Part 4 (2/2)

”Past lives, like reincarnation,” Faith said. I could tell from the tone of her voice that she realized how bizarre I thought this sounded. ”I know its pretty unusual, but you really need to talk to Dr. Dorin. Sh.e.l.l explain it. Its not really that eccentric, I promise.”

As I wrote down the doctors name and phone number, I thought that this just might be the oddest case of my career. If it werent for that bruise Dr. Joe showed me, by now I would have agreed with H.P.D.s conclusion and written the whole thing off. It didnt help my mood any when Faith said she had something else she wanted to tell me.

”This is the first evening since Billies death that six oclock came and went and nothing unusual happened,” she said. ”I think its because she knows youre going to help us.”

”Ill do my best, Faith,” I said. ”But please remember, in the end it may turn out that H.P.D. is right, and your sisters death is a suicide.”

Thinking about how much I would have liked it if Bill had dropped in to leave messages after his death, then shrugging off even the thought that that was possible, I hung up the telephone, and went into the living room to check on Maggie. She wasnt there, but I knew where to find her. I walked out to the shed, and there she was, in her soft flannel nightgown, slumped down in one of the old metal chairs, in a light sleep. I peeked in on Emma Lou, who slept peacefully in her temporary home. Confident that, at least for now, all was well, I nudged Maggie a bit, whispered her name, and she woke up. We were past the point where I could carry her. She opened her eyes, and I walked her down the hill. As we approached the house, she caught another glimpse of the Christmas light dream catcher over the gate, with Mom and Bobby still standing beneath it.

”It really is beautiful, Mom. Just like the stars,” Maggie said. She smiled, and then cuddled against me for the rest of the walk into the house.

Eight.

Ca.s.sidy Collinss heart pounded so hard as she walked onto the stage, she worried it might rivet its way through her chest. She used to look forward to performances, but now they filled her with an acute dread, an overriding foreboding. Ive got to pull it together, she thought. I cant let this perv get to me.

Oblivious to her plight, all around her the San Diego audience cheered, called out to her, a sea of strangers that intensified her fears. Were they, as they appeared, simply a throng of parents, daughters, and sons? Were they all there just to have a good time? Or had something else brought one spectator to the concert?

He could be out there, she thought. He could be watching.

The tempo built, hard and solid, the music pulsing around her, and Ca.s.sidy concentrated on the beat, trying to ease her disquiet. The stage was her territory, where she felt the most alive. Im not going to let some dude with an overblown ego ruin this for me, she thought. He wont try anything, not here, not now, not with all these people watching. That creep wouldnt dare.

Behind her the band kicked into a hard-rocking number, and Ca.s.sidy relied on instinct for the dance moves that maneuvered her across the stage. In the audience, a girl in the front row reached up toward her, holding a red rose. Ca.s.sidy bent down to take it. As her hand closed around the stem, a searing pain pierced her palm. Four more dance steps and as she began the songs second verse, she threw the rose back into the audience, where a heaving patchwork of bodies rushed forward to catch it. Still singing, she glanced at her hand and saw red, a b.l.o.o.d.y smudge. She needed to be more careful. Leave the roses and take the daisies, she thought. Remember the thorns.

Per the routine, the dancers shadowed the superstar stage right, and she spun and fell back into a web of their bodies. They held her up by her extended arms, an ear-to-ear smile resolutely anch.o.r.ed on her face. Her hand throbbed and tears formed in her eyes, but from the audience, Ca.s.sidy appeared to be exhilarated by the excitement of being on stage.

In truth, she couldnt get him out of her mind.

Five rows back, she thought she saw a glint in the audience, something bright. She wondered if it could be a knife, and if the hand holding it belonged to Argus. It pa.s.sed quickly. Silly, she decided. Probably just one of those battery-operated fans, the ones with the whirly bird tips that light.

She shook it off.

Calm down, she thought. I have to relax before I drive myself crazy.

As the evening wore on, she sang, danced, and fought back waves of anxiety. Until, nearly an hour into the concert, after the fourth costume change, Ca.s.sidy realized she had only fifteen minutes left on stage. The concert was nearly over. For the first time that day, she began to loosen up. One more concert and nothing had happened. Im freaking myself out for no reason, she thought. This creep just gets off scaring people. If so, she a.s.sured herself, Argus had picked on the wrong girl. Life had fed Collins more than her share of pain, and shed always survived. She needed to take it one day at a time, and before long the stalker would be nothing more than a bad memory.

Suddenly, her in-ear monitor went dead, quiet.

Ca.s.sidy turned and looked at Jake, the audio guy, off in the wings, and saw him frantically search the sound mixer, flipping switches. The lights had all gone out, and nothing was working. He looked up at her and shook his head. Not a clue, he seemed to be saying.

Then, as unexpectedly as it clicked off, the equipment flicked back on. Dancing and singing her way across the stage, Ca.s.sidy trembled with relief. It was nothing, she chastised herself, a computer glitch.

Shaking it off, she sang as the dancers formed a circle around her for the songs finale. Ca.s.sidy moved into place, and the muscular young men dropped to their knees. Four grabbed her by her calves and thighs, lifting her up, until two moved beneath her and slipped her onto their shoulders. Ca.s.sidy thrust her arms up into a triumphant ”V” and belted out the final refrain, just as again, without warning, her in-ear monitor went stone silent.

