Terminated (10 page)

She needed to buy a gun. Sleep came easy after that.

“C
’mon, Kirsten,” Paul called up the stairs to his
daughter’s bedroom. “We’re driving Mommy to work today.”

“No, it’s OK,” Gwen said. “I’ll drive myself.”

Paul frowned.

Gwen took this moment as a sign. If she could convince Paul to let her drive herself, then she’d do it. She’d buy a gun. If she couldn’t, she’d forget all about it. She wasn’t sure if she was up for this argument. She remembered last looking over at the alarm clock and it reading seven after five. As a result, her mind now dragged a fifty-pound weight behind it. But seeing Paul’s disapproval ignited something inside her. Nervous panic drove her heart rate, and the sleep-deprived fog clouding her mind evaporated.

“Gwen, you’re not going in by yourself. This psycho has gone after you twice.”

“And he’s missed both times.”

“You want to give him another chance?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then let me drive you. Let’s send this asshole a message. We all know what happened last night, and it’s not going to happen again.”

“Do you honestly think you driving me to and from work is going to stop him?”

“Thanks. That really makes me feel good
about protecting you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Gwen said.

“Then what did you mean?”

“There are going to be nine hours where you aren’t going to be at my side. How does it really protect me to have you dropping me off and picking me?”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” Paul grabbed the cereal off the table and shoved it back in the cupboard. “I don’t care what you say. I’m driving you today and every day until Ingram disposes of him. Kirsten, come down here, sweetie. We’ve got to go.”

It looked as if fate was making its decision for her. She wasn’t going to buy a gun. It was almost a relief, but the one thing that kept her from accepting it as fact was something she’d said herself. Tarbell possessed the ingenuity to get to her at any time or place. So far, he’d gone the work route. It was an easy avenue to exploit. But going after her in her private life would be his next avenue. The office came with many limitations. The big, open world afforded him a wealth of opportunities. It left her cold to imagine what Tarbell would attempt next. All she knew was that he would try something. And no matter how good Ingram’s people were and how many he put on the job, Tarbell would find a way to elude them.

Kirsten came trotting into the kitchen half dressed. Paul dropped to one knee and helped her pull her top on.

“So is that how it’s going to be?” Gwen asked.

Paul looked over his shoulder. “How what’s going to be?”

“Because you’re the man, whatever you say is law.”

“Oh, c’mon, Gwen. Don’t pull that in front of Kirsten.” He lifted Kirsten onto a kitchen counter and helped her on with her shoes. “This has nothing to do with equal rights and you know it.”

She did and it was a stupid thing to say. She needed to break Paul’s resolve, and playing the male chauvinist card wasn’t going to work.

“Hey, baby girl, can you go back into your
room for a minute?” Paul asked Kirsten.

“Sure.”

“You’re dynamite. That’s why I call you Special K.”

Paul lowered her to the floor, and she tottered back in the direction of her room. He waited until she disappeared before cornering Gwen against the dining table.

“Why don’t you want me driving you to work? And I want the real reason. You’ve been shutting me out of this whole affair from the very beginning, so I need some justification, Gwen. It’s not fair. You wouldn’t accept it from me, so I won’t accept it from you.”

She hoped what she said next would persuade him. “I want to stand on my own two feet when it comes to Tarbell. I didn’t with Desmond Parker. I let the police and the prosecutors run my life for me. I hid behind their protection because I believed they were bigger and badder than Parker. I was wrong. They didn’t care about me. They cared about their careers and conviction rate. They traded his crimes against me for his compliance, and now Parker is getting out.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do about that.”

“There was. I took a backseat to my injustice. If I do the same here, Pace will decide what happens to Stephen and not me.”

Gwen felt her emotions race up from behind and try to sweep her away. Talking about Parker always did that to her. Judging from Paul’s expression, this conversation was also upsetting to him. He pulled her to him and held her tight.

“I wish I could have been there to stop Parker,” he said with a sigh. “But what has this got to do with me giving you a ride to work?”

“I’m taking a backseat again. Ingram is in charge of what happens to Stephen, and that means he’s deciding what happens to me, and I can’t let that happen. I don’t want you driving me to work, because I don’t want the son of a bitch thinking he’s won. I want him to see that no matter what
he throws at me, I can withstand it.”

Paul didn’t say anything for several moments. He just held her. Then he said, “OK.”

She pulled away from him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go show the bastard who’s in charge.”

She smiled and kissed him. “Thanks.”

She grabbed her purse and headed for the garage. On the way, she heard Paul say, “Kiddo, change of plan.”

She drove off before Paul could change his mind. She checked her rearview mirror to see if he came out to call her back, but the sidewalk was empty. She released a pent-up breath.

She’d gotten what she wanted, but it failed to bring her the warmth of victory. She’d partially lied to Paul. She did feel Ingram and Pace Pharmaceuticals were sidelining her for the good of Pace’s reputation. They didn’t care about her. But none of this disguised the fact she’d lied to Paul. The only reason she’d wanted to be alone was to buy a gun. She knew Paul wouldn’t approve, even if she never fired it. He couldn’t know. He’d never forgive her for bringing a weapon into their home with Kirsten around.

“Gwen, what are you doing?” she asked herself.

Part of her said she was flushing good sense down the toilet, but another part of her, the part that had survived a violent crime, told her this was the right thing to do. There was only one person who could save her from the likes of Parker and Tarbell—herself.

She drove to the South Shore shopping center. It was a deserted wasteland at that time of the morning. She bought coffee and Googled gun store listings on her cell phone. She expected to see pages of places nearby, but her options ran to only a handful. Several of the listings scared her off with their austere descriptions. She went for West Coast Arms. In El Cerrito, it was the closest, and it also proclaimed to be the oldest gun store in the Bay Area.

