Deadly Pursuit (8 page)

The breathing continued.

Reaching into the tub, she twisted the faucet. “And now I'm going to put the phone on speaker and set it down on the vanity. Have fun.”

She tapped the speaker button, laid the phone down, leaned close, and listened.

He was still there. She could hear his labored breathing even over the shower spray.

Maybe her ploy had worked. Maybe he'd still be there when . . .

The line clicked and went dead.

Slowly, Alison shut off the water and straightened up. He'd stayed on longer than in any previous call.

But had it been long enough?

As Mitch pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store, a quick look in the rearview mirror showed Cole hot on his trail. He'd phoned Alison's brother as soon as he'd called dispatch.

Three patrol cars were in the lot, and a small crowd had gathered on the sidelines. The officers were clustered around a figure near one of the cars, but Mitch couldn't see the guy.

Nevertheless, it looked as if they had their man.

Finally.

After braking to a stop, he slid from his car as Cole angled in sharply beside him. The other detective was out of the door almost before his unmarked Impala jerked to a stop.

“This looks promising.” Mitch set off for the small group.

“Yeah.” Cole fell into step beside him.

One of the patrol officers saw them coming. With a word to the other two, he broke out of the huddle and met them halfway.

“We have a little problem.”

Mitch frowned. “He's not our guy?”

“No. He's our guy. No question about it. He was halfway across the lot when we arrived, but a couple of witnesses said they saw him on the phone at the time in question.”

“Then what's the problem?” Cole gave him an impatient look.

Suddenly one of the other two officers moved to the side, giving the detectives a clear view of the perpetrator.

Mitch exchanged a glance with Cole. And read his own thoughts in the man's surprised expression.

This wasn't at all what they'd expected.

Pacing the kitchen, expecting a call any minute that would tell her the outcome of the race to catch her stalker, Alison nevertheless jumped when her phone rang.

As she lunged for it, Bert nipped at the hem of the jeans she'd put on while she waited. Apparently he thought the sudden move was a new game.

“Not now, Bert.” She shook her leg to discourage him as she checked caller ID.

It was Mitch.

She didn't bother with preliminaries. “Did you get him?”

“Yeah.”

Her immediate rush of relief was tempered by an odd nuance in his tone. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Let's just say we're surprised. Do you know a guy in his midtwenties named Erik Campbell?”

She searched her mental rolodex and came up blank. “The name doesn't ring any bells.”

“He has Down syndrome.”

An ID badge containing a first name clicked into focus. Along with a face.

“Does he work as a bagger at the Schnucks grocery store near my house?”

“We haven't determined that yet. All we've been able to figure out is that he lives in a group home not far from here. We have a call in to the house manager. She should be arriving any minute. He's too upset to talk to us.”

Alison slid onto a stool at the counter and combed her fingers through her hair. “This doesn't make sense. I've known Erik since I moved here and started going to that store. He's a very nice guy—always pleasant and polite. And there's this sweet innocence about him . . . I can't believe he'd do anything malicious.”

“Those dead roses and bingo card weren't warm and fuzzy.”

“I know. It's a huge disconnect.” She bit her lip and tapped her finger on the counter. “Something's not right here.”

“There are witnesses who saw him making the call, Alison. By the way, an officer will be arriving at your house shortly to pick up the roses.”

“Okay.” She played with the cross that hung on a gold chain around her neck. “Look . . . do you want me to join you? He might talk to me. We always chat when I'm at the store.”

“I'll hold that offer in reserve for now. Let's see what we can find out first. You'll also need to think about whether you want to press charges.”

The notion turned her stomach. “That will depend on what you learn, I guess. But I can't imagine taking that step. There has to be an explanation for this.” The doorbell rang and she slid off the stool. “I think the officer is here.”

“Okay. I'll be back in touch with more information soon.”

While the uniformed officer waited in the tiny entry area, Alison retrieved the bag from the garage. Once she handed it over and locked the door behind him, she wandered back to the kitchen. Bert danced around her ankles, trying to entice her to play.

“Later, Bert.” She bent down and gave him a conciliatory scratch behind the ear.

She didn't know Erik Campbell all that well. Their contact was limited to the few words they exchanged if he happened to be working during one of her visits. On her last few visits, though, he'd stopped bagging an order halfway through at an adjacent checkout line to come over and take care of hers.

How—or why—that translated to silent phone calls and weird bouquets was beyond her. But she hoped Mitch would get to the bottom of it.

Because despite the witnesses to tonight's phone call, something didn't ring true.

“Erik's still very upset, Detective Morgan. I don't know how much you'll be able to get from him until he calms down.”

