The Fourth Motive

by Sean Lynch

  Paige looked from Wendt, to Farrell, to her father. Her eyes flashed for a moment, and the truth of Farrell’s words settled in. She exhaled a long breath, ran her hands over her battered face and through her damp hair, and slumped down in what had been Farrell’s seat across from her father. Farrell went back to the bar and began making a drink.

  “What a week,” she said to no one in particular.

  “It could be worse,” her father reminded her.

  “I suppose so.” The exhaustion was beginning to overtake her. “You could have told me you had someone following me,” she said to her father.

  “If I had,” he said, “you’d have asked me who it was. If I’d told you, you’d have thrown a fit.”

  “And you would have been unconsciously looking over your shoulder, which would have potentially compromised the tail and endangered you,” Farrell added over his shoulder.

  “I still don’t like it,” she said.

  “Here,” Farrell returned from the bar and handed Paige a drink. “It’ll do you good.”

  “I don’t normally drink,” she said, but accepted the glass.

  “This is hardly a normal day,” her father said softly. Paige nodded and took a gulp of bourbon, wincing as it burned down her throat.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your conversation,” Paige said after catching her breath. “I believe when I entered you were talking about motive.”

  “Perhaps this is a discussion best left for a time when you’re feeling better,” the Judge said.

  “You mean a time when I’m not around to hear you discussing me,” she countered. “No thanks, Dad; if it’s all right with you, I’ll stay and listen for myself.” She gestured to the trio. “Please, go on with your debate about my stalker’s motive. I’d like to know what you three criminal experts have come up with.”

  “We were only speculating,” Wendt said, “about motive.”

  “Don’t let me stop you. That’s really the heart of this case, isn’t it? Motive? The reason why this asshole is targeting me? I’m dying to hear your theories.” She jutted her abraded chin at Farrell. “You had the floor when I came in, Mister Private Investigator.”

  “Paige,” the Judge said, “this can wait for a time when you’re not so tired.”

  “You mean not so argumentative, don’t you?” Judge Callen tapped his hand on his cane in exasperation.

  “Very well, Ms Callen,” Farrell said. “The way I see it, you need to hear this discussion anyway because you more than anyone might be able to lend insight into the stalker’s motive.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, setting down her drink and folding her hands on her lap.

  Farrell took a sip of his bourbon before continuing. “This guy could have any number of motives. We narrow the possible motives by eliminating the least likely ones. Hopefully, that process leads us to our suspect’s motive.”

  “And to him,” Wendt said.

  “The first motive we can eliminate is a random act. We can take that one off the list for obvious reasons.”

  “You lost me already,” Judge Callen said. “What ‘obvious reasons’?”

  “This motive would mean Ms Callen was targeted by the suspect at random,” Farrell said. “He saw her at the bus stop, or jogging, or somewhere else without any previous direct connection to her. It doesn’t fit this guy’s profile. Everything that’s happened so far indicates a very personal motive.”

  “I agree,” Wendt said.

  “How do you arrive at this conclusion?” Judge Callen asked.

  “If this stalker simply wanted to rape and murder Ms Callen,” Farrell said, “he could have done it at the beach yesterday morning. He had her isolated and alone. But he didn’t. He took pains to let her know he was coming back. He wants to prolong it.” He looked at Paige. “He wants her to suffer. That’s not random; that’s personal.”

  “OK,” Paige said. “The random motive is eliminated.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Farrell said. “Frankly, if this guy selected you at random, we’d be in the worst shape possible. There would be virtually no way to know how he selected you as a victim. In that case, all we could do is to wait until he strikes and hope to catch him in the act.”

  “Which is what Mister Farrell’s foresight saved you from this morning,” the Judge said.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Paige said, pointing to her battered face.

  “The second possible motive is Ms Callen’s personal life. An old boyfriend who can’t let go, a rebuked suitor, an unrequited romance, that sort of thing.”

  “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have the most active social life. Or a history of stormy relationships.”

