Keep Quiet(81)

Jake’s stomach twisted. Voloshin had aimed his camera as if it were a rifle and he’d managed to catch Ryan, Jake, and now, Pam in his crosshairs. And the evergreens would have screened Voloshin from view, and the little pervert would also have been free to spy on Kathleen and photograph her whenever he wanted, especially if he knew her schedule and worked from home often enough that he didn’t have to account to the office for his time. Voloshin had set himself up like a hunter in a blind, waiting for the girls to run by.

Jake looked down, and a few white berries caught his eye, oddly bright in the brownish underbrush. He bent down, moved the undergrowth aside, and picked up the berries, examining them. They weren’t berries at all. He flashed on the photo of Voloshin’s desk, with its bags of Skittles. The white berries were candy, their coating washed away by the rain, probably dropped by Voloshin during one of his stalker sessions.

Jake hurried back the same way he came, keeping the sandstone apartment building directly behind him, moving tree limbs and vines out of his path until he reached the edge of the woods. He stalked through the grass at the edge of Pike Road, hustled to his car, jumped inside, and started the engine. Luckily, there was still no one on the street.

He hit the gas and cruised forward, approaching the blind curve. He glanced over at the memorial as he passed it, sending up a silent prayer for Kathleen, then took a right. His destination was Dolomite Road and it lay just ahead, at a ninety degree angle to Pike. He turned right onto Dolomite, orienting himself, slowing his speed and taking in the surroundings.

The street was quiet and still, with no cars or foot traffic. On its left side was the parking lot that surrounded Concordia Corporate Center, which was screened from the street by thick landscaped hedges and zigzagging evergreens. On the right side of the street were more overgrown woods and trees, the parcel evidently unused.

Jake drove down the street and noticed that the left side of the street stayed the same, with the thick landscaped greenery that screened the corporate center, but on the right side, the woods stooped for a clearing of a few homes, newish clapboard colonials, one of which had a FOR SALE sign out front. He drove to the end of the street, which veered left and led to one of the remote parking lots of the corporate center, where a group of black Goren’s Janitorial vans were parked.

Jake turned around and cruised back up Dolomite Road, heading toward Pike Road. He passed the houses on his left and slowed his speed when he got to the place where he thought the BMW sedan had been parked. He braked, cut the ignition, and got out of the car.

“Sir!” said a man’s voice. “Stop right there! Sir!”

Jake froze. It had to be the police or security for the corporate center. He didn’t see anyone. The voice came from beyond the hedges.

“What are you doing, sir? You hold on! Right there!”

“Okay, sure.” Jake’s mouth went dry, and there was a rustling in the evergreens and movement of the limbs as an older man emerged, dressed in an insulated purplish-blue jumpsuit, with a white patch that read CONCORDIA CORPORATE CENTER. His face was a network of wrinkles, his bifocals slid down his bony nose, and he was as lean and worn as the rake he carried.

“Where do you work, sir? You got the bulletin, didn’t you? I was told all the tenants got the bulletin!”

“I don’t work here.” Jake crossed to his car door, but the old man held up a gnarled hand.

“There’s no more parking back here! I don’t know when you people are going to learn!”

“I wasn’t parking here.” Jake thought fast. “I was thinking about buying that house at the end of the street. Do people park here a lot? Is that a problem? If it is, I don’t want to buy the house.”

“Oh, beg pardon.” The old man seemed to stand down, leaning on the rake. “You don’t want to buy a house on this street, not unless you like a peep show. This is a lovers’ lane, that’s what we used to call it. Everybody comes here to park ’n spark.”

“You mean from the high school?” Jake’s ears perked up.

“Hell, no! I mean our tenants! From these businesses.” The old man gestured back to the corporate center. “They got so many women working here now, and there’s all kinda tomfoolery goes on here at lunch. You’d be surprised what I find in these bushes this time o’ day! Cigarette butts, beer cans, rubbers! Disgusting! They have a damn good time in these cars! Every morning, too, from partyin’ that goes on after work!”

“I bet.” Jake opened his car door. “I’ll be going now. I appreciate your giving me the information. It doesn’t sound like a great place for the kids.”

“No sir, no way! Nice talking to you. Bye now.”

“Take care.” Jake started the engine, steered down Dolomite, and turned right on Pike Road. He felt like he was getting closer to something, but he didn’t know what. He assumed for a minute that it was Kathleen in the photograph of the BMW sedan, because if it hadn’t been, Voloshin would have no reason to put it on his bulletin board with the other photographs of her. If Voloshin had been in his duck blind, watching Kathleen on one of her nighttime runs, he could have discovered that she wasn’t running, but meeting someone on Dolomite Road.

Jake took a right turn, preoccupied. His theory made sense because it answered some of the questions he’d had earlier, like why was Kathleen running alone so late at night? Maybe it wasn’t unusual for the track team, but what if Kathleen was using running as a pretense to get out of the house at night? What if she was going to Dolomite Road to meet someone, in a car? But who was she meeting? Someone whom Kathleen was keeping a secret, probably from her mother, if she was meeting him in a car.