Richard Hawke - Cold Day in Hell

“But Riddick was trying to pump it up?”

“You bet. He kept trying to get me to say that I was secretly pissed off at her, that she was sexually aggressive and was a man-eater and all this crap. I told him to go to hell.”

“It’s an old ploy,” I said. “Lawyers try that move all the time.”

“Well, here’s the thing. While I was in his office? He came on to me . Big-time. It was just like he did with Robin when she was on the stand. The guy’s digging into my sexual history, and I don’t know, I guess it gets him all turned on. For some reason, he thinks he’s God’s gift to women. But I can tell you, he was no gift to me. I probably should have contacted some lawyers’ association or something. That couldn’t have been ethical, what he was pulling. You know what his basic move was? He started telling me what I looked like. I mean, like, describing me in detail. To me. As if I don’t know what I look like? Maybe he thought he was coming off as complimentary and sexy, but no way. I couldn’t wait to get out of that place. Then two days later, I was at a café near where I live. A place I always go. And there he was, just sitting there. Like he was waiting for me. With this big smile on his face.”

“Are you saying he was stalking you?”

“I don’t know. But it happened another time, too. I saw him on the subway platform. I mean, I guess it could have been a coincidence. But it was so soon after seeing him in the café. And there was that smug look on his face again. He started to come down the platform, but the subway pulled in right then, and I got on it. I hopped off at the next stop and waited for the next train.”

“Did you tell anyone about this?”

“About Riddick stalking me? Not really. I mean, I told a few friends. But I made a point not to mention it to Robin. Things were tough enough for her already. Still, it spooked me. I’ve been looking over my shoulder ever since.”

“I guess there’s no need for that now.”

“You mean with Riddick being dead? Yeah, well, you’d think so. But can I tell you something?” Her eyes traveled around the room again before returning to me. Her voice lowered, and she scooted closer to me. A scent of vanilla scooted over with her.

“Even though he’s dead and everything? I’ve still been having this really creepy feeling that someone is still watching me. Or, you know. Following me. I’m probably nuts, but I really feel it. It’s like…I don’t know. It’s like somebody’s eyes are literally on my skin. I can’t describe it, but it’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Have you actually seen anybody?”

“ Seen seen? No. But someone’s there. I just know it. Right after I heard about Riddick being found dead in the park, I was heading back to my apartment, and I could have sworn there was someone following me. And it’s happened once or twice since. I don’t like it. First Robin’s killed, and then Riddick. And the phone message that was on Robin’s machine? I don’t know what to say. This town is beginning to freak me out. I’m getting really scared.”

I gave her my card. “If it happens again, call me. Chances are you’re just being paranoid, which is perfectly understandable. But call me anyway. Just get yourself somewhere very public and call.”

Michelle shuddered. Tears had come again to her eyes, but they didn’t fall. “I just can’t believe what happened to Robin. I mean, one day she’s alive and then…I can’t even begin to think how scary that must have been for her. Jesus. What kind of monster would do something like that?”

I tapped the card. “You’ll call me.”

“Oh yeah.” Her moist eyes blinked at the card. “You’d better believe it. I’ll cry bloody murder. Top of my lungs.”

I prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

TWO BLOCKS WEST of the Quaker meetinghouse, I ran into Megan Lamb. She was behind the wheel of a departmental Crown Vic, which was angled against the curb. A man was behind the car, leaning his full weight against it, while Megan called out to him through the open driver’s-side door.

“Get to the middle! The grid’s going to take out your leg!” She glanced up as I approached, showing no sign of surprise. “Malone. Do you want to make yourself useful?”

I continued past her and positioned myself next to the guy who was leaning against the trunk. Young guy. Fresh-faced. “Watch out for the grid,” he muttered. “It’ll take out your leg.”

The Vic had fudged the turn onto Fifteenth Street, and the left rear tire had found an icy groove of snow. No traction. A thin rectangular metal mesh grid had been wedged under the tire. The two of us leaned against the trunk.

The guy grimaced. “She’s going to race it.”

He was right. Megan laid on the accelerator as if kicking out of the gate at Daytona. The tire let out a giddy squeal as it spun in place. The rear of the car trembled but otherwise didn’t budge. Megan’s voice sounded above the squeal.

“Push!”

The guy and I shared a look. “You tell her,” he said. “I’m less than zero.”

I stepped over to the open door as Megan let off the gas. “All you’re doing is polishing the ice,” I told her. “We’ve got to get you rocking forward and back. On the forward, just tap it.”

She gave a noise that seemed to be an assent, and I returned to the rear of the car. We managed to get it rocking slightly, and after a few back-and-forths, Megan began tapping the gas. Third time was a charm. The fresh-faced guy and I leaned hard in to the car. The acid burn went through my arms, and the car swerved slightly to the right then stuttered back onto the street. A blur sailed past my knee. The metal grid. It impaled itself in a snowdrift.

As Megan eased the car over and double-parked, the fresh-faced guy turned to me. “Ryan Pope. You’re Fritz Malone.”

Nice of him to handle both sides of the introduction. I asked, “You’re Megan’s partner?”

“That’s right.”

“Maybe she should be letting you drive.”

“Do you know what the sane man said to the control freak?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Megan got out of the car. Her hands were bright pink and she cupped them, blowing into them. “He telling you about the flat?”

“You had a flat, too?”

“Uptown. On Lexington,” Pope said. He indicated the knees of his pants, which I now saw were soaked and soiled.

“And then you got down here and skidded into the curb.”

“I guess there’s no point in my buying a lotto ticket today,” Megan said.

“I don’t know. I came along. Maybe your luck has changed.”

“Are you coming from the Quaker place?”

“I am.”

“I guess it’s all over?”

“Yes.”

Megan frowned. “Then my luck hasn’t changed.” She looked up into the blank sky for a few seconds, then back at me. Her cheeks were two fierce pink spots. “Joe warned me you’d probably be poking around on the Burrell murder.”

“Keen instincts your boss has got.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in my even going over there.”

“To the meetinghouse? There are probably still some people hanging around. They do the coffee-and-pastries thing afterward.”

Megan addressed her partner. “Ryan, why don’t you get over there and see who’s left to talk to. If you find any live ones, hold on to them. I’ll be right there. I want to debrief Mr. Malone here first. I have the sense that he got all the goodies.”

Pope nodded wordlessly and started off down the street.

I turned to Megan. “Newbie?”

“Pope? Not any longer. He’s growing up fast. Joe paired me with him when I came back in April. The kid didn’t exactly have the clout to say no.”