Sandman (15 page)

Thomas leaned forward in his chair. Wyatt had mentioned their guy had a problem with authority.

“When was this?”

“Oh, years ago.”

His senses tingled. “Do you remember his name?

“Jordan something, I could have someone look him up in the personnel files if you think it would help.”

“Please.”

Roxanne pushed a button on her phone. “Ginger, get me everything you can find on a guy named Jordan that used to work in the warehouse about five, maybe six years ago. I’m sorry but I don’t remember his last name.” She turned her attention back to the detectives.

Shadowhawk pulled the snapshots from her pocket and handed them across the desk. “What can you tell us about these?”

Roxanne’s eyes grew wide. Her mouth dropped open. “What the hell!” She scrutinized each photo.

The secretary walked in and laid the file on Roxanne’s desk.

“Thank you, Ginger.” Roxanne’s eyes never left the pictures in her hand.

The secretary hesitated.

Roxanne glanced up. “I’m okay, you can go.”

The secretary waited a beat, then turned around and closed the door behind her.

“I don’t understand. Where did you find these?”

“Hidden in her room. Very
well
hidden, I might add,” Shadowhawk answered.

“But why would she take these? What were they for?”

“That’s what we were hoping you could tell us.”

Roxanne stared at the last photo of her friend, topless. At last she handed them back with a pained expression. “I have no idea. They’re so out of character for her.”

“One more question,” Thomas said. “Do you know
anything regarding Cindy’s involvement with a chat room called Mystery Lovers of America? More importantly, did she ever mention a person who called himself The Dark Knight?”

“Cindy may have mentioned the website, I don’t know. But she never mentioned this Dark Knight. That I would’ve remembered. She did get into the internet pretty heavily at one time though.”

“When was that?”

She stared up at the ceiling as if trying to remember, then looked back at Thomas before she answered. “About a month before her death. I remember one day she appeared tired. She had dark circles under her eyes. When I asked her about it she said she’d been staying up late on the computer. I thought she meant surfing the net. Do you think her killer was someone she met online?”

“It’s possible. We really don’t know,” Thomas said, then turned toward Shadowhawk. “Can you think of anything else you’d like to ask?”

“Not really.”

Thomas glanced back at Roxanne. “Then if you could just give us what you can on this Jordan, we’ll get out of your hair.”

Roxanne copied the information from the file onto a piece of paper and handed it to Thomas. He slipped it into his pocket and stood.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hanover.” He shook her hand, then reached into his pocket. “Here’s my card in case you think of anything else. Please don’t hesitate or try to analyze whether it’s important or not. Anything, no matter how small, might help.”

They were back in the car before Shadowhawk spoke. “It looks like no one really knew our vic.”

“Yeah, and now we have two possible suspects. First this mysterious Dark Knight, then Jordan what’s-his-name.” He looked down at the piece of paper he’d been given. “Roberts, Jordan Edward Roberts. Call that number and see if it’s any good. If so, see if we can come right over.” He handed the paper to her and listened while she struck out.

“The lady who answered says she’s never heard of him.”

“Okay, you get internet on that thing?” He pointed to her phone.

“Yeah, why?”

“Check out every Roberts in the Bay Area.” He started the car and put the last known address for Jordan Roberts into his GPS. They were going to Oakland.

By the time they arrived, Shadowhawk had called every Roberts in the area to no avail. They got out of the car and walked across the street to an old Victorian house that had been split into apartments.

They knocked on the door to apartment C and were greeted by an African American man built like a linebacker. He informed them he had been living there for three years and suggested that they talk with the landlady across the hall.

After knocking on her door, they waited a few minutes for a response. When none came, they started back down the steps that led to the building. A woman came around from the side of the house carrying a hose. She looked to be in her mid-sixties, wearing a bib apron and curlers in her hair.

Thomas showed his ID and made the introductions.

“What do you want?” An air of caution in her voice.

“How long have you been the landlady here, ma’am?”

“Forty years. My late husband, Dick, and I converted this place into apartments after we were married. Why?”

