The Dark Horse - lanyon Josh - Страница 20
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«Okay,» Steve said doubtfully. «Maybe I'll wait to tell Bruce 'til you talk to Dan, though.» «Tell Bruce I'm in,» I said tersely. «I'll deal with Dan.»
«Uh, sure, sure. But call me after you talk to him. I just … want to make sure you're –well, just call me.» «I'll call you.»
I hung up and went downstairs. «I need some fresh air,» I told Markowitz. «I want to go for a run on the beach.» «Not a good idea,» he said. «You'll be with me. I'll be fine. I can't stay cooped up here all day.»
«Easiest thing in the world for someone to take you out with a scope and a high-powered rifle.» Maria dropped a cup on the granite countertop.
The smash of china barely registered. I said, «This guy doesn't want to take me out long-distance, or he'd have done it days ago. Whatever he's planning, it's going to be personal delivery.»
I waited for Markowitz to deliver his verdict. Waited to see if I was, in fact, already in protective custody. Markowitz considered. He shrugged. «You're the boss.»
Wobbly with relief, I went upstairs, changed into running shoes, met Markowitz on the deck.
«Here's the deal,» he said. «If anything happens – and I mean anything – you go into the water. You go out as far as you safely can, and you stay there until I give the all clear.» I nodded, doing a few warming lunges, while I listened.
«If you hear me whistle-« He paused to whistle once, sharply. «Same deal. You go into the water and wait there.» I nodded and took off running.
It felt good to give my anger this physical release. I needed time and I needed distance before I confronted Dan. I didn't want to overreact. I realized that whatever he had said to Steve had been said out of concern for me. He cared for me; I didn't doubt that for a moment.
He wanted to shield me-whether from a bullet or a breakdown. He had been hired to protect me. So it would be a little ungrateful to be angry at him for doing that very thing now, especially since he felt he had a personal stake in my well-being.
My feet pounded the sand, my muscles burned. I ran faster, stretching out, trying to out– distance the thing I couldn't possibly outrun. I was afraid I was losing it; so why did Dan's fear feel like such a betrayal? Why did I expect him to have faith in me when I didn't have faith in myself? Sweat stung my eyes. I slowed, stopped. Wiped my face with my sweatshirt front.
Markowitz was huffing and puffing a few yards behind, keeping an unhappy eye on the hillside above us. I realized that I was making his job a lot harder than it had to be.
I could imagine what Dan would have to stay about this stunt. He'd probably program the guys in the white coats into speed dial.
«I'm starting back,» I called. Markowitz nodded, his relief plain, although I thought that was more about his heart exploding than my safety. Turning, I started back toward the house at a lope.
Why the hell did I care so much what Dan thought? Dan had been wrong. Twice. He had been wrong about there being no threat to my safety, and he was wrong about me. Maybe I wasn't as calm and courageous as he'd be if someone was stalking him, but I wasn't losing my grip on reality. I was still operational, still firing on most of my cylinders.
For the first time I considered what would happen if I did collapse again. Would my parents be made my legal guardians? God help me. Or would I be placed in some kind of conservatorship? I'd been focused for so long on staying well and strong that the possibility had never occurred to me. I remembered Steve's joke about my will. Not so funny, really.
I took the steps to the deck fast, went inside, not hearing whatever Maria said to me, and headed upstairs to Dan's office.
I told myself it was my house and I had a right to search for anything I felt I needed to search for – but it still felt about one step lower than Bunny spiking Ralph's drinks in The Charioteer. I opened the top drawer of Dan's desk; it wasn't locked and I felt another stab of shame. Either he had nothing to hide or he trusted me to respect his privacy.
What had he said about having a few trust issues of his own? I guess the soup du jour was betrayal all around.
I shuffled briefly through his mail. A couple of utility bills and a credit card statement. I scanned the charges. Nothing ominous – although I winced at the small fortune he'd paid for that Ella Fitzgerald record. I told myself I should drop it right then and there.
Instead I opened the deep side drawer and hit pay dirt. Inside the drawer was a large clear plastic bag containing postcards. My hand shook as I lifted it out. Three postcards. I turned the bag over. In Paul Hammond's spidery writing were the usual threats: You'll be sorry; I haven't forgotten; and, chillingly, Time is up.
Paul Hammond's hand and this week's postmark. But Hammond was dead. Had been dead for over two weeks now. Cold sweat broke out over my body.
Dan could have shot Lenny Norman believing he was helping me out, removing an obstacle from my path. Norman had been killed by a 9 mm and Dan carried a 9 mm. Nausea welled in my throat. But then reason reasserted itself. Dan had been home with me Monday night.
And if Dan was my stalker, he would certainly have locked this drawer. And more to the point, if he was stalking me, he'd have made sure I got the cards. Not much point in hiding them from me if he were the one trying to terrorize me. In this five seconds Sean isn't the best judge of what he needs.
Sick horror gave way to rage. He had hidden these cards from me, and whatever his reason had been, he'd no right to do such a thing. He had lied to me. Pretended there was no threat. Allowed me to believe that it was all in my head. He had withheld evidence.
I sat down at his desk and picked up the phone. I dialed his cell. He answered right away. «Chief.»
He sounded so normal. Like he was simply glad to hear from me and hadn't a secret in the world. I had to steady my voice before I could get the words out. «Can you come home?» «What's wrong?» «I need to talk to you.»
«Where's Markowitz? Is everything all right?» «Everything's fine. When can you get here?» He did some mental calculations. «It'll take me about an hour.» «I'll see you in an hour,» I said and hung up. * * * * * He was home in fifty-five minutes.
Lost in thought, I was startled when I heard the front door. Heard Dan's deep tones and Maria's lighter ones. Heard his footsteps on the stairs, coming down the hall. He started to walk past his office, then looked inside. He seemed puzzled to find me sitting at his desk. «What are you doing in here? What's going on?» «You tell me.» He looked confused. Not guilty. Not wary. Just confused. «What's wrong?»
«I had a talk with Steve. He said they've found a new director for The Charioteer, and if I want the part of Laurie, it's mine.» Dan's blue eyes studied my face. «So that's good news, right?» «Yeah, I guess. Do you think I'm well enough to take the part?» He said slowly, «Do you think you're well enough?» «Yes. I do.» He considered me for a long moment. «Then what's the problem?» «Did you tell Steve that I wasn't well enough to work?» «Hell, no.»
That caught me off guard. I didn't expect him to lie about it. I expected him to simply say what he obviously thought, that I needed to be locked up in a psych ward as soon as conveniently possible. «You didn't tell him that I was emotionally fragile?»
His face changed. «I might have asked him to go easy on fanning your fears about Paul Hammond.» «You used the term 'emotionally fragile'?»
«I may have,» his tone was guarded – obviously not wanting to rile the maniac too much.
«Did you tell Steve that the two of you should try to convince me to check myself into UCLA's Neuropsychiatric Hospital?» «Huh?» He looked utterly taken aback. «Of course not.» «You didn't try to get Steve to pull an intervention with you?» «Are you serious?»
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