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Is that supposed to make me feel better?

“What if he planted a bug or something?” Claudia said, expressing a concern that had been forming in her mind.

“I can have a tech come out and sweep the place.”

“Yes, please,” she said gratefully. “It would definitely make me feel better.”

They took off their shoes and let the sand crunch between their toes as they walked. Off the leash, Flare bounded off in pursuit of a flock of seagulls and sandpipers skittering around the shore. The air smelled of salt and seaweed. “Do you think he was looking for the tapes?” Claudia asked, unable to leave the subject of the intruder. “Or the flash drive? He couldn’t have known that I took it, could he?”

“Assuming this is the guy who attacked Ivan, and he knew you were at the penthouse that night? Sure, he might have thought you had it. But it’s all guesswork. We don’t know if whoever attacked Ivan even knew about the drive, or whether he was looking for the tapes.”

“Why would he mess with my computer?”

“It might be a coincidence. Maybe this was someone looking for your personal financial information, you know, identity theft. You’d better alert your bank, in case.” Jovanic picked up a small rock, tossed it overhand into the waves, walking backwards a few steps, so he could look at her as he spoke. “So, what do you do when you’re not discovering bodies and getting your house broken into?”

Claudia stuck her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders against the brisk wind that had kicked up. “Mostly, I analyze handwriting for clients, I write articles, do TV appearances once in a while. Pretty dull.”

“Shit, no. I don’t know many people on TV.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. Testifying in court is a lot harder.”

“I don’t much like it myself.” They walked along in silence for a while, then he blurted, “You ever been married?”

She glanced at him sharply. Was this Detective Jovanic, or Joel, the private citizen asking?

“Once. Didn’t last too long, but we’re still friends. We’ve been divorced six years. You?”

“Divorced. She didn’t like my job, wanted me home more.”

There was more to that story, she was certain, but the way he said it didn’t encourage questions. Still, she pushed a little. “You’re not on friendly terms?”

He didn’t speak for a moment, and looked as though his thoughts were giving him an acid stomach. “I hear from her when she needs money. It wasn’t enough that she took everything we had... house, furniture, bank account. Everything, in exchange for a promise that she’d never contact me again. She never was any good at keeping promises.”

“Any kids?”

“No. I was away a lot.” Brief and sharp. Claudia didn’t push it; it was a prickly area for her, too.

After that, they walked in silence for a while, detouring around the rocky peninsula that jutted into the marina until they reached the Venice Boardwalk.

Back on the leash, Flare strained to explore a new path, but by that time the merchants were beginning to open their stalls and arrange displays of assorted beach gear for the tourists.

Jovanic left to get ready for his appointment with Senator Heidt without suggesting she go with him. Claudia went upstairs and downloaded her e-mail. Fifteen new messages popped up on the monitor. Running her eye down the list, she saw a name that made her heart skip a beat: [email protected]. The Subject line said, “be careful.”

Maybe it was true; maybe Lindsey was really alive and playing a horrible practical joke on them all. Thinking that nothing would surprise her anymore, she opened the e-mail.

The fine hairs rose on the back of Claudia’s neck.

Pixel by pixel, a graphic embedded within the e-mail came into view: a white Jaguar parked in a driveway facing a brick-edged garage door that had recently been painted the color of bittersweet chocolate.

Omigod. Omigod.

The edges of the picture were curled and charred, as if someone had held a match to it before scanning it into the computer.

Claudia clicked on the View menu and zoomed the magnification. Long before the figure in the driver’s seat became clear, she knew who it was. Someone had snapped a picture of her sitting in her own driveway.

A stranger had watched her; entered her home and her computer; pawed through her things; threatened her security.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t give out a user’s name, that’s confidential information.”

She knew she must have misheard. Her internet provider couldn’t be refusing to help her. “What do you mean,
it’s confidential
?” she asked, her nerves jumping. “Someone sent me a threatening e-mail! Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Yes, ma’am it is, and we’ve already closed down the account.”

