Mary, Mary, Shut the Door Page 8

  “I don’t know. I need to think. If we did try to set Silverman up, you’d arrange it so we wouldn’t get hurt, is that it?”

  “Almost. I’d arrange it so there’d be only a small chance of you getting hurt. No guarantees.”

  “I have to talk with Tara about this. I’ll call you back when we make a decision.”

  “Take your time, Mr. Calloway, this is serious business. I want you to be sure.”

  “No, I don’t think sure will be possible. Willing, maybe.”

  “That’s all you need. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  We stood up and shook hands. Calloway looked over his shoulder as he left and turned back up the path toward Connecticut Avenue.

  I sat back on the bench and waited for Gina Logan to return. The snow began to fall before she sat down. Large, soft flakes that melted on your tongue.

  Gina shivered. “I hate snow,” she informed me.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Couldn’t see anybody following him. But I’m not the best in the world at surveillance. He could have been there. What did you two talk about?”

  “About how to turn things around on Mr. Silverman. He’s thinking it over. If he agrees, the next step is yours. You’ll be setting your client up. You ready for that?”

  “It’s like you said, once he lied to me and used me, all bets were off. How will I set him up?”

  “You’ll call him back, ask if he’s talked to his attorney yet. You were concerned because you hadn’t heard. He’ll give you some line of shit. Then you tell him that if he wants to establish a pattern of infidelity that you know where they’ll be this Friday night.”

  “And where is that?”

  “I don’t know yet. If Calloway goes for it, I’ll ask the woman if she and Silverman had any special spot, someplace meaningful to him, or an activity they did together, anything that’ll yank his chain. You’ll tell him that’s where they’ll be.”

  “And how do I know this? I’m off the case, remember?”

  “Yeah, but you overheard them talking about it in the restaurant last week when you were sitting behind them at the bar.”

  “Isn’t this getting a bit risky, provoking him like that?”

  “Yeah, but it’s the only way to make sure he comes out of his hole. I want to be calling the shots, not him. That’s the best way to get him off the streets for a while. We’ll give him a reason to want to violate his restraining order and the opportunity, then we’ll drop a net over him.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “That’s where Rick Stone comes in.” I looked down at the snow starting to cover the sidewalk. The zoo was emptying out rapidly.

  “And?”

  “Oh, uh don’t worry about that. If we get that far, I’ll tell you all about it.” The bears were up shuffling from one side of the cage to the other, their heads bobbing to pick out scents of interest.

  “You know, you’re doing a lot more than just helping me fix a mistake. You’re trying to help put Silverman away and Stone, too. Why?”

  “Just tying up loose ends. Old business. Rick Stone’s needed fixing for a long time. This may be my one chance to do it. I want to make the most of it.” I drifted away on an ice floe of memory, until her voice harpooned me.

  “Listen, I’m going to go, okay. It’s getting worse by the minute here. You’ll call if anything comes up?”

  “Sure. I want to thank you.”

  “What for?” she said, standing up and stamping her feet.

  “Your problem has given me an opportunity to set some things right. I’ve waited a long time for this chance. I’m grateful.”

  Gina shook her head. “I’m not sure I like the way this is going. Do I want to know what’s with you and Rick Stone?”

  “No. You don’t. Go on home. It’s snowing. I’ll call you.”

  Gina brushed her graying hair and hunched into the wind, moved carefully across the slick sidewalk, testing each step before taking another.

  Well, Rick, this might just be my lucky day. The sun was going down and the light was seeping out of the slate sky. The air got colder and the snow fell faster. Do you ever think about Helen Burroughs? I think about her a lot, Rick. Especially that last night. I’d watched her in the bar, plenty of nights, just like you did. That was the job. Just watch her. Keep a log of how much she drank, how long she sat there. God, she was sad. All dressed up, hoping she was still pretty, and afraid to find out. How many guys did she turn down? Three, four a night.

  That last night she had what, sixteen beers. No, that wasn’t pretty at all. No way I could let her drive like that. I didn’t have to pick her up, just hold her up. So there I am, at her front door, one arm around her waist, trying to hold her up while one of her breasts pops out of her top and I’m missing the keyhole like the porch is a North Sea oil rig.

  When did you get the bright idea to call Mr. Burroughs? When I told you I was going to make sure she got home alive or after I left?

  There you were, video rolling, lights, action, camera. Shouting at Mr. Burroughs. He was a welcome addition, going on like a thesaurus with one entry: whore, see the following. And then I hear you over it all. “I told you he couldn’t be trusted, Mr. Burroughs. He lied about how much she drank and this is why.”

  You couldn’t stop there though. No, why settle for a banality like winning a case when you can reach the sublime like ruining a life? I don’t know whose face was more awful, hers when she saw him there, or his watching her collapse in a heap, clutching at my pants leg with one hand, trying to tuck her breast back in its mooring and throwing up in long yellow threads.

  He was eight years old, Rick. A little young for such a complicated lesson, don’t you think? That clinched it though. Divorce and custody hammered through without a whimper, much less a fight, from Helen Burroughs. The boy was too angry and she too ashamed to make the few visits work. You got a nice bonus, I got the boot, and seven months later Helen Burroughs, blood alcohol level .19, got a physics lesson in the rapid deceleration of deformable bodies at the base of the Springfield off-ramp. She did not pass.

