Chapter 21 – The Stalker
Lynn was back in her office at CSIC when Dave walked in. “Welcome back, Lynn. I hear you did pretty well at the Recurse Center.”
“Yes, I did. Apparently I have a gift for programming that I didn’t know about. It’s mostly about the patterns of thinking we develop in childhood – thinking outside the box rather than constrained linear thinking, being able to take leaps of the imagination – that makes a gifted programmer. Whatever it is, I’ve got it. That, plus having Jack as a mentor, turned me into a primo hacker. Turn me loose on a case, Dave, so I can do some challenging hacking.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to return so you can start on a new case that fits your skill set perfectly. The wife of one of our long-time clients has been getting emails from an internet stalker. She gets messages that show us the stalker is somehow able to read her personal emails. This one she got yesterday demonstrates he – or she – is following her:
I followed you to your exercise class today. You really look good in that leotard. It shows off your perfect body shape so well. A lower neckline would look even better on you, or maybe a two-piece outfit with a bare midriff that would show me more skin.
“So what do you want me to do?”
“First of all, become her friend so you can go where she goes without looking like a bodyguard.”
“Will she know what my job is – that she’s my job?”
“No, she’s made it clear to her husband that she doesn’t want protection, but he came to us anyway. You will have to use your natural charm to get, and stay, close to her.”
“So what do I do when I’m not with her?”
“Hack your way into her computer so you can trace her emails. Maybe that will lead you to the stalker.”
Lynn sat down at a table near the door of a Starbucks two blocks from the gym where Catherine Stevens went for her daily seven a.m. exercise class. She found the place by parking outside the gym and following Catherine after class for three days. It seemed to be part of her morning routine – she dropped her kids off at school, went straight to the gym, came out forty-five minutes later, and drove to this coffee shop where she ordered a Mocha Latte Grande and worked on her computer for twenty or thirty minutes. Yesterday Lynn followed her into the Starbucks and got in line behind her. As Catherine was waiting for her brew, Lynn ordered a Mocha Latte Grande for her self, in a loud enough voice that Catherine could hear. As Lynn had hoped, Catherine glanced at her briefly before taking her coffee and laptop to a table – a table Catherine probably identified as “hers.” Lynn thought Perfect. Now she’ll recognize me tomorrow when I come here.
The next day Lynn got there early enough to order her Mocha Latte and claim Catherine’s regular table for herself. She had just opened her laptop when Catherine entered, ordered her Mocha Latte, and turned toward the table. When she saw Lynn, she hesitated for a second, then started looking around. Lynn looked up and said, “Do I have your regular table? I’m sorry, I’ll move.”
Catherine looked embarrassed. “No, no. There’s no need to do that. I’ll sit somewhere else.”
“Well, at least join me so I won’t feel like I’m trespassing. . . . please. But if you would rather not have any company, I understand.”
“Okay. But now I feel like the trespasser. After all I don’t own this table. It’s just that, when you get into certain habit patterns you don’t want to change them.”
As Catherine sat down Lynn reached out her hand. “I’m Lynn . . . Lynn Preston.”
“I’m Catherine. Catherine . . . oh first names are enough, Lynn.”
Lynn thought She doesn’t trust me enough to give me her last name. For all she knows, I’m the one stalking her. With that thought Lynn looked around casually to see if anyone was paying too much attention to them. What am I looking for – someone with a ‘Stalker’ sign around their neck? That’s when she realized that she didn’t have a clue about how to spot a stalker. I need to get some tips from Dave on that. She made one more visual scan of the room, hoping she would see someone furtively stealing glances at Catherine, but everyone seemed interested in their own thing.
Catherine opened the conversation. “I saw you in here yesterday. Do you come here often?”
“No. It’s on my way to exercise class so I decided to change my routine and stop here on the way.”
“Where do you go for your class?”
“It’s across town, at the Urban Defense Fitness Center.” Lynn had looked for a place where she might get Catherine to go with her and learn some moves to protect herself from an attack. The UDFC, which focuses on teaching women self-defense moves in the shortest length of time, was just the right place.
“Oh. You’re into Judo and that stuff. I go to the gym up the street for aerobics every day to fight my loosing battle with sagging skin.”
“It looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of it.”
“Thank you, but you’re just being kind. You on the other hand look like the self-defense workouts are keeping you trim. I’ll bet there lot’s of muscle in there somewhere.”