The customer service rep’s patronizing manner angered her almost as much as his refusal to cooperate. “You’re telling me I have no recourse?”

“The user opened the account with a fictitious name and false credit card information, ma’am. As soon as the system caught it, the account was closed.”

“So I’m basically up shit-fucking-creek?”

“Ma’am, I don’t have to listen to...”

Claudia slammed the handset back into its base. Her body had gone hot all over and she was short of breath. Too much was happening, too fast. Something evil had oozed into her home along with the mocking e-mail.

“Been seeing a lot of burglaries lately,” the locksmith said with a portentous shake of his head as he deftly unscrewed the thirty-year-old doorknob. “Not too many ‘round here, though. Usually kids looking for cash, guns. For drugs. Know what I mean?”

Kids on drugs are the least of my worries.

“Just make sure no one can get in, okay?” Claudia urged. “I’ve ordered a security system, but they can’t install it for a couple of days.”

“You’ll be safer than Fort Knox with these babies,” the locksmith said with pride.

At least the new locks should slow down the housebreaker if he returned.

Jovanic arrived shortly after the locksmith’s departure.

Staring out the front window, wondering who was behind the assault on Ivan and the incidents in her own home, Claudia watched the Jeep turn into the driveway. Jovanic climbed out, looking stylish in a navy pinstripe suit and dark tie, the grey-flecked hair neatly groomed. He’d dressed up for the Senator.

She closed her eyes and let relief wash over her, thankful that she wasn’t in this mess alone. The thought was followed by the loud clanging of alarm bells in her head. She wasn’t ready for that level of involvement.

She went downstairs and met him at the door.

“Can I talk you into lunch?” he asked, trading his deadpan expression for a smile.

Before she could answer, he read her face. “What happened?”

She pulled him inside, unwilling to stand at the front door, where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “You’d better come upstairs and see for yourself.”

They went up to the office, where she seated herself at her desk. While Jovanic watched over her shoulder, she rolled the mouse across its rubber pad to turn off the screen saver, and instantly, the graphic threat filled the screen.

“It’s the guy who broke in here,” Claudia said. “It has to be.” Unspoken words hung in the air like the smell of something rotten:
The guy who assaulted Ivan.

Jovanic studied the photograph, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “The flash drive you found is in the evidence locker. We still don’t know where the tapes are, so unless there’s something you haven’t told me, they probably didn’t find what they were looking for.”

“There’s nothing else. Unless...”

“Unless what?”

She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. After the incident with the flash drive she’d probably already lost all credibility. She swiveled her chair and looked up at him.

“Ivan sent me to see Lindsey’s brother, Earl Nelson... who’s really foul, by the way. Ivan thought he might have some of Lindsey’s printed writing that I could compare to the suicide note.”

“Did he?”

“No. He had some old photos of Lindsey with printing on the backs, but the writing was done too long ago. He demanded money for the photos. Ivan paid.”

“What kind of photos would be worth money?”

“Kiddie porn. I wonder if the break-in had anything to do with that?”

Jovanic looked skeptical. “You think this Nelson did the break-in here? If he sold Ivan the photos, why would he need to retrieve them?”

“I’m grasping at straws.” She picked up Nelson’s envelope from her desk and offered it to him. “I’ll gladly give you the photos.”

He flipped through the stack of photographs, his eyes hardening at what he saw, but he offered no comment on them. “I think the video is the key,” he said, replacing them in the envelope. “Once we find it, maybe we’ll have some answers. Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, he removed his suit coat and folded it, tossed it onto the back seat of his Jeep. He loosened his tie and laid it on top of the coat. The opening chords of Rachmaninoff’s
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
began to play as he fired up the engine.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a classical buff,” Claudia said in surprise.

“Why? Because I’m a guy, or because I’m a cop?” He ejected the disk and put on his best redneck accent as he snapped it into the jewel case. “Aw shucks ma’am, some of us got cultshah.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I love Rachmaninoff, and that’s one of my favorite pieces.”

