And now Deanna was in position, walking along the seawall.
The sun had just set, and the sky was turning to ash. Deanna had already paced her two-block perimeter three times, but so far, no dark sedan had slowed down for a look.
Smalls kept his position in the ligustrum hedge, acting as a lookout. If he spotted the sedan, he was to text Deanna to return to the house, go inside, and leave the door ajar. Blatch would be in position behind the curtain in the living room, his Glock at the ready to aid in the arrest.
Smalls knew it wasn’t a perfect plan. A lot could go wrong. But Blatch had been insistent this was the only way. He had to learn to trust his new partner.
THE SKY HAD TURNED black. Deanna was on her sixth and final loop when the sedan suddenly appeared and drove slowly by her with its headlights off.
Even though she’d been expecting it, Deanna wasn’t prepared for the shockwave of terror that ripped through her. As the dark car inched closer, its dead-eyed headlights and grinning grille forming a monster’s face. It loomed toward her from the shadows, causing her knees to nearly collapse out from under her.
Deanna forced herself to breathe as she fought the primal urge to flee. If the plan was to work, she had to act as if she wasn’t aware of the threat.
As the car drove past her, Deanna’s heart began to thump in her ears. She felt her cellphone vibrate. She pulled it halfway from her pocket and glanced at it. It was a text from Smalls.
Get home now.
No shit, she thought. But suddenly Deanna struggled to get her paralytic legs to move. Step by stiff-legged step she hobbled along the seawall back home. As she crossed the street and limped toward her house, she saw the red flash of brake lights.
The sedan was turning around.
Unable to take her eyes from the vehicle, Deanna tripped on the curb. She fell forward, landing with her hands and knees on the walkway leading to her front door.
“You okay?” Smalls called from the hedge.
“Yes.”
“Then get your ass up and walk slowly into the house. The bastard’s coming back.”
Deanna stood and mustered all her resolve against the urge to break down and collapse. She limped slowly toward the porch and up the steps, using all her strength to resist glancing behind her. As she stepped onto the porch, her hands began to shake wildly, and found herself grateful that she wouldn’t have to fumble with keys. With Blatch waiting inside, she’d left the door unlocked.
As Deanna reached for the doorknob, she heard footsteps pounding up the sidewalk behind her. Unable to stop herself, she turned and stared into the darkness. A figure was running up the walkway toward her. She made out the dark silhouette of a man ....
“Fuck!” Smalls yelled from the hedges. He sprung from his hiding place and tackled the intruder. They both landed with a grunt on the lawn.
“Deanna!” the man called out.
Deanna’s eyes grew wide. She thought she recognized the voice. She took a tentative step toward them. A hand grabbed her arm from behind. Deanna screamed.
Blatch shook her arm. “You okay?”
Speechless, Deanna nodded stiffly
Somewhere in the dark, Smalls grunted, “If you’re done taking care of Miss Princess, I could use a little help down here.”
Blatch let go of Deanna and scrambled out into the yard. He found Smalls straddling the man’s back, trying to work cuffs on him. Deanna grabbed a flashlight and shone it on the three men.
“Oh my God!” she yelled. “Larry! What are you doing here?”
DEANNA APPLIED A BAND-Aid to the scrape on Larry Filbert’s cheek and apologized for the sixteenth time.
“It’s my fault,” Larry said again, shooing away Deanna for making a fuss. He leaned forward on the stool in her kitchen and whispered, hoping the two men pacing around the room on their cellphones didn’t overhear. “After what you told me about Bernstein, then when he didn’t show up ... I just didn’t want you here alone. But as I can see, you’re not. What’s going on?”
Deanna chewed her lip. What should she tell her boss? That these guys are her new work colleagues? “Well, you see—”
“It’s official,” Smalls barked, clicking off his cellphone. “The writing on both letters is a match.”
Lines creased Blatch’s forehead. “How’d you get this guy to work so late? It’s half-past nine.”