As the dancers walked the stage, displaying her in front of more than twenty thousand screaming fans, Ca.s.sidys monitor snapped back on. Rather than music, she heard a voice, an unfamiliar voice.

”Im here,” he taunted, mocking her. He let lose a thick-throated laugh, and then whispered, ”Im here, and Ive come for you.”

Nine.

Theres no doubt about it: its easier to work one case at a time than balance multiple investigations. If I ever meet a cop who routinely has the luxury of focusing entirely on a single case, Im going to leave the rangers and sign on with her department, whether its Detroit, Miami, or Sacramento. So far, I sure havent been that lucky. That is, unless Im in crisis mode, like last year on the Lucas case. Thats different. But on your average day I work two, often three cases. Then there are the files sent in from across the state, the ones that pile up on my desk, waiting to be reviewed. Not to mention the cold cases, those Ive never been able to solve. Some nights, one or another wakes me up in a sweat, reminding me that I havent given the victims justice. Its a juggling act, trying not to let any case fall, afraid the one I drop is the one that takes me down. I love my work, but Id only been back on the job a day, and it was already getting wild.

Thats what I was thinking sitting in the Rice University Police office waiting for Sergeant Jim Herald. Emma Lou and I had both slept peacefully the prior night, not a blip on the baby-now-turned-horse monitor. Doc figured this was day number 299 of her pregnancy. Anything over three hundred and the foal had a chance. Aware that I had a full day ahead, I got up early, checked on the pinto, and then called Sergeant Herald to tell him Id be dropping by. If Faith was right and her dead sister was keeping tabs on me, for the time being Billie c.o.x was just going to have to trust that Id get back to her. Right now, Ca.s.sidy Collins and her stalker had my undivided attention.

Id asked Herald to get an update on our prime suspect, Justin Peterson, from his professor, and to find out where the piano protege was on the night Argus was in the audience in Las Vegas. Afterward, I planned a knock and talk. Id knock on Petersons door and talk my way in. The truth is that I didnt have nearly enough probable cause to get a search warrant, but I wanted a look inside his apartment. You can tell a lot about folks from the way they live.

At least that was the plan.

Fifteen minutes later than wed agreed, Sergeant Herald, a tall, angular man with hollow cheeks and a precisely cut brown flattop, walked in the door and guided me to his cubicle. Wed barely begun talking when my cell phone rang. I noticed the 213 area code, Los Angeles, and realized it was near dawn on the West Coast. This wasnt going to be good news.

”Argus was at Ca.s.sidys concert last night,” Barron said. ”You have to do something, Lieutenant Armstrong.”

”Let me talk to her,” a young female voice shouted in the background. ”Theyre not taking this seriously. I want this perv stopped, now!”

”Im working on it, Ca.s.sie,” Barron said. ”Ill get it done!”

”Get real, Rick. Youve been handling this, okay, and what have you done to stop this creep?” the voice demanded. ”Give me that stupid phone. From now on, I talk to the cops.”

Barron must have handed over the telephone, for the next thing the girl said was directly to me, ”I want you to take care of this Peterson jerk for real. Get him the h.e.l.l out of my face. You got that, cop?”

”Who are you?” I asked.

”Ca.s.sidy Collins, Lady Cop,” she said. ”And like I said, its like . . . this is it, you know? No more excuses. You need to arrest this jerk now.”

”My name is Lieutenant Sarah Armstrong, and Im a Texas Ranger,” I said. ”If youll just explain to me what happened last night, perhaps I can help you.”

”Rick told you. That Peterson guy showed up again, this time while I was onstage in front of twenty-thousand kids. All of a sudden the dude talks into my ear monitor. He was laughing and stuff, threatening me,” she said. ”You need to stop him, now. No excuses. I want this guy gone.”

This case wasnt going to be easy, and it sure wasnt turning out to be fun. ”Did Mr. Barron call San Diego P.D.?” I asked. ”Did you file a report?”

”Weve filed enough paper to supply the johns in Caesars Palace. Ask me if it helped. It didnt,” she said. ”Ive had it with this dude. I cant go to bed without figuring hes outside my window. I just bought the hottest red Porsche, but I cant drive it without a bodyguard because this Argus dude could follow me. You getting this, cop? You understand?”

”Yes. I understand. And one more time, my name is Lieutenant Armstrong,” I said. It shouldnt have mattered, but this was one irritating sixteen-year-old.

”Whatever. I dont care what your name is, Lady Cop. All I care about is that you catch this dude. Give him one of those lethal injections you Texans are so good at, and get the h.e.l.l rid of him.”

There were things this kid was going to have to understand. ”Despite stalking not being a death sentence offense, I recognize your need to find and stop this man,” I said. ”So tell me everything that happened last night, and maybe instead of attempting to bully me, you can help me figure out how to stop him.”

The kid balked some, but got over my ”dissing” her. By the time I hung up, I was not only convinced that when I returned to the ranch that night I would burn every one of Maggies Ca.s.sidy Collins CDs, but also that the ill-mannered pop star had more than enough justification to be frightened. It had to be unsettling to be up on a stage in front of thousands of strangers and hear someone whisper threats in your ear. His final words were enough to haunt anyone: ”You will die.”

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