“Do you remember a tenant by the name of Jordan Roberts? He lived here a few years ago.”

“Why, yes. He and his buddy had a hard time paying the rent. I gave them some leeway because Jordan was such a sweet boy, but after three months I had to evict them.

“Even after he got the notice, Jordan was so sweet and apologetic. He was always making excuses for that friend of his. I wished he would give that guy the heave-ho, but what do you do, he wasn’t
my
son. But I will tell you this, whatever you think he’s done, it wasn’t him, it was probably that good-for-nothing Charlie guy that moved in,” she said with disgust.

“We just had a few questions regarding a case we’re working on. You wouldn’t happen to have a forwarding address, would you?” He asked.

“Nope. I have no idea what happened to him after he left here.” The hose she was holding was still running. She’d flooded a good portion of the lawn, and the excess water was running toward the street.

“Do you happen to know this Charlie’s last name?”

“Nope,” she said quickly. “Jordan was who I rented the apartment to. That jerk showed up later and stayed. Jordan told me he had just come for a visit, that he would be moving on, but he never did. That was his downfall I tell you, that Charlie didn’t work, never left the apartment. Jordan was supporting them both. That’s why he couldn’t pay the rent!” Her voice rose with the last word.

They thanked the landlady for her time. Once in the car Thomas asked, “What do you think?”

“The guy sounds like every psycho you’ve ever read about. nice guy, kept to himself,” Shadowhawk said. “But then again, you could describe the vic the same way. Still waters run deep and all that crap,” she answered.

While they sat at a signal waiting for it to turn green, Thomas took out his cell phone and dialed a number. It was after six o’clock, and he prayed she’d still be there.

“This is Thomas, is Johnson still around?”

“Johnson,” said the voice on the other end.

“Thank God you’re still there. This is Thomas and I need you to look up some information for me.”

“Where else would I be? You don’t
actually
think I have a life, do you? That bastard Brewster made me stay late. I told him he was shit out of luck; I had a concert to go to. But just as I was shutting down my computer, I get a call from the captain. So now I’m going to miss the Nine Inch Nails concert!” Her anger seeped through the phone.

“Oh. Sorry.” Thomas replied. He heard a sigh on the other end, then her voice came back softer, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take it out on you. What can I do for you, Thomas?”

“I really need you to check the DMV computer for a Jordan Edward Roberts, age thirty, birthday June sixth. Last known address, Oakland, California. But that was over five years ago.”

“I’ll have it in a jiff. Do you want to hold, or should I call you back?”

“Call me on my cell. Thanks.” Thomas and Shadowhawk went to the Merritt coffee shop and ate while they rehashed everything they had learned that day. Thomas had a hard time focusing; he was anxious to hear from Johnson. His phone rang as he paid at the cash register.

“I found your Jordan Roberts,” Johnson said. “You are so not going to believe where he lives.” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Laguna Niguel.”

“No shit.” Then he turned to Shadowhawk who stood nearby. “This guy’s looking better and better by the minute.” He pulled out his pad and pen. “Okay, give me that address.” He wrote it down as she recited it to him.

“Thanks
,
Johnson. And I’m sorry about the concert.”

“No sweat. I’m taking off now. Maybe I’ll catch a little Trent Reznor before he finishes.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She ended the call.

“This guy lives in Orange County.”

“Holy crap.” Her eyebrows raised. “Coincidence?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

TWENTY-SIX

The following evening Meagan rushed to her answering machine as soon as she arrived home to see if Drew had called. There were no messages at all. Her hopes dashed, she went to her room and changed her clothes.

He had dominated her thoughts all day. It wasn’t just the memory of their long kiss goodnight, nor the beautiful flowers he’d sent, but that she was anxious to hear how his meeting went with the record label. Given how he talked last night, it could mean a lot to the future of their relationship. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

Meagan had just settled on the couch with a bowl of Cheerios when the phone rang. She jumped up, spilling the cereal, and rushed to get it. “Hello?” She waited for Drew to answer. Instead she was greeted by dead air.

