right now? Are you more than friends with this Sullivan character?”
I shook my head. “ Less than friends. It’s just that . . . I keep remembering how he shouted at Laura that he wants his life back. I get the feeling he means that almost literally . . . that she derailed him that completely. What she did to him was just so unfair, and so far she’s gotten off scot-free. Sullivan was supportive when I blundered into that hideous ordeal back in December and needed help. I can’t just turn my back on him now, when he’s in need. It’ll bug me forever.”
“Some guy you’re ‘less than friends’ with is going to haunt you forever?” She held my gaze.
I sighed. Linda seemed to be in investigating-officer mode. I wasn’t sure myself how I felt about Sullivan. It was impossible to explain something that was purely emotional and not rational; all I knew was that, at the very least, I needed to balance things out with Sullivan—to know that he was back on an even keel in terms of his professional and his personal life—or I would never truly be able to give my relationship with his good friend John Norton a real chance. I chose to express none of that to Linda. Instead, I answered, “It sounds a little crazy, I know, because it is crazy, but . . . yes. I have to help Sullivan out, or everything will seem forever out of balance between us.”
Linda blew her nose again. Although clearly none too happy, she grumbled, “Fine. I’ll meet you there. Sarge will bust my butt if he finds out about this, though.”
“Thanks, Linda. Can we go right away?”
She shook her head. “My schedule’s already jam-packed. You or your ‘less than a friend’ can always just call this in . . . make a verbal complaint against her. But then the duty sergeant might assign someone else. Otherwise, I’ll get there as soon as I can. Probably within the next hour or two, unless something urgent comes up in the meantime.”
“I’d rather wait two hours and have you be the one who talks to her.”
She shoved aside her pack of tissues and picked up her pen again. “So what’s her address?”
If I hadn’t known precisely where to look for Sullivan, I’d have driven right past the dark-colored sedan that he’d told me he’d borrowed. He was parked along a dead-end road in the mountainous subdivision, adjacent to Laura’s cul-de-sac but a little farther down the main drag. Laura would be forced to drive past this intersection as she left the neighborhood. I parked my van several car lengths behind his, trotted to his car, waved, and waited for him to unlock my door, then slid into the passenger seat.
The interior reeked of old cigarette smoke. The ashtray was brimming with cigarette butts. The cheap plaid upholstery of my seat was ripped, and the plastic dashboard was cracked. “Nice wheels,” I teased.
“Best I could do on such short notice. Belongs to a buddy of mine.”
“Good thinking. Following Laura in a van marked ‘Sullivan Designs’ would have been something of a giveaway. It’d be like James Bond driving around in his tricked-up BMW with a big sign on the roof that read: ‘Surveillance by Bond. James Bond.’ ”
Steve didn’t even crack a smile. He continued to glower out the windshield as if his anger was necessary to maintain his vigilance. “No sign of her yet. Or of Holland. Just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to borrow a car. She had more than two hours to clear out between the time we left her house and I got back up here. In retrospect, it would have been better to stick with the Sullivan Designs van and let her know full well that I was tailing her.”
I held my tongue. In his mood, this was going to be a long wait, indeed. I reached for the dial of the radio to switch it on. “Radio’s busted,” Steve muttered.
“Perfect,” I replied.
The time passed slowly. Sullivan was about as talkative as a sullen teenager. Mercifully, at ten after ten, Linda’s squad car drove past us. Steve
I shook my head. “ Less than friends. It’s just that . . . I keep remembering how he shouted at Laura that he wants his life back. I get the feeling he means that almost literally . . . that she derailed him that completely. What she did to him was just so unfair, and so far she’s gotten off scot-free. Sullivan was supportive when I blundered into that hideous ordeal back in December and needed help. I can’t just turn my back on him now, when he’s in need. It’ll bug me forever.”
“Some guy you’re ‘less than friends’ with is going to haunt you forever?” She held my gaze.
I sighed. Linda seemed to be in investigating-officer mode. I wasn’t sure myself how I felt about Sullivan. It was impossible to explain something that was purely emotional and not rational; all I knew was that, at the very least, I needed to balance things out with Sullivan—to know that he was back on an even keel in terms of his professional and his personal life—or I would never truly be able to give my relationship with his good friend John Norton a real chance. I chose to express none of that to Linda. Instead, I answered, “It sounds a little crazy, I know, because it is crazy, but . . . yes. I have to help Sullivan out, or everything will seem forever out of balance between us.”
Linda blew her nose again. Although clearly none too happy, she grumbled, “Fine. I’ll meet you there. Sarge will bust my butt if he finds out about this, though.”
“Thanks, Linda. Can we go right away?”
She shook her head. “My schedule’s already jam-packed. You or your ‘less than a friend’ can always just call this in . . . make a verbal complaint against her. But then the duty sergeant might assign someone else. Otherwise, I’ll get there as soon as I can. Probably within the next hour or two, unless something urgent comes up in the meantime.”
“I’d rather wait two hours and have you be the one who talks to her.”
She shoved aside her pack of tissues and picked up her pen again. “So what’s her address?”
If I hadn’t known precisely where to look for Sullivan, I’d have driven right past the dark-colored sedan that he’d told me he’d borrowed. He was parked along a dead-end road in the mountainous subdivision, adjacent to Laura’s cul-de-sac but a little farther down the main drag. Laura would be forced to drive past this intersection as she left the neighborhood. I parked my van several car lengths behind his, trotted to his car, waved, and waited for him to unlock my door, then slid into the passenger seat.
The interior reeked of old cigarette smoke. The ashtray was brimming with cigarette butts. The cheap plaid upholstery of my seat was ripped, and the plastic dashboard was cracked. “Nice wheels,” I teased.
“Best I could do on such short notice. Belongs to a buddy of mine.”
“Good thinking. Following Laura in a van marked ‘Sullivan Designs’ would have been something of a giveaway. It’d be like James Bond driving around in his tricked-up BMW with a big sign on the roof that read: ‘Surveillance by Bond. James Bond.’ ”
Steve didn’t even crack a smile. He continued to glower out the windshield as if his anger was necessary to maintain his vigilance. “No sign of her yet. Or of Holland. Just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to borrow a car. She had more than two hours to clear out between the time we left her house and I got back up here. In retrospect, it would have been better to stick with the Sullivan Designs van and let her know full well that I was tailing her.”
I held my tongue. In his mood, this was going to be a long wait, indeed. I reached for the dial of the radio to switch it on. “Radio’s busted,” Steve muttered.
“Perfect,” I replied.
The time passed slowly. Sullivan was about as talkative as a sullen teenager. Mercifully, at ten after ten, Linda’s squad car drove past us. Steve
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