Smalls grinned. “Let’s just say this guy’s got more strings on him than a marionette.”
“Now what?” Deanna asked.
Smalls shrugged. “Well, that depends on how Snyder wants to play it. The writing matches, but the fingerprints on the letters were inconclusive.” Smalls shot Deanna a suspicious look. “My guy says from the size of the prints, at least two people had their paws on ’em.”
Deanna’s face lined with fresh fear. “Was Bernstein one of them?”
Larry tugged on her sleeve. “Deanna, what’s going on here?”
Smalls shrugged. “I dunno yet. I got a guy emailing the perv’s fingerprint profile. That fancy stationery of your mother’s doesn’t exactly make for clean prints. He’ll have to do a manual comparison. Most of the prints he found were overlapped. The rest were broken by the fibers in the paper. It may take a while.”
Blatch turned to Deanna. “You might consider getting another place to stay for a few days. If Snyder decides to tell the police, your place is going to be a media zoo.” He gave Larry the once-over, then looked back at Deanna. “You trust this guy?”
Larry stood up, his face indignant. “Enough, already! Someone tell me right now, what the hell’s going on here!”
Chapter Sixty-Five
GUYS BRAWLING ON YOUR lawn?
What the hell’s going on?
Were they fighting over you?
Oh, Deanna. I thought you were a nice girl.
Now I know you’re nothing but a slut.
And you know what happens to sluts.
They get what they deserve ....
Chapter Sixty-Six
“THAT’S UNBELIEVABLE,” Larry said, shaking his head. “I mean, with Bernstein, it’s believable—but still, it’s unbelievable.”
“I never should’ve taken him on as a client,” Deanna said. She handed Larry a cup of coffee. “I’ll take the first vigil, if that’s all right with you?”
Deanna had already known there were no hotel rooms available due to the holidays. Now, with Larry as part of the package, Deanna had turned down Blatch’s offer to stay at his place. She hadn’t wanted to overwhelm Deloris. She’d been too kind already. Besides, Smalls had said the odds Bernstein would come back tonight were slim.
So Deanna exercised her only other option—to ride out the night at her place, with Larry as her backup security plan.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Larry said, taking the coffee. “I’m too wired to sleep anyway.”
“Me too.” Deanna flopped on the couch beside him.
Larry shot her a wise guy look. “So you’re really working with these guys?”
“Yes.”
“When were you planning to tell me?”
Deanna put her head in her hands. “I don’t know. Possibly never. It was just something I was trying out. On a whim.”
“A whim? That doesn’t sound like you.”
Deanna looked up. “It isn’t. I mean ... it was a mistake. A misunderstanding. You see, Blatch thought I was applying for a job, but I wasn’t. Then I thought, what the hell. Have a little fun.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Larry quipped.
Deanna gave him a dirty look.
Larry’s face grew serious. “So now what, Dee? Are you leaving your practice in New York for this?”
“To be honest, Larry, I don’t know what I want to do.”
“You’re under a lot of stress. Right now is no time to make a decision. You look worn out. Have you allowed yourself to grieve yet? Be honest.”
Tears stung Deanna’s eyes. She turned to face Larry. She was goi
ng to tell him about the nightmares—about the horrible sleepwalking incident when she’d hurt her mother. About her fears she might be somehow mixed up in the murders. But when she opened her mouth to speak, other words came out.
“I’ll be in my bedroom,” she said. “Wake me in two hours.”
Then Deanna stood and left the room.
DEANNA WAS STILL AWAKE when Larry tapped lightly on her door. She’d spent the last two hours lying in bed, her mind churning over everything.
“You awake?” Larry whispered.
“Yes. Is it time already?”
“Yes. Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
“What were you thinking about?”
Deanna sat up in bed. “My mother. Do you think I’m like her? Be honest.”
“In some ways, yes. You’re plagued with self-doubts when you shouldn’t be. And you’ve got a few phobias to iron out. But then again, who doesn’t? And like you said in your thesis, learned behaviors can be unlearned.”