She headed over there. On the way,
she called in sick to the office. It would buy her a day. Her coworkers would believe the lie, and Tarbell would think he’d rattled her.

She felt distinctly out of place in the gun store. Being surrounded by all this firepower scared her. It wasn’t her world, but this was where people came to protect themselves. A man wanted to hurt her, even kill her. If she deserved to be anyplace, it was here.

The owner, a bedraggled and bearded guy in his late fifties, noticed her hesitation and came out from behind the counter.

“I’m Charles Meyers. Can I help you with something?” he asked.

“I want a gun.” Gwen blurted the request out. She sounded desperate. If she’d been in his shoes, she’d probably ask her to leave.

Meyers looked Gwen over before saying, “Well, you’ve come to the right place. What do you want it for?”

Stopping Tarbell
, she thought, but said, “Personal protection. I work late nights.”

Gwen expected Meyers to press her on the subject, but he took her answer at face value and nodded his understanding.

He quizzed her on her gun needs. He didn’t hit her with the hard sell or come down on her hard and heavy with the second amendment rap that it was every American’s duty to be packing heat. He approached her like a shoe salesman. He simply wanted to find the perfect fit. He handed her various automatics and revolvers for weight and feel. Eventually, they decided upon a 9mm Taurus. It was small and light and carried enough of a punch to make a dent in its target.

Gwen cradled the gun in the palm of both hands. She gazed at it. Did she want this? Was this the right way to go? She wasn’t sure, but then she pictured Tarbell’s silhouette chasing her through the office the night before. He’d chosen to play a phantom, never getting too close to her. The perfect time to catch him off guard would have been when he’d cornered her by the emergency exit. That would have given her the vital
seconds to pull a gun. He wouldn’t have had the time to disarm her before she fired. It made the decision easy for her.

“I’ll take it,” she said.

“Not quite yet, you won’t.” Meyers outlined California law. Gwen would have to obtain an official handgun safety certificate, which consisted of a written safety test and a hands-on safety demonstration, as well as provide fingerprints and proof of residency. Then there was the ten days for the background check before she could claim the gun.

Ten days. It might as well be a year. Tarbell would strike again before the waiting period was over. She had to believe she’d get lucky and survive the next ten days.

She looked at her gun one last time before handing it back to Meyers.

“Would you like to proceed?” Meyers asked, putting the weapon back under glass.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Let’s do it then.”

Meyers instructed her on the handling of a handgun and put her on the range. She took and passed the state test and filed the paperwork for the background check.

“Thanks for all your help,” she said. “This isn’t an easy decision.”

“It never is, but we do what we have to.” Meyers put Gwen’s paperwork into an envelope. “Have you been a victim?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a sad thing. I hope owning a weapon will remove the fear from your daily life.”

She did too. “Thanks. I really appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said. “I’m glad to have been of help. I sincerely hope you never have to use it.”

Ingram called an emergency
meeting at PSI’s office. Petersen was the last to turn up. Ingram saw him and waved him into the conference room. The principal members of the Stephen Tarbell investigation team were assembled around the conference table. Petersen nodded a hello to Carlos Gonzalez, the lead investigator, who was responsible for the day-to-day management of the investigation. Reggie Glover, who took care of Tarbell’s daytime surveillance, sat across the table. Also seated was Lorna Burchill, the records wiz in charge of the background checks.
And here I am
, thought Petersen.
Nighttime surveillance officer and traitor.

Petersen took his seat facing Reggie. He was suffering from a nasty case of cottonmouth. The water decanter looked pretty good to him, but his hands were shaking.

“You look like shit, man,” Reggie said.

“Working graveyard does that to an old guy. Remember, I should be sleeping.”

Reggie laughed. “Ain’t none of us getting younger.”

Petersen squeezed out a smile. He liked Reggie. He’d been a Richmond cop for seventeen years before being shot on the job; he retired out on disability. He was a real mutt of a cop who’d worked everything from the streets to narcotics and everything in between. He’d caught a bullet working undercover. Petersen knew that unlike everyone else in the room, Reggie was a realist. The others had lived clean careers that allowed them to keep their ideologies. Reggie understood that a life of tracking down criminals wore you down and even compromised you from time to time. It made Reggie the one guy who might understand the shit he’d gotten himself into with Tarbell. An ally would feel real good about now.

Ingram closed the conference room door and sat at the head of the table. “I think everyone’s aware of what transpired at Pace Pharmaceuticals last night, but just to clarify, our principal, Gwen Farris, claims that Stephen Tarbell made a second attack.”

The word
claims
stuck in the air. It hung out with
words like
unsubstantiated
and
allegedly
and other dirty words that cried disbelief. Petersen knew he could change all that but kept the truth to himself.

“I’m a little worried about where this investigation is going, so I’m after opinions. I want you to hear this.”

Ingram placed a digital recorder in the middle of the table and pressed play. It contained Ingram’s interview with Gwen and her statement. Petersen chewed on his lip as Gwen recounted Tarbell’s game of cat and mouse. The panic in her voice plucked uncomfortable chords within him. He knew her fear. He knew the corner she’d been backed into. The recording reached its end, and Ingram snapped the recorder off.

“Carlos, you want to fill us in on the latest?”

Gonzalez consulted his notes. “OK. The security cameras didn’t pick up an intruder, but we already know it’s possible to enter the building and avoid camera detection. Mrs. Farris claims the second floor emergency exit was locked. No evidence of that was found. Fingerprints were found on the light switches, all belonging to the security guard who switched them back on. The second floor emergency exit is somewhat curious as no prints were found other than Mrs. Farris’s. The door had been wiped clean.”