  “I wish you did,” Wendt said.

  “You’d prefer the case to have a romance angle?”

  “In a way, yes,” the sergeant said. “Personal motives are the easiest to flesh out. They’re also the most common motives for stalkers. You sure there’s no one from your past, even the distant past, who might harbor a fixation on you?”

  “What about Chad?” Judge Callen asked. “He was certainly upset about the way things turned out between you two.”

  “Who’s Chad?” Wendt asked.

  Paige’s scowled at her father. “That was almost three years ago, Dad. And it couldn’t be Chad. He’s over six feet tall. The guy who attacked me is five-foot-ten at most. And I’d know if I saw those gnarly yellow teeth before.”

  “Chad could have put someone up to it,” Farrell said. “Hired the stalker. It’s been done before. Who’s Chad?”

  “Chad was engaged to Paige,” the Judge answered for her. “She broke it off.”

  “Much to your dismay,” Paige said. She turned to Farrell and Wendt. “Chad and I met in law school. We dated exclusively for a couple of years. We were engaged to get married.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Farrell asked.

  “My mother died the week before the wedding,” Paige said, looking down.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Farrell said. “But I have to ask: how did Chad take your breaking off the engagement?”

  “Not well,” Judge Callen said.

  “Mom’s death wasn’t unexpected, but it threw a wrench in the timetable Chad’s family had planned for our very elaborate wedding. They wanted a big one with all the trimmings. His family owns a law firm in the city, and Chad expected me to mourn Mom and get on with marrying him so he could get busy working on a full partnership at his dad’s firm. Apparently, I disrupted their schedule.” She smiled slightly. “It was a blessing in disguise. Better to learn your spouse is a jerk before tying the knot.”

  “That’s a lesson I had to learn twice,” Farrell said.

  “Me too.” Wendt chuckled without mirth. “I’m on my third wife; an occupational hazard.”

  “You ever hear from Chad since?”

  “Yeah,” said Paige. “I got an invitation to his wedding last summer, if you can believe it. I didn’t go.”

  “Doesn’t mean he isn’t our guy,” Wendt said. “Or that somebody else you may have dated or refused to date isn’t our suspect.”

  “You’re on the wrong track. I don’t think my stalker’s motive originates from my personal life,” Paige said.

  “You’d know better than anyone,” Farrell said. “But we still have to check every possibility.”

  “I get it. What’s another possible motive?”

  “Your work,” Farrell said. “You don’t exactly have an occupation where enemies are a rarity.”

  “This third category for a motive is where I believe we’ll find our man,” Wendt said.

  “You’ve been a deputy DA for what, about five years?” Farrell asked.

  “That’s right,” Paige said. “I got hired by the district attorney’s office when I graduated law school.”

  “Very impressive,” Farrell said, casting a suspicious glance at Judge Callen. “Doesn’t hurt to have relatives in high places.”

  “I resent that,” P
aige sat up, her eyes flaring. “I’ll have you know I was hired by the district attorney’s office on the merit of my application and exemplary law school credentials, no matter what anybody thinks about cronyism and my father’s influence.”

  “And I’ll have you know, Ms Callen,” Farrell said, “I am not a murderer or felon, no matter what you said about me in federal court.”

  “Who’s going to believe that?”

  “I would ask you the same question,” Farrell said. “Getting hired at the DA’s office in the same county where your father is the senior superior court judge, straight out of law school, without your father’s influence; who’s going to believe that?”

  Paige started to retort but couldn’t. Judge Callen looked into his drink. Sergeant Wendt noticed the ceiling.

  “Let’s get back to your job,” Farrell continued. “Five years as a prosecuting attorney is a long time to be making people unhappy.”

  “Who said I make people unhappy? I do my job well.”

  Farrell cued Wendt by taking a drink.