“Not really. The method they teach isn’t about strengthening your muscles. It’s more about learning how to focus what strength you have on the right places of your attacker.”
“Now that sounds like something I need. Do they have room for any new students?”
“I’ll check and let you know. Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Definitely. I want to hear more about this . . . and you.”
Lynn closed her computer and said “I need to get to my class, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lynn was back at the same table the next day, without her laptop. She wanted to encourage more friendly conversation. While she was waiting for Catherine she stole quick glances to different people in the room, hoping to catch one of them looking at her before they could look away, but it was the same as yesterday – no one showed an interest.
Catherine showed up right on time, without her computer. She must be looking for some social interaction, too, Lynn thought. Once she had her coffee and joined Lynn at the table she asked, “So, where do you live, Lynn?”
She’s still a little suspicious . . but I would be too if I was being stalked. If I make something up, it might show in my attitude, so I’ll tell her the truth.
“I live in an apartment building in Logan Square.”
“Wow. That’s a pretty pricy neighborhood.”
“It’s a corporate apartment my employer provided until I can find something a little more in my price range. I’ve been there a month, but my boss keeps my so busy that I don’t have much time to find a new place.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a computer crime investigator for a private detective agency.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“Not really. I just study balance sheets and accounting documents looking for anomalies. Sometimes I get lucky and find one.”
“Does your husband live there with you?”
Lynn answered, as she choked back a sob, “No . . . no, he died last year. That’s why I started back to work.”
“Ohhhh. . . . I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s . . . just that I haven’t been able to let it go. I guess I never will. But it isn’t as painful as it used to be.” Lynn didn’t mean to choke up, but it had a good effect on improving her relationship with Catherine. Now she had an empathetic connection with her.
Catherine broke the silence. “I tell you what. You have to get to your self-defense class. Why don’t I follow you over there and check the place out. If I like it, I’ll sign up.”
“ . . . Great. Good idea. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
Catherine signed up for the class and a week later they were both showing progress. The instructor, Ari Hoffman, didn’t waste time with formal fighting styles like Tae Kwan Do or Karate. He favored a new approach based on the Israeli military self-defense training called Urban K
rav Maga. It focuses on defending against street attacks using surprise moves to end the confrontation before the attacker begins. It includes innovative ways to protect against choke holds, knife attacks, baseball bats, and other common weapons. It’s a great fighting style for women because it doesn’t require a lot of size or strength, but depends on surprise, quickness and leverage.
As Lynn hoped, they became good friends and spent most of their spare time together. Lynn had to maintain the fiction that she worked in front of a computer most of the day, but when she and Catherine weren’t doing something together, Lynn was shadowing her to catch the stalker. At night she scanned Catherine’s email through a hacking link she had set up, looking for more threats, but so far nothing had showed up.
Then one morning as they left the gym after class Lynn saw something. As she looked around her eyes briefly saw a camera lens inside a car parked nearby. The driver had jerked it down out of sight, but not before it registered in Lynn’s brain. Lynn looked away, but not so quickly that the man would suspect she saw the camera. Lynn made a mental note of the make, model, and color of the car as they walked toward their own vehicles. She didn’t have a good angle to see the license plate. Lynn let Catherine exit the parking lot before her, and took her time easing out into traffic several cars behind Catherine. She hoped the stalker would try to follow Catherine so Lynn could get the license number, but she didn’t see his car anywhere – until she looked in the rear-view mirror. He was following her! She couldn’t get a look at his face because the sun was glaring off his windshield, so she turned left at the next street to see if he would follow, but he stayed on the parkway.
Lynn knew a shortcut that would put her back on the parkway in front of Catherine and the stalker – if she didn’t get stopped for speeding. She took a left turn and accelerated to twice the legal speed limit. Twelve blocks later she made a dog-leg right turn without even slowing down and added another ten mph to her speed. She sped past a donut shop with two cop cars parked out front and hoped they wouldn’t come after her or call another squad car up ahead to stop her. She crossed her fingers and kept on going.
As she came to the parkway entrance three miles ahead of Catherine she slowed down and slipped in behind a slow-moving truck. She stayed there until Catherine passed her in the left lane and pulled in two cars behind her. She watched in the rear view mirror for the stalker’s car, but he was gone. He must have given up the chase, but I’ll follow Catherine home to make sure he stays gone. As Catherine approached the wrought iron gates to her driveway, they opened up in response to her remote control. Lynn parked a block down the street to make sure someone didn’t try to sneak in before the gates could close.
