew how to cut the wires on older models and start up the engine. She’d learned how from a magazine. She learned a lot from magazines.
They were her world. And as she neared them at the check-out lanes, she forced herself to remain calm. Magazines were her main reason for coming to the supermarket. It was time for the new issues. But she must be patient. She glanced at her watch. Yes. It was time.
Now she just had to wait and remember to breathe.
She approached one of the five check-out lanes and stood behind a middle-aged woman wearing stretch pants and a bright pink shirt. Her reading glasses, which were also pink, were perched on the tip of her nose and she was rifling through her coupon book.
“I’ve got a coupon for that,” the woman said, searching.
She waited for the woman’s groceries to edge farther down the belt before placing hers on it. It was her normal assortment of ramen noodles, bananas, canned soup, and milk. Cheap but edible.
“I’ve got a coupon for that,” the woman said again.
“And those were two for a dollar. Not those. Those. And I still want to use the coupon on them.”
She looked at the rest of the magazines.
Veronica Ryan was no longer the cover story and hadn’t been for two days. It infuriated her. Quickly, she searched through one and found a brief tidbit. Veronica was in hiding with her family and Shawn was healing from her wound. Veronica was soon to start filming on her new movie.
Upset at the little information, she shoved the magazine back on the rack. Where were the new issues? She hoped she wouldn’t have to ask. She’d had to do that twice and she hated it. They always stared at her. They always thought bad things about her. That was why she timed her arrival. To avoid having to wait or to ask.
As if on cue, a young man walked up. He had on dirty work pants and he was carrying bundled stacks of brand-new issues.
She avoided him, doing her best to act disinterested. He placed the new copies on the stand and left. Her blood raced as she caught sight of the covers. The copy she held fell to the ground.
Ahead of her, the coupon lady continued to fuss over her items with the cashier.
She fought for breath, still staring at the magazines. Veronica was on the cover of each of the new ones.
AMERICA’S FAVORITE LESBIAN CAUGHT CHEATING WITH ROCK STAR.
VERONICA AND SLOAN: SEX, DRUGS, AND ROCK AND ROLL.
Hurriedly, she flipped through them, hungry for the information.
She scanned the articles, her face reddening as she read about Veronica with yet another woman, as if Shawn weren’t bad enough. She’d heard the rumors about Sloan, but this seemed to confirm it. Her hunger for information quickly turned to anger.
“A dollar twenty-nine,” the woman ahead of her said again.
She glanced at the woman’s groceries. All were scanned but she was arguing over a can of bean soup.
She read further. About Sloan and Veronica having sex, about how Veronica told Sloan she was the best she’d ever had.
No. No.
She looked again at the woman. She was still arguing. The can of soup sat in front of the cashier. A can of fucking soup.
Pay. Pay. Pay. Hurry.
The woman argued some more.
Suddenly she wanted to tear her head off. Then her thoughts went to beating her relentlessly in the head with the can of soup.
Again and again and again.
She couldn’t take any more. She needed these magazines. Needed their words. Needed that info on Veronica. Now.
She walked up and shoved the complaining woman aside. It took all of her strength not to do anything further.
“Wha—what are you doing?” the woman whined.
“Here.” She dug in her jeans and threw some wadded-up bills at the cashier. She gathered the magazines, leaving the food. “For these,” she said, hugging them to her chest and hurrying away. She ran past the concerned-looking manager out the sliding doors and into the parking lot. Breathing heavily, she sprinted to her right and rounded the supermarket. She ran past the Dumpsters and into the woods, the light from her apartment a beacon through the trees, calling her home.
*
Hudson Valley, New York
“Look, I don’t give a fuck who you are, I need to speak to Veronica Ryan,” Sloan said with anger, trying to push her way past security. Veronica could see and hear her from her position in the back of the limousine.
“No unauthorized visitors on the set,” a security person thundered out. Veronica eased down her window as the car crawled up to the entrance.
“I’m not just anyone. I’m Sloan Savage and I know if you tell V I’m here, she’ll see me.”
“You’re not on the list.”
“What the hell do you think she wants?” asked Flo, Veronica’s new assistant.
“I have no idea.”
“She’s going to cause another scene.”
“Not if I can help it.”
Veronica watched as Sloan drifted back from the security checkpoint. What could she possibly want now? Wasn’t it enough that their pictures were all over the tabloids? Was she going to tackle her again in front of all these people? She didn’t need this. Not now. Today was the first day of shooting. She needed to concentrate.
Veronica eased back against her seat. Maybe Sloan would go away.
She focused on the beautiful countryside.
The movie set was just beyond the security checkpoint and it encompassed hundreds of acres of thick grassy hills and heavily wooded forests. Extras walked about casually, dressed in costumes of the mid-1800s, the women in tight but billowing dresses, carrying parasols. The men wore Victorian cutaway coats with vests and top hats, strolling with their walking sticks. The higher-paid actors moved in and out of wood-framed houses, talking amongst themselves, waiting for the next scene. Some headed toward their trailers with assistants hurrying along after them.
She couldn’t wait to get out and be a part of it all.
“V!” Sloan was back, this time knocking on the window, looking right at her.
The car stopped to check in with the security. Sloan knocked and called out, following it.
“V, it’s me, Sloan!”
“Ma’am?” her new security, the one she called RoboCop, called out. He was looking at her over his shoulder. “Do you want me to get rid of her?”
Veronica glanced
around, wondering if the FBI still had Sloan in their clutches. She saw no one. Damn.
“Yes.”
RoboCop flung open the door and confronted her. “Ma’am, step away from the vehicle, please.” He stepped between her and the car.
“I need to talk to her.” She looked past him to Veronica. “Now,” she emphasized.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, that won’t be possible.”
“Why?” She maneuvered around him and bent to talk to Veronica. “V, I need to talk to you.”
“Ma’am.” He cupped her elbow. “Step away from the vehicle.” He pulled her back and motioned for them to drive ahead without him. The driver complied and the car pulled forward to just inside the entrance of the set.
“Look,” she said, her voice still loud enough to hear. “You can search me or do whatever you want, but I need to talk to her.”
Veronica had enough. Sloan wasn’t going to be stopped.
“I’ll talk to her,” Veronica called out.
“V, are you sure? Who knows what she’s up to.” Flo uncrossed her long, supple-looking legs.
“I don’t have a choice. I can’t afford another tabloid article right now.”
RoboCop told Sloan to spread her arms and legs.
Sloan immediately complied. He searched her and then nodded.
Veronica and Flo climbed from the vehicle.
“Go on ahead,” she said to Flo.
“Are you sure?”
Veronica nodded. “I’ll be fine.” She walked up to Sloan, who looked absolutely horrible, with pale sunken skin and stringy greasy hair. She looked like she hadn’t eaten or slept in days. Why can’t she just go away?
“Sloan,” Veronica said with insincere kindness. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut the bullshit, V. You know why I’m here.”
“Actually I don’t. So you need to tell me.”
Sloan eyed RoboCop. Veronica waved him off. She began to walk toward her trailer. Sloan fell into step next to her. Veronica could tell she wasn’t happy, but Veronica did not want to be seen with her out in the open. She prayed that no one would snap a photo of them together.