James Swain - The King Tides

“I’m not a cop.”

“Then what are you?”

“A friend of the girl you’re stalking.”

The Canadian’s mouth dropped open, revealing two rows of bad teeth. Darting into the street, he danced around several cars before reaching the median and plowing through the bushes. Lancaster gave chase and ran through the same bushes.

“I just want to talk!”

The Canadian crossed to the other side and ducked into a coffee shop. Lancaster entered a moment later but saw no sign of him. The manager stood at the register holding a napkin to her mouth.

“Where did the skinny guy go?” he asked.

The manager lowered the napkin. “You a cop?”

“Private investigator. What happened?”

“That crazy bastard wanted to use the back entrance. When I said it was off limits, he hit me. If you catch him, kick the crap out of him.”

“Will do. Show me where he went.”

The manager led him to the storage room. The Canadian had trashed it, and torn bags of coffee beans littered the floor. The door leading to the alley was ajar, and Lancaster stepped outside. The alley was lined with overflowing garbage pails, and the sound of a weeping man filled the air.

“Did he hurt someone else?” the manager asked.

“I’m about to find out.”

He walked to the end of the alley, where it intersected with Tenth Avenue. A UPS truck was parked in the street, its uniformed driver standing beside his vehicle. The Canadian lay on his back, his right leg twisted at an unnatural angle and the side of his face bloodied from kissing the pavement. A broken cell phone lay a few feet away, its screen shattered. Lancaster tried to power it up and saw that it was ruined.

The Canadian stopped his weeping. “You win,” he said weakly.

“I just wanted to talk,” he said.

“So talk. I’m not going anywhere.”

He placed the cell phone on the ground, and knelt beside the injured man. To satisfy his curiosity, he removed the protruding airline ticket and studied it. The Canadian had arrived on a flight from Toronto that morning. Why the hell was a Canadian tourist stalking Nicki? It was another piece to a puzzle that got more confusing by the hour.

“Why are you stalking the girl?” he asked.

“You don’t know about the videos, do you?” the Canadian said, sounding surprised.

“No. Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“Come closer, and I’ll explain.”

Cozying up with the enemy was a risk, but Lancaster didn’t see that he had another choice. Without the cell phone, he had no clue as to what was going on. He lowered his head so his ear was next to the injured man’s lips.

That’s when the Canadian bit him.

He walked to the New River gallery holding a paper napkin he’d borrowed from the coffee shop to his wounded ear. Just as the Canadian had started to bite him, he’d instinctively yanked his head and managed to avoid serious injury. His body was adorned with bullet scars from his military days, and losing a piece of his ear wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen to him.

New River sold museum-quality artwork that found its way into many wealthy homes. The Pearls stood in the rear of the gallery by a group of new age sculptures made of acrylic. There were a half dozen in all, and each resembled a horse. Nicki was mesmerized and stared at the sculptures longingly while clasping her parents’ hands.

The family turned as he approached, their faces hopeful. His plan to use Nicki as bait had failed miserably, and he decided it would be best to tell them so.

“I struck out,” he said.

Pearl said, “What happened to the side of your head? Did he attack you?”

He removed the napkin and saw a tiny spot of blood. “He ran into the street and got hit by a UPS truck. I attempted to have a talk with him while he was lying on the ground, and he tried to bite me.”

Pearl recoiled in horror. “He bit you? What kind of animal does such a thing?”

He’d seen worse behavior from suspects, only talking about it wouldn’t add anything to the conversation. “According to the airline ticket in his pocket, he flew into Fort Lauderdale from Toronto this morning. Does that mean anything?”

Pearl shook his head. “I don’t know anyone from Toronto.”

“Neither do I,” Melanie said.

He shifted his attention to Nicki. She had grown unusually quiet, and he sensed that she was holding back. “How about you, young lady?”

Nicki released her parents’ hands and stared at the floor. “A strange man called the house from Toronto last week. I spoke to him. We didn’t talk very long.”

Her parents looked shocked. Melanie said, “You spoke to a stranger? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought you’d be mad at me,” she said.

“And you were right,” her mother said.

Lancaster gently touched Nicki’s shoulder, and she lifted her gaze.

“Tell me what you said to him,” he said.

“I’d just gotten home from school and was in the kitchen making a snack when the phone rang,” she explained. “I didn’t recognize the number on caller ID, so I ignored it. Then it rang again. Same number. I was curious, so I checked the area code on my iPad using Google, and saw the call was from Toronto. I don’t know why, but I answered it. The caller was a man, and he was very excited. He called me this weird name, and I told him that he had the wrong number. He asked me what I was wearing and some other stuff, and I hung up.”

Lancaster spent a moment processing this information. There was no doubt in his mind that the caller was the creep who’d just bitten him. But why had he called? And why would he have spent the time and money to fly here if Nicki had hung up on him?

“Did he call back?” he asked.

“Yeah, a couple of times,” Nicki said, sounding ashamed.

“Did you take his calls?”

“No, I was freaked out. I just wanted him to go away.”

“You said he called you a weird name. Do you remember what it was?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

It was not uncommon for victims to block out details from bad experiences. This was especially true when the victims were young and vulnerable. He crouched down so he was eye-level with Nicki and said, “I think you do remember, but shoved the name into the recesses of your memory. I want you to help me drag it out. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” she said. “Is this an interrogation trick?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Will you teach it to me, so I can show my class at school?”

“I’d be happy to. I want you to close your eyes and imagine you’ve just gotten home from school. You’re standing in the kitchen fixing a snack.” Nicki closed her eyes and wrinkled her forehead in concentration. “Good. Now imagine you hear the phone ring. You check the caller ID and see it’s from Toronto. You hesitate, but decide to answer it. You say hello, and it’s a strange man. He calls you a name.”

Nicki’s eyes snapped open. “Got it!”

“You remember the name?”

“He called me Cassandra.”

“Cassandra. That’s great, Nicki. Is there anything else you remember?”

“He was breathing hard, like he’d just run a race.”

“Very good. Anything else?”

“There was a movie playing in the background.”

“How could you tell?”

“I could hear a woman talking, only I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She kept talking while the man was speaking to me, so I knew it was a movie.”

“Did you make out what the woman in the movie was saying?”

“No. She was talking in a quiet voice, real seductive. I thought he might be watching a porno.”

Melanie let out a tiny gasp. She’d come to the same conclusion that Lancaster had, which was that the caller from Toronto was masturbating while talking to Nicki.