Lynn went back to her apartment to shower after her workout, then sat down at her computer to check her email. There was a query from Dave asking how the case was going, so Lynn sent him an update about their growing friendship. She activated the hack into Catherine’s email and saw nothing unusual. As Lynn was about to break the connection she heard the new mail ding-a-ling. There was a new email to Catherine from the stalker.
I watched you working out at the new gym in the self-defense class. You looked sexy in your outfit, but so did your friend. You don’t need any friends but me. Get rid of her! When you got home I watched through the window as you took off your clothes, before your shower. You have a beautiful body, Catherine. I wish I could have seen you in the shower, but that will have to wait for another time. Until then, I’ll treasure the photos I took.
Your friend, Tom (as in Peeping Tom.)
The email had four photos attached – two showing Lynn and Catherine coming out of the gym, and two showing Catherine removing her clothes for a shower. Lynn forwarded the email to Dave, then picked up her phone and called him.
“Dave here.”
“It’s me, Lynn. We have a new development from the stalker. He’s taking pictures of Catherine, some of them inside her own house. I just forwarded the email to you. Look it over and let me know what I should do next.”
“Has Catherine seen the email yet?”
“No, I intercepted it as soon as it came in.”
“Is there a way you can remove the email without leaving a trace? I don’t want her upset about this.”
“Sure, I can do that. I’ll store it in the archives on my laptop. Should we try to send the stalker an answer that looks like it came from Catherine? Something we can bait a trap with?”
“Good idea, but first I want you to find where the photos of Catherine undressing were taken from. The angle should be easy to figure out from the house floor plans, but he could have been anywhere along that line-of-sight path out to a few hundred yards.”
“Okay, I’ll get on it right after our class. . . . No, I’ll skip class and investigate this. That way I don’t need to worry about her spotting me. I’ll call her now and tell her I can’t make it.”
As soon as she finished her call to Catherine Lynn hacked into the Philadelphia Construction Permits Department to download the floor plans for Catherine’s house. She compared the master bedroom window location to the photos and determined a range of angles the stalker had to be within to take the pictures. Then she looked at a satellite view of the house on Google Earth to see what the terrain was like within that angle. He must have been somewhere on that hill behind the house. With all the trees, it will be a tough climb, she thought. But as she zoomed in on the hill she saw a dirt trail winding through the trees. That’s probably how he got to area – maybe on a motorcycle. The trail didn’t look wide enough for a car.
The next morning Lynn parked her truck at a small shopping center a couple of miles from where the dirt trail entered the woods. She hooked up an aluminum ramp to the tailgate and wheeled the rented motorcycle off the truck. The bike was powered by a super-quiet electric motor running on batteries, like the snowmobiles in Telluride. If the stalker was back up on the hill this morning to take more photos she didn’t want the noise of a gas-powered motorcycle scaring him off.
A few minutes later she turned onto the trail and started up the hill. She went very slowly, watching the trail for signs of recent traffic. When she saw some fresh tire tracks she took some pictures with her cell phone, hoping to be able to match the tread pattern to a particular motorcycle make and model. “That will be a long shot, but I can tell from the knobby tires that it must be a trail bike rather than a street bike. That will narrow down my online search.” Lynn murmured to herself. She checked her GPS location with her cell phone and saw she was only 150 feet from the location the photo must have been taken from, so she hid her bike under some roadside bushes and continued on foot. As she came around the next curve she saw a long section of straight road. The road was clear so she walked along looking for a place that had a clear view of Catherine’s bedroom window. The trees below the road blocked most of the viewing locations but she found one spot where a tree had fallen down that gave her a clear view.
She could tell from the tire tracks that a trail bike had stopped here. She looked around for some evidence – a cigarette butt or something – with no luck. So she snapped some pictures with her cell phone to compare with the stalker photos. After walking to the far end of the straight trail section she found nothing. As she turned to head back to her trail bike she heard an approaching motorcycle, so she quickly ducked into some bushes. She watched the rider as he rounded the bend and stopped where he had a scenic view of the bedroom window. He got off the bike and pulled an expensive camera with a telephoto lens out of his saddle bag. As he moved to a good viewing position he stopped suddenly, looking at the ground. He stooped down for a closer look.
