Brian Freeman - Stalked

"No."

"Well, that's real high-and-mighty, but here in the real world, it happens."

Serena sighed. "So what does this have to do with Maggie?"

"Are you kidding me? Two detectives from the same bureau wind up on the hook for murdering their husbands? That doesn't smell like rotten fish to you?"

"Your case was six years ago. That's a long time."

"And I'm telling you, there's got to be a connection somewhere. You've got Abel on the case again, don't you? He had it in for me then, now he's got it in for Maggie."

"That doesn't sound like Abel," Serena told her. "He's a pain in the ass, but he's a straight shooter."

"Yeah, well, a lot of my hair wound up in Abel's car, girl, but the only way it got into that apartment is because someone carried it."

"You're not suggesting that Abel killed your husband and his girlfriend. Or Maggie's husband. Are you?"

Nicole shrugged. "I'm saying anything's possible. Maybe he's got it in for chick cops."

"Come on, Nicole."

"Look, I don't know. When I was a detective, I didn't like coincidences. This is a big one. Two cops with dead husbands."

Serena got up. "If I find anything that links the two cases, I'll call you."

"Yeah, right."

She extended her hand, and Nicole took it sullenly.

"That's all I can do," Serena said.

Nicole folded her arms over her chest. "My boy is going to college now, did you know that? A state school near his grandmother in Tennessee. If I'm lucky, I see him a couple of times a year. He's eighteen now. Almost nineteen. I missed the last six years of him growing up."

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't do this. He knows that."

"Okay."

"Say hi to Stride for me."

Serena nodded. Nicole shuffled toward the door that led back to the cells. Her head was down. Serena watched her go. She left the prison and was glad to get away from the antiseptic smell and the claustrophobia of the walls. As she got into her car, she realized everyone was right. Nicole was a waste of time.

Serena hoped she would have better luck at the Ordway.

She had visited Saint Paul several times in the past year. It was an easy two-and-a-half hour drive down I-35 from Duluth, and many of her investigative jobs had roots in the Twin Cities. Minneapolis was the larger of the siblings, with steel skyscrapers, trendy restaurants, and a fast-paced corporate culture. Saint Paul was slower, quieter, and smaller, boasting only a handful of high-rises that would have been dwarfed in other towns. The dominant look in the downtown architecture was turn-of-the-century stone. The state government took up most of the office space, and life in the city revolved around two domed buildings on the hill, the cathedral and the capitol. Between the twins, Serena preferred Saint Paul.

She found a parking place at a meter in Rice Park. The park was no more than a single square city block, with a central fountain and an odd juxtaposition of statues, including F. Scott Fitzgerald and characters from the Peanuts comic strip. St. Paul didn't forget its favorite sons, whether they were authors or cartoonists. The Ordway Center was only a few steps away, and the other buildings on the square were classical and grave-the mammoth central library, the Landmark Center with its clock tower and green dormers, and the venerable Saint Paul Hotel.

It was late afternoon and already dark. The streetlights were on. White lights twinkled in the trees in the park, and faery ice sculptures glistened, awaiting the opening of the city's annual winter carnival. Serena made her way to the Ordway, which was getting ready for a performance of The Producers that night. A doorman in a cape and top hat held the door for her. She was early; the theater staff in the lobby were sweeping the floor, arranging posters and T-shirts for sale, and preparing for the rush of ticket holders.

She found a security attendant in a white shirt. He was in his fifties, short and round. He remembered talking to Maggie the previous day.

"I was hoping to get some more information from the ushers," Serena told him.

"Suit yourself," he replied pleasantly. "But you've only got half an hour. When the guests start arriving, everyone will be busy around here."

"Do you know who would have been working a week ago Saturday?"

The security guard pointed at a kid in his early twenties, who was perched beside a velvet rope leading into the waiting area outside the orchestra doors. "Start with Dave."

Serena thanked him. Dave was a talkative farm boy who was majoring in geology at the University of Minnesota and used his ushering job to watch theater performances for free. He was dressed uncomfortably in a black tuxedo, with a paisley cummerbund and a bow tie that was so twisted it looked more like an hourglass spilling sand. Serena couldn't resist straightening it for him.

"Thanks," Dave replied. He didn't look unhappy to be in the circle of Serena's perfume. "I hate wearing the monkey suit, but they insist."

"Come on, you know women can't resist a man in a tuxedo," she told him, smiling.

His cheeks turned pink. "Yeah?"

"Oh, definitely." She asked Dave if he remembered Eric from the previous weekend, and he nodded vigorously.

"That dude? Absolutely. He looked like he should be captain of a Viking ship, know what I mean? Like he just stepped off a fjord."

"You talked to him?"

"Yeah, he peppered me with questions for ten minutes. It was a little awkward, because I needed to work, you know?"

"I'm sorry to be doing the same thing."

"Oh, hey, you I don't mind."

"What did Eric want to know?"

Dave had long brown hair, and he pushed it back behind his ears with both hands. "He was talking about this blog he had found on the Web. He was trying to track down the woman who wrote it."

"A blog?

"Yeah, I guess it was one of those MySpace things, like 'Lady in Red' or 'Dark Lady' or 'Lady in Waiting.' It was lady something."

"Did you know who the blogger was?"

"Nope. The Viking dude, he said it was probably a woman in her late thirties, but we've got lots of women like that here. So he started talking to them one by one."

"Did he say why he was looking for her?"

"No, he didn't. After he talked to a couple of the women, people started getting a little freaked-out. You know, like he might be a stalker or something. Security went to him and told him to lay off or they were going to kick him out."

"Did that stop him?"

Dave shook his head. "Not really. I saw him at intermission, and he was still talking up the women ushers. To tell you the truth, most of them didn't mind. I mean, he's a good-looking guy, you know? There was just one woman who got hot and bothered about it."

"Who was that?"

"Her name's Helen."

"Is she here tonight?"

"I haven't seen her for a while. You'd have to talk to the admin guys about her schedule. The thing is, she couldn't have been too upset, because when I left the theater that night, I saw her talking to the Viking guy in the park across the street."

"You saw Helen and Eric together?"

Dave nodded.

"You're a doll," Serena said.

Dave blushed again, and Serena retraced her steps to find the security guard hovering near the theater door. She asked him about Helen and discovered that the usher's full name was Helen Danning, single, late thirties, quiet.

"When is she next scheduled to work?" Serena asked.

The guard shook his head. "She's not."

"Why?"

"She quit last week. Called on Thursday and said she was moving out of town. No warning, no explanations, nothing."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"We don't even know where to send her last paycheck."

Serena frowned. "Do you know where she lived?"

"I think she had an apartment in Lowertown. Near the farmer's market. She told me it was nice to walk across the street on Saturday morning and get fresh tomatoes."