Mitch didn't need Dorothy Walker, the group home manager, to tell him that. At her suggestion, he and Cole had reconvened with her and Erik in the living room of the home a few blocks from the quick shop. The other five residents had been diverted to the TV room to watch a movie, but the switch to familiar surroundings hadn't lessened Erik's agitation. He was huddled in a corner of the couch on the far side of the room, keeping tabs on their discussion.

“We can wait a little longer to talk to him, Ms. Walker, but we do have to get some answers. There are witnesses to tonight's phone call. And the other phone used to make the harassing calls is at a gas station across the street from the Schnucks where Erik works.”

Dorothy shook her head, her expression troubled. “This is so unlike him. He's such a gentle spirit. A few weeks ago he found a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest and he took meticulous care of it. He's always the first to offer assistance when any of the residents needs help too. I wish I had his patience.” She sighed. “This doesn't make sense.”

“What can you tell us about his background?” Cole joined the conversation.

“Erik's twenty-five and a model resident. He's never given us one bit of trouble. Until his mother died of cancer nine months ago, he lived at home with her. Prior to her death, she made these living arrangements for him. He's on the higher-functioning end of the Down syndrome scale.”

“How long has he worked at Schnucks?” Cole asked.

“Six years. We're talking with the store now about transferring him to a location closer to the home. That way he can take the bus to work. But we wanted to give him a chance to adjust to the loss of his mother and his new living environment before further disrupting his world. For now, we drive him to and from work.”

“Any problems on the job?”

“None. The store loves him because he's so friendly and always tries hard to please. Too hard, in fact. When someone is unhappy with him, he gets very upset and tends to withdraw—as you can see. However, under normal circumstances, he communicates very well.” She checked on Erik again. “I'm certain there's an explanation for his actions.”

The doorbell rang, and Cole turned toward it. “That's probably the officer with the flowers. I'll get them.”

“Keep them in the foyer for now, okay?” Mitch instructed.

As Cole exited, Mitch sized up Erik again. “Ms. Walker, I had a cousin with Down syndrome. In a lot of ways, Erik sounds like Justin. I think I may be able to get some answers without upsetting him further.”

“As long as I can join you, I'm fine with that. I want him to feel he has a friend nearby.”

“That's not a problem.”

She led him over to the couch. Erik shrank deeper into the corner as they approached. Mitch chose a chair at a nonthreatening distance, while Dorothy sat beside Erik.

“Erik, this man would like to talk to you for a minute, okay? He's a detective. I'll be right here the whole time. He thinks you can help him by answering a few questions. And I know you like to help people.”

She conceded the floor to Mitch, and he leaned forward with a smile. “Hi, Erik. I'm Mitch Morgan, and like Ms. Walker said, I'm a detective. I'm sorry the policemen scared you at the quick shop. They didn't mean to do that. But someone has been calling Alison Taylor on the phone from there, and she asked us to find out who it was. She says you bag her groceries sometimes at Schnucks. Do you know who I'm talking about?”

Erik looked over at Dorothy, and she gave him an encouraging nod.

“Alison is nice.” His words came out shaky and laced with fear.

“Yes, she is.” Mitch waited, giving Erik a chance to offer more.

“Some people . . . never talk to me. Some people act like I'm . . . not even there. But she always talks to me. She even told me her name.”

That sounded like Alison.

“I called her a few minutes ago. She said she didn't believe you would do anything to scare her.”

“I didn't mean to.” Erik leaned forward, his features twisted with distress. “I just wanted to talk to her. I looked her name up in the phone book, but I couldn't . . . get the words out. My mouth got . . . all tangled up.”

“What did you want to say to her, Erik?” They already had an admission of guilt. Now he needed to find out the motive. But Mitch was inclined to agree with Alison. There'd been no malicious intent in the young man's actions.

“I just wanted to tell her I liked her, and to say thank you for always being nice to me.”

“Is that why you left the flowers too?”

His head bobbled up and down. “Yes. Susie at the store was going to throw them out. But I thought they were . . . still pretty. She said I could have them, and she let me wrap them up in that fancy green paper.” His tone shifted from enthusiastic to crestfallen. “But Alison . . . didn't like them. She said they were . . . all wilted. That made me feel real bad.”

“Is that why you sent the black roses?”

His face went blank. “Huh?”

Mitch was used to reading criminal types, many of whom were experts at faking—and hiding—emotion. Erik wasn't in that league. And his confusion appeared to be genuine.

Glancing toward the door, where Cole was watching the scene from a distance, he motioned him in. “Bring the roses.”

Alison's brother retreated to the hall, reappearing moments later with the bouquet. After handing it to Mitch, he backed off a few feet.