Damn! My shoeprints. I should have erased them. Now he knows someone found the spot.
She peeked through the bushes as the stalker slowly stood back up and lifted the camera to his eye. He snapped a couple of photos of Catherine’s place, then turned the camera quickly toward her hiding place and took some photos. Just as qui
ckly he spun 180 degrees and photographed the road in the other direction. Then he quickly got back on his bike and sped down the trail with his camera around his neck. Lynn listened to see if the motor sound stopped when he got close to her bike, but he kept going. That was a close call. I wonder if he caught my face in the photo. . . . Damn! I missed a chance to get a picture of him on my cell phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Then she heard Jack’s voice in her head. “You’re not stupid, Lynn. You did take some pictures of him. They’re right there in your mind. Focus on them and pick out all the detail you can while the memory is fresh. When you get back to the car make a list of everything you can remember.”
She looked around to see if Jack’s spirit was with her, but there was nothing. Maybe it doesn’t show up in the light. He could be here beside me and I’d never know it. She spent the next few minutes deep in thought, creating an image of the stalker and his bike. When she closed her eyes she could see a clear image of the entire scene. She moved her mental vision over the image and captured everything. She would be able to call up the same image when she got back to the apartment to write down most of what she saw.
Lynn went back to her motorcycle, pulled it out of the bushes, and started down the trail to the highway. As she rounded a bend she had to brake and lay the bike on it’s side to keep from running into a barricade of dead tree branches. As she saying “What the . . .” her mind kicked into high alert. The stalker did this. Where is he? As she got quickly to her feet someone slammed into her back knocking her forward. As she fell she lowered her shoulder and rolled back into an upright position facing her attacker just as he was moving in for another body slam. She stepped aside and propelled him forward into the pile of wood. He jumped to his feet swinging a heavy tree limb that caught her on the side of the head. She fought back the pain and dizziness as she back-peddled away from him, but he closed in fast and swung at the other side of her head. She ducked under the club and delivered a kidney punch, but it didn’t do much good through his motorcycle jacket.
Her mind was racing through the self-defense counterattack options she had learned in class. A blow to his head was out because he was wearing a motorcycle helmet with a face visor, so she moved in quickly with a knee to the groin. It didn’t hit the target because he rotated his hips and took the blow on his thigh. He reached out to grab her leg but she was too quick for him and pulled away. He threw the club down and came toward her, but she stopped him with a steel toed boot kick to his left kneecap. He howled in pain and fell backwards. As Lynn moved in for another assault he pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket and pointed it at her.
Lynn’s mind was racing. What do I do now. He’s too far away for me to take his gun. Damn! Why didn’t I bring my own gun. The only thing I can do is stand there and pray that he doesn’t shoot. Maybe I can talk to . . . Her thoughts were interrupted by a shot from his gun. Lynn instinctively cringed and waited for the searing gunshot pain Jack told her about. But it didn’t come.
“That was a warning, bitch. Stay away from Catherine. She belongs to me!”
Lynn raised her hands in the air, watched him limp back to his motorcycle, and take off down the road. When he was out of sight she sat on the ground and tried to get control of the shaking that took over her body. She looked upward and said a quick prayer of thanks. A few minutes later she had calmed down enough to get back on her own bike and slowly head down to the highway.
Back in her apartment she just started a long hot shower when she saw blood mixed with the water. She felt her scalp where the club hit and came away with blood on her hand. She finished her shower quickly and examined her injury in the mirror. Luckily it was only a surface abrasion and wouldn’t need stitches. She cleaned it with an alcohol swab and taped a gauze patch over it. “I’ll have to think up a lie to tell Catherine about how I got this – I don’t want her to know what her stalker is capable of.”
She dressed, went into the kitchen to pour a stiff drink, and sat down with paper and pencil to record everything she could see in the mental image she called up. The stalker looks to be about a little over six feet with a weight at about 200 pounds. He was wearing black motorcycle leathers – no, they were cheap vinyl imitations. She focused on the dark visor that covered his face, hoping her mind had captured some of his facial features, but there was nothing there. Next she turned her attention to his motorcycle – it had a Honda logo on the tank with the model number CRF150.
Finally she turned her attention to the final scene as he drove away from her . . . “There! A license number. Unless you stole that bike I’ve got you now bad boy,” she said with a smile. Twenty minutes later she had hacked into the state motor vehicle registration database and came up with a name: Carl James Martin. She wrote down his address, then broke into the driver’s license database to download his identification photo. She started up a conversation with herself, which she often did when analyzing a situation.