  I don’t know about you, Rick, but I think about Helen Burroughs a lot. And about how you used to say we were friends.

  I stood up, shook the snow loose, and shuffled off.

  At the subway, an old man talking to himself invited me to referee. I listened for a minute and declared it a draw. This pleased him so much he asked if I could help him get something warm inside him to keep the cold away. He had the fuel located and held for him. All he needed was the money to liberate it.

  His face was so lined and creased and seamed that if he had to blow his nose you thought he’d just wad up his face, do it, and then pat his features back into place.

  There was a time I’d have brushed the old man off like a tick, thinking to myself, get a job, get a life, get away from me. Now that I’ve come to expect less of myself, I’ve extended the courtesy to others. Not compassion, just an allergy to hypocrisy.

  I gave the old man five bucks to ransom himself for a night. Perhaps tomorrow he could aim higher.

  I stopped off at Skyline and swam enough laps to leave me defenseless against sleep, then drove home to see if I could find it.

  My answering machine had one message on it. Calloway had talked to Tara McKinney. Tara was interested in my plan, would I give them a call tonight or tomorrow to discuss it in detail. Women can stiffen a man up in more ways than one. Tonight was too much, tomorrow would do. I scribbled down the number and went to bed.

  I called Calloway around eight.

  “So, you’ve decided to take me up on my offer.”

  “I don’t see how we have any choice. You’re right, he won’t go away, he won’t abide by the law. It’s really crazy, you know. You start out trying to decide if you even want a relationship and the next thing you know, you’re imprisoned by their lunacy for life.”

  “Can you give me Tara McKinney’s phone number?”

  “Don’t nee
d to. She’s right here. Hold on.”

  “Hello, this is Tara.”

  “Ms. McKinney, my name is Leo Haggerty. I’m the man who spoke to Stanley Calloway about Silverman.”

  “Yes. We talked about it last night. I think you’re right. He won’t leave me alone and I’m tired of being afraid all the time. If your plan will get him out of my life, I’m all for it.”

  “I think it will. The new stalking laws in Virginia call for a minimum sentence of a year and a twenty-five-hundred-dollar fine since he’s already got a judgment against him. Once that lapses the sentence is six months. Now is as good a time as any to go after him.”

  “What are you proposing that we do?”

  “Very simply, provoke him into making contact with you. Then have him arrested. The important thing is to provoke him into an attempt to harm you or Mr. Calloway but not let him be successful.”

  “How do you plan to do that?”

  “First off, we’d have a bodyguard with you to intervene. Second, we’d set up the place and control the location so the ways that Mr. Silverman can approach you are limited, the ways he can do harm are limited. Third, we’d probably have you wearing body armor as a precaution.”

  “Can’t you use a stand-in for us?”

  “No. The stalking would hold only if you’re there. That just requires his acting in a way that leaves you fearing for your safety. I don’t want him to try to harm you. I’d like to intervene before then.”

  “Okay. So how do we provoke him?”

  “Did you and he have any place special you went, anything you did together that would be especially infuriating if you did it with someone else?”

  “You know, I’ve avoided every place we ever went together because all it does is bring back painful memories.”

  “That was probably a wise decision.”

  “I guess the first place he ever took me out. He said it was his favorite restaurant because of how well they treated him there. ‘Like a king,’ he said. He went there to celebrate all his successes, he said.”

  “What was the name?”

  “Simon’s.”

  A pretender to Morton’s crown as the king of steak houses. However, the meat wasn’t as good and the service, unlike Morton’s, was intrusive and humorless.

  “That’s a good place to go. The parking lot is large, open, and well lit. I doubt that he’d try anything inside the restaurant. Too hard to get away without being seen, especially if he’s known to them. No. I’d guess he’d do something to you or your car in the lot. What has he done to you already?”

  “You mean before we broke up or after?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, when we first went out, there were calls and hangups at all hours of the night, driving by to see if I was home. At first he said it was because he couldn’t believe that a girl like me would go out with him or fall for him. I tried to reassure him that I liked him, that I was sincere.”

  “But it didn’t work.” It never does.

