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The two o'clock appointment Jackie had forced down my throat was due in minutes, and I was still obsessing over the new CD-Rom game which left me every night with bloodshot eyes and addled wits as I labored to extricate myself from a gloomy forest filled with human-munching monsters. At the same time I bought the disk I also bought the cheat-sheet, a booklet that will answer all my questions. However, true to form, I wanted to do it myself so the shrink-wrap on the tantalizing book was still intact. Sighing mightily, I clicked everything off. "All yours," I said as I rolled Jackie's desk chair back and removed myself from her bailiwick just inside the door to my office proper. "And about time, too, for here he comes," said Jackie, jerking her head towards the street where a lanky man was unwinding himself from behind the wheel of a four-wheel-drive something-or-other. Those vehicles were not my mug of Earl Grey, so I can never tell one from the other. Give me my '69 AMX anytime . . . well, anytime I'm not driving up the side of a mountain, of course, or through two feet of snow. In that event, I'll condescend to the four-by. Jack Morgan was an attractive man, probably around thirty-six or -seven. He was well over six feet tall, not handsome in the traditional sense, but rugged and what is termed craggy, I believe. He was dressed casually -- leather stockman jacket, beige twill trousers, brown unadorned boots, and a deep green button-down shirt which in color matched the band on the creamy Stetson he carried in his left hand. Did I say casual? If so, it was not without effect even in the eyes of my recently married and newly pregnant assistant, Jackie Torrance Jamieson, a fact apparent from the quick lipstick swipe she made over her lips before he actually came through the door. By this time I was behind my desk, looking considerably more the professional private investigator than I had a scant one minute earlier, biting the inside corner of my mouth while my computer persona grew increasingly blind and fell once again to the unseen killers in the forest who cackled maniacally in the gloom. I tended at such moments to mutter foul curses at the monsters, at the creator of this maddening puzzle -- yea, even at the inventor of the computer itself, whoever the hell he might be. "Mr. Morgan? I'm Sheila Casey." He nodded, offered me a large, hard palm across the desk, and stepped back. "Please have a seat, Mr. Morgan." He sat, still not having said a word. After a small wait, I primed him. "What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan?" That brought on a frown -- more a scowl as he worried the question silently in his brain for a moment. I was sure it was not a matter of understanding what I'd asked, but was probably one of two things. Either it was so gross he couldn't bring himself to spit it out or, more likely, he had a problem with spitting it out to a woman. The first was no problem; the second was, at least for me, and there were lots of other private eyes in the area who shaved every morning, if that was what he preferred. I decided to wait him out this time. It was a short wait. "I don't know where to begin," he began, noticing my smile as he said it. "Yeah, I know the drill -- begin at the beginning. The problem is, you see, I don't have the slightest fix on when and where the beginning is for I don't have any idea who is doing this to me." "Who is doing what to you?" Again, a rueful expression, a shrug of wide shoulders. Sooner or later, my friend, you're going to have to get to it, I thought. Better sooner than later, as far as I'm concerned. I could always make an administrative decision to return to the forest, after all. "Well," he said at last, "I guess the best way to describe it is that I'm being stalked -- somebody is stalking me." He stopped, actually flushing slightly, and I could understand his uneasiness over talking about this. Anyone his size, looking as fit and capable of taking care of himself as he did, was certain to feel somewhat demeaned after being spied upon and trailed after, particularly when the perp was not known. "How do you know you're being stalked, as you say? Have you seen the person?" "No, I've not seen him -- or her. But I've heard whoever it is." "You heard someone speak?" "Well, not actually speak, not using a full voice. More like a heavy whisper -- very breathy." "Any idea at all whether the voice is male or female?" He hesitated almost imperceptibly before replying, "No, no idea at all, I'm afraid." I didn't believe him, but now was not the time to press; he would only clam up again. "When was the last time you heard the voice -- and where?" "Just last night -- rather, early this morning, outside my bedroom window. I thought Lump was having a fit, raging at the window like he was." "Lump?" "My mutt dog." I warmed to him immediately. "What happened? What did the person say?" "Well, it was around three this morning, and I was dead to the world. All of a sudden Lump was throwing himself at the window, barking like a lunatic. I fell out of the side of the bed away from the window, grabbed my Colt forty-five, and called off Lump. "After I threatened to shoot through the window, I heard sort of a laugh, and then the voice said again, 'I'll be back,'" again. "'Again'? Whoever it is has said that before?" He nodded vigorously. "Every time, if I remember right." I thought about it for a minute in silence. Morgan glowered generally in the direction of the far wall, also silent. "How many times has this happened before, and is it always somewhere around your house?" "I