“I don’t have anything I can take to the police. Only what’s in my memory. They can’t arrest him without more concrete evidence.”
“Yes, but I know who he is and where he lives. That has to be worth something.”
“Not really. With no other witnesses it’ll just be a she said/he said thing. And you can’t visually identify him because of his helmet. It might not be Martin at all. Maybe someone borrowed his bike.”
“You’re right. . . . but I know he has a limp because of my kick to the knee cap.”
“That’s still not enough for an arrest.”
“But if I go over to his house and get a look at him, I’ll know for certain it’s him.”
“What good is that? It still won’t get him arrested.”
“Maybe I’ll have to be the agent of justice in this case – plant some phony digital information that will get him arrested for something else.”
“Careful, dear. That’s a slippery slope that could get you some prison time.”
“You’re right. I’ll hold that in reserve as a last resort.”
One last thought went through her mind. When I talk with myself like that, it’s just like discussing things with Jack. I wonder if he was part of that conversation?
The next morning, after her self-defense class with Catherine, she drove to Martin’s neighborhood and parked a block away with a good view of his front door. After an hour and a half she was about to give up and get lunch somewhere when he came out the door and limped to his car. Yes! He’s the stalker. Now I need to find out why he chose Catherine to terrorize.
As she drove back to her apartment she ran through the three things he said – two in his emails and the other as he held a gun on her. Martin emphasized two things – his possessiveness of Catherine and his future intention to see her face to face. Hmmm. . . I wonder how he knows her name? Maybe he’s someone she met. That would really help if I could connect Martin with Catherine’s past.
Lynn called her on the phone. “Hi Catherine, it’s me. I’m feeling down and need someone to talk to. How about we eat out tonight?”
“Sure. My Husband’s out of town, so dinner out sounds good. There’s an Olive Garden near my place. Do you want to meet there?”
“That works for me. Is five o’clock too early? We can get in on the early bird specials.”
“Sure. I’ll see you then, Lynn.”
Lynn arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early and was shown to a booth. On the drive over she thought about how he could show Catherine the stalker’s photo without giving away her real reason for befriending her. After running a few scenarios through her mind, she still hadn’t come up with a way that wouldn’t look contrived. Before she thought any more about it Catherine slid into the seat across from her. “You seem to be deep in thought, Lynn.”
“Oh . . . I was running through some old memories.”
“Nothing painful, I hope.”
“No, I’ve left most of the memories of Jack’s death behind me. . . . Or I’ve buried them deeply in my psyche w
here they will lurk until something unleashes them back into my mind.”
“You haven’t told me how he died. If it will help you, I’m a good listener.”
Lynn debated with herself about whether to tell her the truth. She decided on a half truth.
“We were living in my home in Telluride, Colorado. I went into town for groceries and as I carried them out to the car I saw heavy black smoke coming from the hill I lived on. I rushed home to see the whole house in flames. It burned to the ground before the fire department got there. I ran around in the woods shouting for Jack and my granddaughter, Selena, hoping they got out, but they both died in the fire.”
The image of the fire, and the charred bodies of Jack, Selena, and O’Malley exploded into her mind. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming, but the pain in her heart was almost unbearable. She jumped up from the table, ran to the ladies room, and locked herself into a stall. She managed to keep the scream down to a moan, but she couldn’t hold back the hot tears. Catherine came in after a few minutes. “I’m so sorry, Lynn. I didn’t mean to cause that.”
Lynn came out of the stall and splashed water on her face. As she dried it with a paper towel she looked at her friend. “You didn’t cause it, Catherine. Like I said earlier, it was lurking in my subconscious waiting to pounce. Whenever that happens I feel a sense of relief afterward, like I’ve purged the memories from my mind, but I know they have just gone into hiding until the next time.”
“I know you’re in no shape to go out there and eat supper. Let’s just go over to my place and raid the fridge.”
“And maybe talk about pleasant, soothing things?”
“Do you want to ride with me and come back for your car?”
“No, I’ll follow you.”
