Chris Carter - The Night Stalker

The woman at the information desk lifted her eyes from her computer screen and smiled sympathetically as Hunter came through the door.

‘I guess you forgot your umbrella, huh?’

Hunter brushed the water off his hair and sleeves before smiling back. ‘I wasn’t expecting the heavens to open.’

‘Spring downpour. We’re famous for those over here. It’ll pass soon enough,’ she offered with a renewed smile and a couple of paper tissues.

‘Thanks.’ He took them and dried his forehead and hands.

‘I’m Rhonda, by the way.’

They shook hands.

‘I’m Robert.’

Rhonda was in her mid-twenties with short, spiky, black-dyed hair. Her face was ghostly pale and her make-up was one step short from being full goth.

‘So…’ she said, fixing Hunter with her dark eyes. ‘What brings you to Healdsburg’s library? Actually, what brings you to Healdsburg at all?’

‘Research.’

‘Research? About Healdsburg’s wineries?’

‘No.’ Hunter thought for a second. ‘I guess I’m looking for an old school yearbook.’

‘A yearbook? An old friend, huh? From which school?’

Hunter paused. ‘How many schools are there in Healdsburg?’

Rhonda laughed. ‘It doesn’t look like you know much about this research of yours.’

Hunter agreed with a smile. ‘The truth is: I’m just trying to find a picture of a kid who lived here many years ago.’

‘A kid?’ Her expression changed to concern and she took a step back from the counter.

‘No, look, I’m a cop from Los Angeles,’ Hunter said, producing his badge. ‘Something that happened here twenty years ago has suddenly become of interest to us. I’m just trying to gather some information, that’s all. A picture would help.’

Rhonda studied the badge and then Hunter’s face. ‘Twenty years ago?’

‘That’s right.’

She hesitated for a beat. ‘So you must be talking about what happened to the Harpers. And if you’re looking for a picture of a kid, you must be talking about Andrew Harper.’

‘You knew him?’

She looked uncertain. ‘Sort of. I was only five when it happened. But he used to come to our house sometimes.’

‘Really? How come?’

‘We lived in the same street. He was friends with my brother.’

‘Does your brother still live here?’

‘Yep. He’s an accountant and runs his own practice in town. You probably drove past his office on your way here.’

‘Do you think I could have a chat with him?’

Another hesitant moment.

‘Whatever information he can give me might help a lot,’ Hunter pushed.

Rhonda regarded Hunter for a second longer.

‘I don’t see why not.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’ll tell you what. It’s coming up to my lunch break. Why don’t I take you there and introduce you to him?’

Rhonda said hello to Mrs. Collins at the reception desk in the anteroom of her brother’s small accountancy practice and pointed to his office door.

‘He’s not with anyone, is he?’

Mrs. Collins smiled kindly as she shook her head.

‘I think he was just getting ready to go out for lunch, dear. You can go right in, Rhonda.’

Rhonda knocked twice and pushed the door open before a reply.

Ricky was pretty much the opposite of his sister. Tall with neatly trimmed hair and a sportsman’s physique, he was dressed conservatively in a light gray suit, baby blue shirt and a blue on red tie. The introductions were quick and to the point, and Ricky’s smile dissipated once Rhonda told him why she’d brought Hunter to see him.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see how I can help,’ he said to Hunter, looking a little rattled. ‘I was ten when it happened and we weren’t even here, remember?’ He directed the question to Rhonda, who nodded. ‘It happened during Christmas vacation and we had gone over to Grandma’s house in Napa. We only heard about it when we got back.’

‘I understand, and I don’t want you to tell me about the incident. I know you know nothing about that. But if you could tell me a little about Andrew himself, that could help. Rhonda told me that you were friends?’

Ricky looked at his sister in a reprimanding way. ‘I guess.’ He shrugged. ‘He… didn’t have many friends.’

‘Why was that?’

Another shrug. ‘He was very quiet and shy. He much preferred spending time with his comic books than with people.’

‘But you guys did spend some time together, right? Played games, that kinda stuff?’

‘Yeah, sometimes, but not always. He was… different.’

Hunter’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘In what way?’

Ricky paused and checked his watch before crossing to the door to his office and sticking his head outside. ‘Mrs. Collins, if anyone calls, I’m out for lunch.’ He closed the door behind him. ‘Why don’t you have a seat?’

Hunter took one of the two chairs in front of Ricky’s desk. Rhonda preferred to lean against the window frame.

‘Andrew was… sad most of the time,’ Ricky said, returning to his desk.

‘Did he ever tell you why?’

‘His parents argued a lot, and that really upset him. He was very close to his mother.’

‘Not so close to his father?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes, he was as well, but he talked about his mother more.’

Hunter’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he subtly checked the display window – Whitney Myers. Hunter returned the phone to his pocket without answering it. He’d call her later.

‘Kids always talk about their mothers,’ Rhonda offered.

‘No.’ Ricky shook his head firmly. ‘Not the way he did. He talked about her as if she was a goddess. Like she couldn’t do anything wrong.’

‘Idolizing her?’ Hunter asked.

‘Yes. He put her on the pedestal. And when she was sad, he was really sad.’ Ricky started fidgeting with a paper clip. ‘I know that sometimes he used to watch his mom cry and that just ate away at him.’ A nervous chuckle escaped Ricky’s lips. ‘He used to watch her a lot… in a weird way.’

Rhonda cocked her head. ‘What does that mean?’

Ricky’s eyes moved from her to Hunter, who kept his face steady.

‘Andrew told me about this secret hiding place he had. And I know he used to spend a lot of time there.’

Hunter knew that a secret or special place wasn’t uncommon amongst kids. Especially ones like Andrew – sad, quiet, with few friends – the bullied ones. It’s usually just an isolated location where they can get away from everything and everyone that upsets them. A place where they feel safe. But if a child starts reverting to it more and more, it’s usually because they feel the need to increase their isolation – from everyone and everything. And the consequences can be severe.

‘That’s not so bad,’ Rhonda said. ‘Me and my friends used to have a secret place when we were kids.’

‘Not like Andrew’s,’ Ricky countered. ‘At least I hope not. He took me there one day.’ A muscle flexed on his jaw. ‘He made me promise to never tell anyone.’

‘And…?’ Rhonda asked.

Hunter waited.

Ricky’s eyes moved away from both of them. ‘I’d pretty much forgotten about that place.’ His stare returned to Hunter. ‘His secret place was this secluded bit in the attic in his house. Their attic was packed with boxes and boxes of junk and old furniture. There was so much stuff piled up that it created a wall, a partition of sorts, dividing the attic into two separate spaces. If you went up there via the stairs in the house, you could only see one of them. The other one was completely hidden behind this barricade of stuff. You couldn’t even get to it, unless you started moving things. And you’d have to move a lot of things.’