“Hello!” Meagan yelled into the phone, in case the person on the other end was deaf as well as mute. “Damn!” She slammed the extension back in its cradle. She’d been too excited by the prospect of Drew’s call to check the caller ID before picking it up. She’d try to remember next time.

She cleaned up the soggy mess, and decided to go to bed since she had lost her appetite. She had just finished brushing her teeth when the phone rang again. She ran into the living room and retrieved the phone from the coffee table. This time she looked at the readout before answering. It read
Out of the Area
. It must be Drew, she thought. “Hello.”

All that answered her was silence.

“Son-of-a-B! Listen, creep, my boyfriend’s a sheriff so if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop playing this stupid game!” Fat lot of good Caller ID was. She gave up for the night. It was after eleven; if Drew called now, he could just talk to her answering machine.

Meagan collapsed on the bed and wearily picked up her book. She doubted she could focus enough to read, but she hoped to get her mind off her mystery caller. Godzilla jumped up and snuggled up next to her. She absently stroked his fur with one hand, while she held the book in the other.

She made it through only a few pages before her eyelids felt heavy. She put the book away and switched off the light.

Sometime in the middle of the night, movement on the bed stirred her awake. She squinted; it was Godzilla. He jumped off the bed and whimpered at the bedroom door.

“You gotta go out?” She shuffled to the bedroom door and opened it. The dog galloped to the outside door and scratched, “Okay, okay, give me a minute.” Her body moved on autopilot as she fumbled with the locks.

She propped open the screen and left the back door ajar. She was too tired to stand there and wait for him tonight. She told herself she would just lie down for a minute. When she felt him jump up on the bed, she would get up to close the door.

***

As he approached the back of the house, he couldn’t believe his luck. The door was standing open a good foot. He didn’t get it; he was sure she sensed him the other night. Maybe it was a trap.

He peered into the kitchen window and saw no one lurking, waiting to strike. Inching closer, he gently pushed the door wide, and slipped in. The floor creaked; he stopped and waited, barely breathing, but nothing happened.

The kitchen, lit solely by moonlight, made it easy for him to navigate the room, but when he rounded the corner he found it black as pitch. He couldn’t tell if the bedroom door was open or closed. He pulled out his small flashlight, turned it on, and got ready to make a mad dash.

The door was open. He shined the light in the direction of the bed. She was sleeping. A gasp escaped his lips. He dropped to the floor quickly and flicked off the light. He heard a rustling on the bed. He waited until her breath resumed its steady rhythm before he flicked the light on again.

There she lay on top of the sheets. Her rust-colored curls fanned out on her pillow; it looked like spun silk. He ached to touch it, and slithered up next to the bed. She hugged the pillow beneath her head, her face at the edge of the mattress.

He lay on the floor looking up at her, close enough to smell her perfume. It made him dizzy with desire. He could feel her warm breath on his face. He lay like that for some time, fighting the urge to touch her soft full lips; the memory of her kiss remained fresh in his mind. The excitement of watching her unawares was almost too much to bear.

He inched his way back far enough to get on his knees so he could inspect her better. She rolled over, onto her back. His breath caught in his throat. The cool night air snuck in through the open door. He watched as her nipples stood erect underneath the thin material of her white tank top. He could just make out the dark pink through her top.

His hard-on strained against his tight jeans; his hand rubbed against his groin. A moan escaped. She stirred, but this time he didn’t shut off the light. He watched, his heart pounding in his chest. He dared her to find him in her home, in her room, only inches away. So close he could reach out and touch her.

He took out his cock, imagining what she’d do. Her eyes would open; dreamily she’d move aside and motion him to join her in bed. Her hands would slink down his body, stroke the length of his penis, before taking it fully into her mouth.

Enthusiastically, her warm lips and tongue would work in tandem, while one hand massaged his scrotum and the other pinched his nipple hard. Her full lips would work him eagerly and just as he was about to come she would bite down hard at the base of his cock and—