“I’m Ginger,” she said. It was the first name she could think of. Homage to Gilligan’s Island. “I shop here a lot.”
“How come I ain’t seen you around? I think I’d remember you.” The guy was doing his best to ooze charm, though as far as Abby could tell, the only thing oozing out of him was sweat.
“I just come here during the day. The other guy’s always here. This is the first time I’ve seen you.” She put a provocative emphasis on the last word.
“Now you know what you been missing.”
Smooth talker. Must be a devil with the ladies. “So what happened to him?” she asked. “He get moved to a different location?”
“What I heard, he got canned.”
Abby set her face in a pout. “That’s too bad. I liked him.”
“Bet you could get to like me, if you give it a shot.”
“You never know.” She twirled her hair like an idiot, sending a signal of empty-headedness that was sure to mark her as easy sexual prey. “How come they let him go?”
“Probably the usual reason.” Smiling conspiratorially, the guard stepped closer. “Some of these guys, they got prison records. They hide it for a few weeks, but sooner or later they get caught. Then they’re out.”
Abby feigned stupefaction. “You mean, he might’ve been in jail?”
“Kolb? Yeah, that’s what I’d bet. He never said much, but he had that look about him. When you been in this business awhile, you get to know the signs.”
“Well, I guess it’s good he’s gone, then. I wasn’t interested in…I mean, if he’s a convict, ex-convict, whatever…”
He bought her flustered-ingenue act. “Don’t let it shake you up,” he said in a fatherly tone, though clearly his intentions were fatherly only in the John Huston-Chinatown sense. “I can spot his type a mile away. But a little lady like you, well, there’s no way you could know what you were in for.”
“I guess not.”
“Maybe I’ll be seeing you, now that I’m working the day shift.”
“Maybe you will.” She showed him a parting smile, just enough to keep his hopes up—well, his hopes and anything else that might’ve been raised by the encounter.
She went into the supermarket and prowled the aisles, biding her time until a large Latino family was leaving. She blended in with them and exited, unnoticed by the guard, then doubled back to her Mazda.
So Kolb was out of work. If he was the Rain Man, he didn’t need the job anyway. But he’d kept it, which meant that for some reason he wanted it. She wondered how his premature termination would affect his emotional stability.
Her cell phone rang as she was slipping back into the convertible. The breathless voice on the other end of the line belonged to Madeleine Grant. “I think he’s here. I think he’s watching me.”
Abby didn’t have to ask who. “Where is he?”
“In the woods by my house.”
“Inside or outside the perimeter fence?”
“Outside.”
“Is your alarm system on?”
“Of course it is. I’m not a fool, for Christ’s sake.”
Abby pulled away from the curb. “Calm down; take it easy. Can you still see him?”
“No, I can’t. The foliage is dense. I only got a glimpse. I’m not sure it was him. But who else could it be?”
“Which side of the house?”
“The north side. It’s a jungle. A neighbor lost her dog in there once, and we all went looking. There are trees—he could climb a tree to get over the fence.”
“You had all the trees trimmed back, remember?”
“You’re right. I’m becoming hysterical, aren’t I?”
“Not at all,” Abby lied. “You’re being observant and alert. Did you call the police?”
“Should I?”
Abby didn’t want Madeleine taking any unnecessary risks, but with Kolb—or whoever it was—still outside the fence, and with the alarm system activated, there was probably no immediate danger.
“Why don’t you hold off on calling nine-one-one? I’ll be there ASAP. I’ll park one street over and cut through the woods on foot, see if I can get the jump on him.”
“What if he’s armed?”
Abby patted her handbag. “So am I. Sit tight. You’ve still got your gun, right?”
“Of course.”
“Keep it handy. But don’t fire till you see the whites of his eyes.”
“That isn’t funny,” Madeleine said, ending the call.
Abby parked on a cul-de-sac behind Madeleine Grant’s house, then climbed a grassy hill that flattened out into thick woods. Trees swallowed the sun, leaving her in deep verdant shade.
She felt out of place here. She’d grown up on a ranch in the desert, and she was at home in the outdoors, where there was an open sky and a clear horizon. Having lived in the city for most of her adult life, she was equally comfortable amid skyscrapers and office towers.
But she had little experience with woods. She couldn’t tell one tree from another or distinguish birdsong from cricket chirps. She didn’t like the confusion of tree limbs and shadows, a meshwork of darkness that could conceal an enemy.
Madeleine’s house stood tall enough to be visible above the trees. Abby moved toward it, using the roof as her polestar. As she drew closer, she saw a distant human figure framed in a gap in the foliage. A man, if she could judge by the figure’s stance. He was standing by the fence, as Madeleine had said. She couldn’t make out any details.
Abby watched him, wishing she’d brought binoculars. He seemed to have dark hair, but it might have been a cap. Her vision was good, but she was too far away to see anything useful.
She advanced, moving into a denser copse of trees, losing sight of her quarry. She wasn’t worried about that. She would pick him up again once she’d left the deeper underbrush behind. For the moment, her attention was focused on the ground under her feet. She knew enough about the woods to avoid twigs, dry leaves, anything that would snap, crackle, and pop.
