“This guy ain’t into empty threats,” Marino said quietly as I sipped.
“He’s probably just jerking me around because I’m involved in the case. Taunting. It’s not unusual for psychopaths to taunt investigators or even send them souvenirs.”
I didn’t really believe it. Certainly Marino didn’t.
“I’m going to keep a unit or two staked out. We’ll watch your house,” he said. “And I got a couple rules for you. Follow them to the letter. No fooling around.”
He met my eyes. “For starters, whatever your normal routines are, I want you to scramble them up as much as possible. If you usually go to the grocery store on Friday afternoon, go on Wednesday next time and pick a different store. Don’t ever set foot outside your house or car without looking around. You see anything that catches your eye, like a strange car parked on the street or evidence anybody’s been on your property, you haul ass out of there or keep yourself locked up tight in here and call the police. When you walk inside your house, if you sense anything — I mean if you so much as get a creepy feeling–get out of here, find a phone and call the police, ask an officer to accompany you inside to make sure everything’s okay.”
“I’ve got a burglar alarm,” I said.
“So did Beryl.”
“She let the bastard in.”
“You don’t let nobody in you’re not sure about.”
“What’s he going to do, bypass my alarm system?” I persisted.
“Anything’s possible.”
I remembered Wesley saying that.
“No leaving your office after dark or when nobody else is around. The same applies to your coming in. If you usually come in when it’s still pretty dark, the parking lot empty, start coming in a little later. Keep your answering machine on. Tape everything. You get another call, get hold of me immediately. A couple more and we’ll put a trap on your line–”
“Like you did with Beryl?” I was beginning to get angry.
He didn’t respond.
“What, Marino? Will my rights be honored in the breach, too? When it’s too damn late to do me any damn good?”
“You want me to sleep on your couch tonight?” he asked calmly.
Facing the morning was hard enough. I envisioned Marino in boxer shorts, a T-shirt stretched taut over his big belly as he padded barefooted in the general direction of the bathroom. He probably still left the seat up.
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
“You’ve got a license for carrying a gun, don’t you?”
“Carrying a concealed weapon?” I asked.
“No.”
He pushed back his chair, deciding. “I’ll have a little chat with Judge Reinhard in the morning.
We’ll get you one.”
That was all. It was almost midnight.
Moments later I was alone and unable to sleep. I downed another shot of brandy, then one more, and lay in bed staring up at the dark ceiling. If you have enough bad things happen to you in life, others begin to privately question if you invite them, are a magnet that attracts misfortune or danger or dysfunction. I was beginning to wonder. Maybe Ethridge was right, I got too involved in my cases and placed myself at risk. I’d had close calls before that could have sent me spinning off into eternity.
When I finally faded into sleep, I dreamed nonsensical things. Ethridge burned a hole in his vest with a cigar ash. Fielding was working on a body that was beginning to look like a pin cushion because he couldn’t find an artery that had any blood. Marino was riding a pogo stick up a steep hill and I knew he was going to fall.
12
In the early morning I stood inside my dark living room, staring out at the shadows and shapes of my property.
My Plymouth wasn’t back from the state garage. As I looked out at the oversize station wagon I was stuck with, I found myself wondering how difficult it would be for a grown man to hide under it and grab my foot as I unlocked the driver’s door. He wouldn’t need to kill me. I would die of a heart attack fust. The street beyond was empty, street lights burning dimly. Peering through the barely parted draperies, I saw nothing. I heard nothing. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.