“Larry, do you think I’m capable of killing someone?”
Larry laughed. “You’re not that much like your mother.”
“I’m serious.”
“Geez, Dee. No one can predict another’s actions. Circumstances can drive anyone to do just about anything.”
“I think I may be going crazy.”
Larry laughed. “That’s good to hear.”
Deanna’s eyes widened with surprise. “What? Why?”
“Because those who acknowledge their crazy bits are usually the sanest people in the room, Dee. They don’t stuff it away until it builds up into a psychotic explosion.”
Deanna got out of bed. “Okay. Your turn to nap.”
Larry grabbed Deanna’s hand as she left the room. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
BARNEY SMALLS RANG Deanna’s doorbell armed with donuts, his cardboard box test-lab, and a bad attitude.
The buzzer startled Deanna and Larry. Propped up against each other after falling asleep on the couch, as they scrambled to consciousness, they bumped heads.
“Dear God. Is it eight o’clock already?” Larry groaned.
Deanna leaned over and grabbed her cellphone from the coffee table. “He’s early,” she grumbled.
Larry rubbed his neck. “One of your new employer’s many fine, annoying qualities, I presume. Keep that in mind, Deanna. Come back to New York and I promise I’ll never show up at your house before nine o’clock. I swear.”
The doorbell rang again.
Deanna rolled her shoulders and yawned. “I’ll keep it under advisement.” She padded to the door and peered through the panel window. Smalls and Blatch were about to kick the door in.
“Hold up!” Deanna yelled just in time. She unlocked the door.
“You had us worried,” Blatch said.
“You look like hell,” Smalls said.
Deanna waved the men inside. “It’s been a long night.”
“NO, IT’S TRUE.” LARRY took a slurp of coffee to wash down a bite of jelly donut. “The holidays are a psychiatrist’s busiest time of year. All that time spent with relatives? Let me tell you, we’ve got our own special meaning for ‘Black Friday.’”
Smalls laughed. “I like your style, Larry. You up for being our third on the stakeout tonight? You know, seeing as how you blew ours last night?”
Larry looked intrigued. “Do I get a gun?”
Smalls’ lips twisted to one side. “Depends. What’s your accuracy with a Glock?”
Larry shrugged. “To be honest, I’ve never even held one. Can I hold yours?”
Smalls blanched. “No way. And that would also be a no on you packing heat.”
Deanna would’ve smirked at Smalls’ comic-book detective lingo if the subject hadn’t been so serious. Larry pouted for a moment, then nodded at Smalls. “No one’s been able to arrest Bernstein on stalking charges up in New York. What makes you think you can here?”
Smalls grinned. “Unlike New York, Florida’s a shoot-first, ask questions later state.”
Blatch looked over at Larry. “And your patient may have done a lot worse than stalking.”
Larry’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Let me show you something.” Blatch reached into his jacket and pulled out the map he’d removed from the corkboard over his desk. “Four people in the last year have gone missing within a mile of Deanna’s place. This map shows their last known whereabouts.”
Larry’s nose crinkled. “Four people?”
“Yeah. The red dots here.” Blatch pointed to them on the map. “The first one was a sixteen-year-old girl named Jessica Snyder. She went missing on her pizza delivery route. Her car was found abandoned a couple of blocks from here.
The second was Stevie Wiggins. Twelve years old. He was going door-to-door looking for summer yard work. At first they figured it was a parental custody thing, but he never showed up at either of their houses.
The third was Evelyn Thompson, an elderly lady with dementia. She lived two blocks from here. She wandered off and was never found. And ten days ago, a postman named Reggie Cane vanished after completing his route in this neighborhood.
Larry looked Blatch in the eye. “And you think Bernstein was involved in this?”
“That’s what we’re looking into now. He had opportunity. Rental-car records place him in St. Pete during each offense.”
Larry leaned back on the couch. “Good God!”