  “Open your eyes,” Wendt told her. “Everybody hates deputy DAs. Victims hate you because they blame you for allowing the criminals who victimize them to get off. Suspects hate you because you put them away. Jurors and witnesses hate you because you inconvenience them; you keep them from their jobs and families in endless courtroom maneuvers. And cops hate DAs, maybe most of all, because you sit on your bureaucratic butts in an office and plea-bargain away the collars they risk their butts on the street to bring in, and then have to go out and face the same crooks again after you let them off.” Wendt grinned. “Hell, Paige, it would be a lot easier to find someone that liked you.” He put up his hands. “Because you’re a deputy DA, I mean,” he quickly added.

  “Thanks for clarifying that,” Paige said.

  “This motive creates the largest suspect pool,” Farrell said. “As a result, it’s going to be the most difficult to sift through. Anybody come to mind that fits this profile? A crook who threatened you? A disgruntled victim?”

  “Nobody off the top of my head,” Paige said. “I get a lot of threats. Every decent deputy DA I know does.”

  “Any specific threats stand out?” Farrell asked her.

  “Not really,” Paige said. “They’re part of the territory. I don’t take most of them seriously.” Farrell looked to Sergeant Wendt.

  “I’ve already got two detectives, along with a couple of DA’s inspectors who offered to help out, down at the courthouse scouring through Paige’s old case files. They’re looking for anyone remotely matching the suspect’s description.” Wendt looked around the room. “It’s going to take a while. And even if we find the guy somewhere in Paige’s previous cases, how will we know?”

  A long minute of silence followed. Farrell lit another unfiltered Camel. Paige wrinkled her nose but said nothing.

  “If you’ll permit me,” Judge Callen said, “I want to sum up the possible motives as I understand them so far.”

  “Be my guest,” Wendt said.

  “The first motive, you said, would be the person stalking Paige targeted her at random, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “The second motive would originate from Paige’s personal or social life, like an ex-boyfriend?”

  “Right again,” Wendt confirmed. “And the third motive would be a suspect emanating from Paige’s occupation as a deputy district attorney.”

  “I see,” Judge Callen said. “That’s a wide range of possibilities.”

  “There’s a fourth possibility,” Farrell proclaimed, exhaling smoke.

  “A fourth motive?” Wendt asked. “I guess you know something I don’t.”

  “Hardly a first,” Farrell mumbled around his cigarette.

  “What would the fourth motive be?” Judge Callen asked.

  “You,” Farrell said.

  CHAPTER 18

  “You’re kidding.” Paige said to Farrell. “I’m the one getting stalked and attacked, and you think the suspect is going after Dad?” She gave her father a sour look. “Some ace detective you hired.”

  “I don’t see it,” Wendt agreed with Paige. “The Judge is a much softer target than Paige. If this guy was gunning for him, why attack her? Why not go straight for him? He could have had the Judge any time he wanted and with a lot less effort than it took to go after her.” He made no effort to conceal his contempt for Farrell’s premise. “What you say makes no sense. The Judge is retired, he’s almost always at home, usually alone, and not very ambulatory. No offense–”

  “None taken,” Callen said, although a frown started at the corners of his mouth.

  “If he was after the Judge, why go to all the trouble of messing with Paige?” Wendt continued. “Besides, we don’t even know this guy is aware of who Paige’s father is.” He shook his head. “Not to mention, there’s also the ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ thing. The suspect has called Paige those specific names repeatedly: on the beach, when he phoned her at work, when he spray-painted them on her walls, and in the note he left on her car. Those are sexually derogatory terms men use against women, Mister Farrell. I think you’re reaching. This guy isn’t after the Judge; he’s got radar lock on Paige. You’re dead wrong.”

  “I’d like to hear Mister Farrell out,” the Judge said.

  “Maybe I’m wrong,” Farrell conceded. “I’ve been wrong before. But what better way to hurt a man than through his children? For a detective, you perpetually ignore the obvious truth that this stalker isn’t simply trying to injure or kill Ms Callen. If that was his goal, he could have done that any time he wanted. He used a real pistol this morning; why the toy gun yesterday? And when he broke into her condo, why not wait inside and attack and kidnap her when she returned, if that was his intent, instead of torching the place and making a play for her later on the road?”