really can't say for sure. Twenty or thirty times over the last couple of years. And no, not always at my home. Several times I heard that whisper over my office phone, and several times the same words showed up either written in the dust on my car or the snow on my windshield." "Anything more threatening than the promise to be back?" He chewed on that for a while before nodding, once. "Yeah, I think so. Before I picked Lump out at the animal shelter, I had an ancient Alsatian that belonged to my ex-wife. When she left, she told me I could have the useless old brute, and I was happy to have him around. He was a lot nicer to live with than she was. "No matter how I tried to get him to come inside on cold nights, particularly after he got so old, he'd have none of it, insisting on his doghouse in the back yard. "About a year ago I went to the back door and whistled for the dog. When he didn't come, I got impatient with him." I could tell this bothered him, but he went on. "He was deaf as a stump, you see, and often didn't hear me. So I barged out to his house near the garage on the alley and banged on it, hard. He still didn't come out, but I could see he was in his shelter. When I reached in and poked him to get his attention, he didn't move." He stopped for a bit, then finished about the old dog. "Anyway, he was dead -- had his throat cut clear to the bone. Must have been outside the doghouse for that to happen, and then shoved back in." "Did you call the police?" "Sure, but they didn't find anything in the way of a clue. There was no weapon in the yard, the neighbors had heard nothing. They told me there had been burglaries in the neighborhood in recent months, and often family dogs had been drugged before the thieves made entrance -- you know, drugged meat. "After a while they told me they were sorry, but there was nothing they could do." "Would the dog allow just anybody to get close to him?" "God, yes! The idea of anybody at all scratching his belly or rubbing his ears made him pee all over himself with enthusiasm. He had no discrimination at all, that dog -- useless as a watchdog, lick anybody to death." "Did you have any contact with this other person -- your stalker -- during that period?" "Yeah, that very night. The phone rang and when I answered it, I heard that breathy whisper, 'See? I told you I'd come back.' When I lost it and yelled into the phone, there was that whistling little laugh again and the bastard hung up." "Have you contacted the police about all this?" "Hell, no! Can you imagine . . ." He trailed off. "You really should contact the police." I held up a palm to stop him as he started to interrupt and continued with very good advice. "Being stalked is no small matter, Mr. Morgan. The act of hounding a person is an indication of a much larger problem. As I suspect you already believe, there is quite probably much anger, maybe rage, and surely a hidden agenda in this act, perhaps even violence against you. "Just because you're a big dude with, I'm sure, lots of self-confidence and conviction that you can certainly take care of your own problems, thank you kindly, the very fact that you're here talking to a confidential investigator shows you recognize you have a problem here which you're unable to solve on your own -- at least so far. "The police should at the very minimum be notified of your situation. I grant you, there's nothing they can do at the moment other than swing by your home at odd hours, perhaps get lucky and catch whoever it is lurking about. At the very least, however, they will have your statement regarding what's transpired so far. That should be a help to them the day they find your cold and lifeless body somewhere." I wanted him to call the police! Maybe shocking him with such a remark would convince him this was not merely an inconvenience but possibly a real danger. He looked at me with his mouth open, goggling. Apparently deciding there was going to be no help from this quarter, he abruptly stood and picked up his hat, ready to leave. "Mr. Morgan, I didn't mean by that remark that I won't help you. If you want me to look into this, I certainly will do so." He hesitated, and the clicking from the computer keyboard ceased momentarily as Jackie paused to see what he would do as well. He sat again, and the customer records update continued in the background. "I was just trying to get it across to you that this situation is not merely an annoyance, a fly to be swatted as it were, but can often turn into one of extreme danger. The police should be told. If you don't wish to do so, I will, with your permission. I have a good and trusted connection with the Denver Police Department, and one that will keep everything confidential." I waited again until Morgan, with some reluctance, nodded his agreement. "Fine. Now, let's get some dates, places, times and all the rest taken care of." We did so over the next fifteen minutes. And after writing me a check as a retainer for my services and hours -- expenses to be added later -- and handing it to me, Morgan collected his hat and left. After the Jeep-clone roared off down the street, Jackie rolled her big black eyes at me, pursing her lips and whistling softly. "He wasn't that handsome, you married lady, you," I said. "Oh?" Jackie lifted one brow and said something about impending age, she understood, did tend to weaken one's libido. Or was it, perhaps, I needed glasses? I retorted that, on the other hand, I understood that pregnant women became agitated and often overwrought in the presence of any two-legged male more macho than Mr. Peepers. "Who?" God, she must be right. I am getting old! |