Jovanic grinned. “Don’t get too excited, Garth Brooks is pretty high on my list, too.” They drove down to the Shack, where sawdust covered the floor and the patrons perched on red plastic-covered bar stools at tall tables. The Shack’s cheeseburgers were arguably the best on the West Side, but Claudia chewed hers with little enthusiasm. The gnawing anxiety of the past few days topped off by the break-in and the threatening e-mail had put a damper on her appetite.

“What happened at your meeting with the slimy senator?” she asked in an attempt to distract herself.

Jovanic squeezed a puddle of ketchup onto his plate and dunked a couple of fries. “Whole lot of nothin’. His attorney was glued to his hip. He met Lindsey through some friends and hired her to help with his campaign PR; she was the greatest, yada yada.”

“I’m sure he couldn’t imagine how his name got on the kinky sex list?”

“There’s been a terrible mistake, Detective,” Jovanic said in a fair imitation of Senator Heidt’s sonorous baritone. “I’m a respectable family man, a devout Christian.”

He dropped back into his normal voice, “That’s all his attorney would let him say. But, just between us, I snagged this for you.” He took a paper from his pocket and handed the folded square to Claudia.

She put down her burger and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “This is his handwriting?” when she opened the paper, it appeared to be the draft of a speech. “Yeah. Don’t ask how I got it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” It was the handwriting that interested her, not the legalities of how Jovanic had obtained it. Moreover, he was offering a test of her skills. She unfolded the paper.

“Holy shit!” The senator’s signature on the sign-in sheet at Lindsey’s funeral reception was nothing compared to what she saw here.

Jovanic grinned at her reaction. “That the technical term?”

She glanced up. “It’s so ornate! See these hooks and convolutions and twists in the lower loops? It’s worse than I imagined.”

Jovanic managed to look both interested and wary. “Okay, you got me. Now, would you mind translating?”

“It’s dishonest; it’s vulgar. What you see is not what you get. He’s definitely got perv potential.”

“How the hell did you get all that out of
this
?”

“Would you like a quickie basic lesson?”

He folded his arms and gave her a nod and a sly smile. “Sure, I like quickies.”

Ignoring the double entendre, she held the paper up in front of him. “Look at the writing as if it were a picture, rather than a bunch of letters and strokes. Look at the way it’s arranged on the page, the margins, the spaces between words, lines, letters. Heidt’s writing is big, but it’s cramped, the words are crowded together. That means he doesn’t respect boundaries.

“The style is flamboyant, it’s overdone.” She pointed with her fingernail. “Look at these oval letters,
o
’s
and
a
’s
, for example. They show how clearly the writer communicates.

“The cleaner the ovals, the more up-front and direct he is. When there are little hooks or circles inside them, as we see here, it interferes with clear communication. Look at this stroke... it looks like a
v
inside the
o
. People who do this are often liars.” She paused and looked straight at him, drawing his eyes to hers to make sure he was listening carefully. “It’s dangerous to make assumptions about any one stroke or letter, but in the context of this particular writing,
liar
is a fair assessment.”

He took a swig of his Coke and gave her a dubious look. “You get all this out of a few loops?” She shook her head. “No, I get it from the whole picture. But some of these characteristics are big red flags. See this weird twist in the lower loops? No one
taught
him to make the letter
g
that way. After the circle, the stroke should move down, then back up to the left and finish at the baseline. Heidt puts a twist in the upstroke.”

Jovanic looked confused. “You’re losing me.”

“Everything in handwriting is symbolic. Among other things, lower loops symbolize the drive for food, sex, money. So, when the loops twist around like these do, it means that something is ‘off’ with his basic drives. They aren’t satisfied in the ‘standard’ ways.”

Claudia watched him struggle with the concept. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added. “I don’t mean
everyone
who makes this kind of stroke is a sicko, but combined with all the other negative indicators in
this
handwriting, it’s a big red flag.”