  “No, it didn’t. Pretty soon I got tired of it. The jealousy when we were out, looking at other men to see if they were looking at me. Then it got plain crazy, not letting me go to the bathroom without waiting outside. I said that was it. I quit, thanks but no thanks. Joel wouldn’t hear of it. I couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let me. He loved me. The farther away I tried to get, the more he distorted the relationship. That was what really scared me. The less he meant to me, the more I meant to him. His phone calls got more threatening. He sent me hate letters. I changed my phone number. He went to my work and harassed my co-workers about me. That was when I went to the police. My trash was dumped all over my lawn. A dead squirrel was put in my mailbox, so I got a post office box. My car had all the tires punctured and acid poured all over the body. I had to buy a new car. My heat pump was ruined when he poured cement into the fan housing. He ran the garden hose into my dryer vent and flooded the basement. My telephone lines were cut twice, my outside lights had the bulbs removed. I had security cameras installed. That’s what caught him when he came up and sprayed graffiti on my house. I tried to sell the house but the agents said no one would buy for fear that Joel wouldn’t quit and no one wanted to deal with him. I felt cursed, absolutely cursed. I was afraid to leave my house. I was afraid of what I’d find when I got home. He parked in the neighborhood and followed me to work. He’d drive up alongside and get almost to where he’d sideswipe me, then he’d pull in front of me and hit the brakes. I had to stop driving to work for a while and get picked up by a car pool. Then he started leaving messages and mail for me at work. He ordered pizzas for everyone in my name. Magazine subscriptions. Anything you can order without paying for it came to the office. He was relentless. Thank God my employer was on my side. He filed complaints with the police, too. I was a basket case. I couldn’t sleep. I was taking antidepressants and anti-anxiety pills. My job performance fell off. I lost a raise I should have gotten; I almost lost my job.

  “I got the police to keep an eye out for him in my neighborhood. Then I told all my neighbors about him and what he was doing. That helped cut down on the vandalism. People yelled at him when they saw him a couple of times.

  “I wasn’t able to do anything. I couldn’t relax. I just went to work and then went home. I had girlfriends come by to visit or I’d go to their houses, but they were scared, too.

  “There was a time when things quieted down for a while. I don’t know why. I thought he’d gotten it out of his system. It was quiet for months. I started going out a little bit. I met Stan. We started going out together. Then wham he’s back. Now I wonder if he was out of town on a job.”

  “What does he do?”

  “You’ll love this. What better place for a paranoid. He does security work. He’s a private consultant designing secure communications systems for industry and government. He told me that he got jobs out of the country that take months to do.”

  “He’s threatened you and done a lot of damage to your property. Did he ever hurt you physically?”

  “No. Joel never hit me when we were together. He hasn’t really had an opportunity since then.”

  “Does he own a gun, or did he ever talk about having used one?”

  “No. I never saw one. And he never talked about guns with me.”

  The guy had no history of direct physical confrontation or violence, at least not with this woman. Plenty of damage to her property, but he hadn’t broken in yet.

  “Other than the squirrel, anything else killed? A pet?”

  “No. I don’t have any pets.”

  The guy likes to destroy things, when no one’s looking. A bomb under the car would be his style. Poison in the food? Better not let them eat in the restaurant. If he doesn’t make his play in the parking lot, have them come out of the restaurant after fifteen minutes and go home. Try again another day.

  “Here’s what I propose.” I ran through my plans for Silverman and Rick Stone, covering all of my goals, most of my doubts, and some of my motives.

  Tara McKinney and Stan Calloway agreed to my plan and I asked them to meet me at my office at ten o’clock. I called Gina Logan and asked her to join us to complete our preparations.

  Kelly showed Stanley and Tara in. I introduced them to Gina Logan. Gina apologized to them. They dismissed it saying they knew how easily Silverman could fool people. They sat around my desk. I motioned to the coffeepot on the sideboard but they declined. I had two phones on my desk. Speaker phones change the sound of your voice and would alert Rick and Silverman.

  “First, I want you, Tara, to call Rick Stone. Let’s get him committed to this case, then we’ll call Joel Silverman. Do you remember the scenario we outlined last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep listening in on this other phone. If he asks you a question you can’t answer or wants to change the plan, I’ll write you a note with what to say to him. Ready?”

  “Let’s go.” She picked up the phone and dialed. I already had t
he receiver to my ear.

  “Excalibur Investigations. Rick Stone speaking.”

  “Yes, Mr. Stone, my name is Sarah Maginnes and you were referred to me by a friend, actually a friend of a friend. She said you did a great job for her and that you were the man I needed …”

  Gina stuck her finger down her throat.

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Oh, her name is CeCe, that’s short for Cecilia Rodriguez, but it was a friend of hers that gave me your name.”

  “And what can I do for you?”

  “I, well, my husband and I are going out for our anniversary dinner tomorrow and I’ve been getting some obscene phone calls at my home and office. This guy says he’s been watching me and following me. They’ve got me really frightened. My husband suggested some security so that when we went out I’d be able to relax. I don’t want the evening to be ruined. I don’t know … do you think we’re overreacting, Mr. Stone?”

  “No, no. You know what I always say, better to be safe than sorry. I’d take care of something like this personally, ma’am. Invisible protection, you’d never know I was there. Satisfaction guaranteed. You and your husband would have the time of your lives. Afterward we could talk about installing some security devices to catch this creep and prosecute him.”

  Tara looked at me. I mouthed “Good idea.”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me, Mr. Stone. You know I feel better just talking to you. You sound so confident.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t believe in false modesty. Let me assure you, I’m the best there is, at what I do.”

  My head slumped onto my chest.

  “Now where is this anniversary party and what time?”

  “Simon’s Restaurant at 7 p.m. this Friday.”

  “All right, when can you and your husband—or you yourself, if he’s not available—come by my office to discuss my ideas for security for the evening?”

  “I could come by this morning, if that’s okay with you?”

  “That would be perfect. Do you know where my office is?”