At some point her gun left her purse and wound up in her hand, leading her. She hadn’t been aware of grabbing it.
Close now. The foliage thinning. Madeleine’s house looming over the high wrought-iron fence.
The man ought to be in view again. She didn’t see him.
It was possible he’d heard her approach and taken cover. She might be walking into an ambush. She hesitated, wondering if it was safer to stay put. Maybe not. He could be circling around to get a shot at her from behind.
Tricky situation. Lots of variables. No way to be sure what was going on.
She followed an old adage she’d just made up: When in doubt—charge.
With a burst of speed she tore out of the woods, running to the exact spot where the man had stood. She hit the dirt, rolled, and came up behind a tangle of scraggly ground cover, pointing the gun everywhere at once, daring him to take a shot and give away his position.
There was no shot. After thirty seconds, she began to suspect that the guy was gone. She also began to feel a tad foolish. She’d scuffed her knees, mussed up her skirt, and risked a sprained ankle with her little stuntwoman demo.
She made a quick circuit of the area and confirmed that no one was around. He’d left in a hurry, maybe because he sensed he wasn’t alone. More likely it was just a coincidence. He might have gotten tired of the stakeout, or moved to another part of the fence, probing for weaknesses. She would have to check the entire perimeter.
Before she did, she took a closer look at the area where he’d been standing. She was no tracker, but there might be some kind of clue. In the movies, people were always leaving cigarette butts that somehow helped to identify them. Or a book of matches from a nightclub, or a monogrammed cigarette lighter. Fortunately for his health, but unfortunately for her purposes, this guy did not appear to be a smoker. Nor was he a litterbug. He’d left nothing.
She’d almost given up when she noticed a small depression in the ground where rainwater ha
d collected during the last storm. The soil remained moist enough to have picked up the partial impression of a shoe.
She rummaged in her handbag for a measuring tape, then stretched it along the shoe print. Size nine or nine and a half.
Not exactly Bigfoot. And not Kolb, either. His feet were larger than that.
“Coast is clear,” Abby reported when she stepped into Madeleine Grant’s foyer. “He amscrayed. And it wasn’t Kolb.”
“Then who was it?”
She shrugged. “Random prowler. Vagrant. Local kid sneaking off to smoke some dope.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Don’t you? Funny. Neither do I.”
“I wish you could be serious for once.”
“I’m always serious, Madeleine. I just hide it behind a mask of insouciant bravado.”
Abby moved into the living room. She noticed that Madeleine, in her agitation, had forgotten her normal social graces. There was no offer to be seated, no tendering of anything to drink. A born hostess like Madeleine Grant had to be seriously distressed to overlook such niceties.
Distressed—but not disheveled. She was dressed in a casual but elegant outfit that made Abby feel hopelessly déclassé in her faux-office-worker ensemble. She could learn a few things from Maddie’s fashion sense.
“If you don’t believe your own theories,” Madeleine said, pacing, “then who do you think it was?”
“I’m beginning to think Kolb has a partner.”
“A partner?”
“Gee, I knew this house was big, but I didn’t expect an echo.” Madeleine bristled. Abby held up a placating hand. “My point is, it’s too big a coincidence—your meeting Tess McCallum yesterday, someone showing up here today.”
“Kolb can’t know I met Agent McCallum.”
“Who knows what he knows? If he was watching the house and saw her arrive…”
Madeleine hugged herself. “Oh, God.”
Abby tried to lighten the mood. “Hey, don’t flip out on me. I’m engaging in pure speculation. For all I know, it really is a coincidence. But,” she added truthfully, “I wouldn’t bet the farm on it. I think it’s more likely Kolb has an accomplice. He’s found someone he trusts—or someone he needs.”
“Needs?”
There was that echo again, but Abby prudently refrained from mentioning it. “If he is the Rain Man, it’s a pretty complicated scheme for him to pull off all by his lonesome. Expensive, too. Maybe his partner ponied up the seed money for the secret bank accounts. Maybe his partner planned the whole thing, and Kolb is only the muscle. The partner handles the administrative chores, and Kolb does the wet work—no pun intended.”
“If his partner is only an administrator, what was he doing here?”
“Keeping an eye on things, maybe. Watching to see if McCallum comes back for another powwow. Or…”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“What, Abby?”
She had to say it. “He might’ve been taking a look at your fence and your security system.”
“To break in.”
“To gather information.”
“Information for Kolb, you mean? To tell him how to get in?”
Abby couldn’t deny it. “Anything is possible. But I don’t know why Kolb would come after you. If anything happened to you, he’d be the prime suspect.”
“He might be saving me for last.” Madeleine looked out the front window, as if expecting to see Kolb beyond the gate, waiting for her like an executioner on the gallows. “When he’s carried these kidnappings as far as they can go…when he’s getting ready to leave town and live in luxury off his ransom money…then he might come for me. To finish things.” She let a moment tick past in silence, then added, “I notice you’re not disputing the point.”
Abby bit her lip and tried to balance honesty with tact. “It’s not impossible. If he’s the Rain Man. That’s a big if.”