Smalls eyed Larry. “You think this guy’s capable of murder?”
Larry nodded. “Yes. Most definitely.”
“Me, too.” Smalls pursed his lips. “But here’s the thing. We’ve got these letters from Deanna’s mother confessing to the crime. It’s a square peg for a round hole.”
Larry shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you don’t have the police involved.”
Blatch spoke up. “Do you have any idea how many people get reported missing in the US on any given day?”
“No.”
“More than two thousand—per day. Right now, there’s over a hundred-thousand people missing in this country. Without a body, they get shuffled to the bottom of the pile. It’s not anybody’s fault, but with so much crime going down every day, the cops have a lot of other things begging for their attention.”
Larry shook his head. “I had no idea.”
“Didn’t think so,” Smalls said. “The good news is, most of them turn up, eventually.”
“You think that could happen with these four?” Larry asked.
Smalls shrugged. “Anything’s possible. But with the letters in the mix? It isn’t likely, if you ask me. That’s why we need to I.D. all those prints on the letters. See if Bernstein or some other pervert shows up.”
Larry cleared his throat. “Uh ... on that note, I have a confession. I touched the letter to Deanna.”
“Shit!” Smalls said. “Is there anybody who hasn’t manhandled that letter?”
Larry looked over at Deanna. “I’m sorry.”
Deanna stared at him in disbelief. Her eyes narrowed in anger over his breach of her personal trust.
“I was just worried about you,” Larry explained. “And I’d never actually seen a letter by your mother.”
Deanna’s shoulders stiffened. “What are you saying, Larry? You think I made up all that stuff?”
Larry grimaced with guilt. “No! I thought it might help me understand you better. I meant no harm.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Smalls said. “You two kiddies work out your trust issues on your own time. We’ve got a stakeout to plan, and this time I don’t want any surprises. Snyder’s given us one more chance to catch this pervert or we go to the cops with the letters tomorrow. His and the Cane family’s.”
Smalls turned to his partner. “Okay, Blatch, you secure the perimeter for tonight.”
“What should we do?” Deanna asked.
Smalls scowled and glanced around at the stacks o
f hoarded newspapers and garbage. “You two search through this mountain of crap. See if you can find another letter—a grocery list—anything with Mommy Dearest’s handwriting on it. And for God’s sake, put on some rubber gloves!”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
STAKEOUT NUMBER TWO was about to be set into motion.
Deanna was prepped to begin strolling the seawall, trolling for Bernstein just as she had the night before. She hoped this time she could remain a bit steadier on her feet. She rolled her shoulders and shot Blatch a thumbs-up. “Ready.”
“Good luck and be safe,” he said, raising his thumb.
Deanna opened the front door, feeling ready for nearly anything—except the wild-eyed, wild-haired woman who loomed at her from the darkness. Deanna gasped as the woman’s face lunged forward until it was inches from her own.
“Hey, Dee. Going somewhere?” Jodie Havenall asked.
Deanna felt her knees wobble from the shock. “Uh ...,” she fumbled as she looked over at the ligustrum hedges. Smalls was running his finger across his throat, mouthing the words, “Get rid of her.”
“I just came by to say sorry about the other night, and to give you this,” Jodie said. Distracted by Smalls, Deanna looked down to see Jodie shoving a painting at her. “Mom says you’re staying.” Jodie grinned. “Consider it a little housewarming gift.”
“Uh ... thanks.” Deanna shrunk back when she realized the painting was one of the glassy-eyed portraits from Jodie’s gallery opening the other night.
Jodie laughed. “Don’t worry, Dee. I painted the spiders out of her eyes.”
Deanna forced a smile and reached hesitantly for the picture. “Thanks.”
“No biggie. I’ve got a roomful of ’em, remember?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of hard to forget.” Deanna glanced over at the hedge. Smalls smacked his forehead, then pointed at his watch. She turned back to Jodie. “Listen, Jodie, I’ve—”
What She Forgot Page 22