  “Who knows why a psycho does what he does?” the police sergeant said. “The guy’s awhack job; we may never know what his motive is. And as far as the Judge being his target, I think you’re off base.”

  Farrell took a drag and exhaled through his nose. “You’re looking at what’s happening to Paige as a series of individual crimes, directed at her. What if they’re not?”

  “What else would you call them?”

  “A crusade. Not a series of single acts against Paige, but instead a campaign of terror aimed at her father, using Paige as the means.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Paige blurted. But Farrell could see the wheels of doubt beginning to turn behind her eyes. The Judge’s, too.

  “Maybe the suspect’s objective all along,” Farrell suggested, “isn’t primarily Paige? Maybe she’s the secondary target, and everything that’s been done to her so far is intended to terrorize him?” Farrell looked at the other faces in the room. “Maybe the motive is something in the Judge’s history and not hers?”

  “Seeing as how you’re full of maybes,” Wendt said, “I’ve got a ‘maybe’ notion of my own. Maybe you’re getting paid by the hour to dazzle the Judge with your investigative prowess; maybe paid a lot. Good for you. Maybe this unsubstantiated idea about the Judge being the stalker’s target is your way of feeding an already worried parent a lot of malarkey about him being the reason his daughter’s getting stalked so he’ll keep paying your extravagant fees?”

  “That sounds like a reasonable theory to me,” Paige said.

  “At least as reasonable as blaming Judge Callen for his daughter’s troubles,” Wendt said.

  “If insulting me would lead you to the perp,” Farrell said, “he’d already be locked up.”

  “I’m sorry if you feel I’m insulting you, Mister Farrell. But I’ve got better things to do than entertain your harebrained theories.”

  “You’re absolutely certain,” Farrell said, “that you can exclude the Judge as the primary target?”

  “Technically, until I nail this creep, I can’t exclude anyone,” Wendt admitted, “including the Easter Bunny. But that doesn’t mean I’
m going to start chasing rabbits because you see colored eggs.”

  “If you say so. How about you, Your Honor? You think I’m chasing my tail looking into your possible enemies?”

  “I don’t know,” Callen said. “I’ve certainly made a few over the years.” Wendt shot Farrell a scornful glance.

  “What I know,” Wendt said, “is that I’ve got work to do, and it’s not getting done while I’m here listening to this nonsense.” He turned to Paige. “I can’t tell you what to do,” he said, “but you may want to lay low here at your father’s for a while.”

  “Where else am I going to go?”

  “After what happened today, with the suspect getting shot, I don’t think we’re going to hear from him for a while. He’s probably licking his wounds somewhere. You should be safe here at the Judge’s home.”

  “Should be?” Paige said.

  “I’ll have patrol officers drive by at irregular intervals and check the house.”

  “I didn’t know the suspect was shot,” Farrell said.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know, Mister Farrell.”

  Farrell’s face hardened. “I’m getting a little tired of you taking your incompetence out on me,” he said.

  “Are you planning on doing something about it?”

  “You’ll be the first to know.”

  “Gentleman,” the Judge intervened. “This doesn’t get us anywhere. Mister Farrell’s associate shot the suspect, you say?”

  Wendt nodded. “That’s what witnesses are telling us. Your sidekick, the one who shot him, isn’t cooperating. He’s invoked his right to remain silent. Without any of the information he can provide, all we can do is collect witness statements and alert local hospitals to look out for someone with a gunshot wound meeting the suspect’s general description.”

  “Is my partner being charged?”

  “Yeah. Possession of a loaded and concealed handgun without a permit, and reckless discharge of a firearm within the city limits.”

  “What a bogus pile of bullshit,” Farrell spat. “He used that gun to save Ms Callen’s life, and you’re going to charge him?”