Madeleine was still looking toward the gate. “He hates me. He won’t let go of me.” Her voice dropped lower, edging into a whisper. “I gave a deposition, you know. In the pretrial phase. He was there. I had to sit in the same room with him and tell my story. He never said a word, just stared. Flat eyes. I’ve never seen a man look like that. He blames me for what happened. It’s my fault. I put him in jail. He wants revenge.”
Abby put a hand on Madeleine’s arm. “He may want it. That doesn’t mean he’ll act on what he wants.”
“He will.”
“We don’t know that. A lot of times, these guys never go near the original victim again. They develop a new obsession—or they stay clean. Scared straight. It happens.”
Madeleine turned from the window and looked at her. “Has Kolb been scared straight, Abby?”
Those wide, unblinking eyes demanded a candid answer. “I don’t think so,” Abby said. “But even if your Peeping Tom was looking for a way in, he may not have found it. You’ve got good security here.”
“Could you get past my system, if you had to?”
“Me, I’m just a cowgirl from Arizona.”
“Abby…”
She surrendered. “I could get in. But I’m smarter than the guy who was here today.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m smarter than everybody.”
Madeleine had to smile at this. “At least you don’t lack confidence.” Then the smile fell away. “I want you to get him, Abby. I want you to put him in prison—like last time.”
“I’m on the case. Just stay strong.”
She and Madeleine returned to the foyer, where Abby noticed a framed movie poster, the image of a woman in silhouette against a moonlit sea.
“Hey, I’ve seen this movie,” she said. “It really bites. Whatever possessed you to hang the poster?”
“It was one of Daddy’s films.”
“Did I say it bites? I meant, it’s a biting social commentary….”
Madeleine rescued her. “It’s awful. But I like the poster. Quite good by the standards of commercial art, don’t you think? The artist has captured something here—the woman’s loneliness, her isolation…and her strength.”
Abby took another long look at the poster. “I can relate,” she said quietly.
Beside her, Madeleine nodded. “So can I.”
17
Tess left the Pacific Area station but didn’t head directly downtown. Instead, she returned to the MiraMist and asked the desk clerk if there was a package for her.
“FedEx SameDay, just arrived.”
She accepted the package, a large and fairly heavy box that she didn’t open until she was back in her car. Inside was a round metal device with a coiled, spring-loaded copper antenna on top and a magnet on its underside. Packed beside it were two carrying cases, which she left closed, and a small tool kit containing a putty knife, electrical tape, and work gloves.
She drove east, following directions she jotted down after consulting the map book in the glove compartment. The route took her to an unimpressive neighborhood in the mid-Wilshire district. She cruised past Kolb’s apartment building and saw his Oldsmobile in the carport. He was home.
She knew his address and the make and model of his car because she’d run his name through the Department of Motor Vehicles database. The package she’d received via same-day delivery had been sent from the Denver office after she’d made a late-night phone call to the head of the Denver surveillance squad, waking him. She’d told him what she needed.
“They have those in LA, you know,” he’d said sleepily.
“I want one of ours.”
“Should I ask why?”
“No.”
“Right. I’ll send it out first thing tomorrow. You should have it by ten A.M.”
If she’d obtained the items from the Los Angeles office, she would have had to sign for them. That would have required an explanation she didn’t want to give. It also would have required a court order she had insufficient grounds to request. Getting what
she needed from Denver had been a lot easier. Of course, it had also entailed breaking the rules. What she was about to do was even worse. It constituted breaking the law.
Her Bureau car was too conspicuous to be left anywhere near Kolb’s address. Two blocks away she found a bank where she parked the sedan, hoping no one would boost it while she was gone. She removed the pair of carrying cases from the box and left them on the floor of the car, then wedged the box under her arm and walked to the apartment building.
There were significant risks in what she was about to do, and not just of the legal sort. Kolb knew who she was. He’d followed the Mobius case in detail. He’d kept a scrapbook about it. He would recognize her face. He was paranoid and potentially violent. If he glimpsed her in his neighborhood, there was no way to know how he would react.
Abby undoubtedly would not have been happy to know that Tess was here. She wanted to handle everything herself, unassisted, the Lone Ranger. But even the Lone Ranger had a sidekick—and although Tess didn’t fancy herself in that role, she was going to help out, whether Abby liked it or not.
Abby’s endgame, as she’d made clear, was to go on a date with Kolb. When she did, Tess intended to follow. But it wasn’t easy for a single car to tail a suspect. Multiple vehicles could trade off in the command position to avoid being noticed. One car alone was easy to spot. And in city traffic, the tail car would have to stay close. Too close.
There was another way—electronic tracking. In her call to the surveillance agent, she’d requested a vehicle-tracking transmitter, also known as a bumper beeper. Five inches in diameter, battery powered, it would transmit a pulsed RF signal with a line-of-sight range of five miles. Unfortunately, the signal would be blocked by tall buildings and other obstructions, which made its effective range much shorter within city limits.
She’d never planted one of these devices before, but she knew the procedure. Despite the gadget’s nickname, it was rarely installed inside the bumper. A flat surface was preferable. The bottom of the gas tank was an obvious choice, but the metal there was too thin. The underside of the floor pans would provide better support.
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