As they walked back through the restaurant the looks they got from the other diners ranged from sympathy to disgust. Lynn got into her truck and followed Catherine’s Cadillac up the curving street to her upscale neighborhood. Lynn parked in front on the street as Catherine keyed the automatic gate and drove into the garage. As Lynn got out and started toward the front door she surreptitiously looked up on the hillside where she encountered the stalker. She couldn’t see anyone up there, but there were plenty of bushes for him to hide behind.
Catherine was in the kitchen pouring some wine when Lynn knocked. “Come on in and make yourself at home. You want red or white wine?”
Lynn came in and looked around. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. . . . What a beautiful home! I’ve never been in a place as nice as this.”
“Really? You haven’t ever gone to open houses to see how ostentatious homes of the rich and famous can be?”
“It’s not ostentatious if you can afford it.”
“I married an investment broker who has more money than either of us knows what to do with. When we had this place built ten years ago I couldn’t wait to decorate it like a modern mansion. Now it all seems useless. This isn’t what life is about. It’s supposed to be about love and family.”
“Do you have any children?”
“No, we tried for a few years without any luck. A few months ago I saw a doctor and she said there was no reason why I shouldn’t be able to get pregnant. She wanted to have my husband in for a visit, but he refused. She only wanted a sperm sample, but he wouldn’t do it. So right after we made love one night I went into the bathroom and used a syringe to extract some of his semen from myself. I took it into the doctor the next morning for analysis. She called me the next day to tell me that the sample had no sperm in it – that he must have had a vasectomy sometime in the past. I was heartbroken – that he would do that without telling me. And I wanted children so badly.”
“Why would he do that? Doesn’t he love you?”
“I thought he did – until I got into his personal files and saw some credit card receipts for women’s jewelry, lingerie, and motels. The bastard had been having affairs for years. With a vasectomy he didn’t have to worry about impregnating any of his women.”
“Did you confront him? Call him out on it?”
“No, I got back at him another way.”
“What did you do? . . . No, you don’t have to tell me. I don’t want to pry.”
“I . . . I’d rather not share it with anyone.”
“Okay. How about some more wine and a change of subject.”
“I vote for that. Do you have any children?”
“I had a daughter, but she and her husband were killed in a car wreck. Drunk driver. He spent two years in prison for robbing me of my only child. Her daughter, Selena, was staying with me, so I at least have her . . . had her.” Lynn beat back the sob that tried to escape.
Catherine got up and opened the refrigerator door. “Okay, we have sandwich stuff, leftover chicken lasagna, hot dogs, and some salad fixings. Anything else will need defrosting. What will it be?”
“I have simple tastes. A hot dog will be just fine, with maybe a small salad on the side.”
Two hours later the two women were laughing and talking about meaningless trivia from their past – high school boyfriends, college escapades, the dating scene of their youth, favorite movies and music – and drinking more wine. Anything to keep their minds off their anger and grief. Later Lynn looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s late, so I’d better be going. I have a bit of a drive ahead of me.”
“You’re in no condition to drive. I would take you home, but I’m as drunk as you are. Spend the night in the guest room and go home sober after breakfast.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But I’d feel more comfortable on the couch.”
“Okay. I’ll get you some sheets and a pillow. There’s a new toothbrush in the guest bathroom.”
As Lynn curled up on the couch she was thankful for the alcohol that dulled her emotions. The outburst from earlier in the evening was just below the surface, trying to push it’s way out. “I wish you were here with me tonight, Jack. I miss you so much.” A tear rolled out of her eye as sleep overcame her.
As sunlight came through the living room window, Lynn opened her eyes and stretched. It took her a couple of minutes to figure out where she was and what she was doing here. Catherine’s voice solved the momentary brain freeze. “Well, you’re finally awake. I have some bacon and scrambled eggs almost ready. Go wash up and I’ll have it on the table when you get back.”
Lynn came back and sat across from Catherine. There’s something I need to show her, but I can’t remember what. . . . Oh yes. The picture of Martin. After they finished breakfast Lynn came up with a way to do it. She reached in her purse and took out a copy of Martin’s driver’s license photo and slid it across to Catherine. “When I came out of the gym yesterday this was stuck under my windshield wiper. I don’t know who it is or why someone would put it on my windshield. Does it mean anything to you?”
Lynn watched her face lose it’s color as she flinched. She pulled the photo closer with shaking hands. “No, I don’t recognize him. I don’t know who it is.”
What should I do? Call her on the lie or let it pass? I’ll push a little harder.
“You’re sure, Catherine? It seems strange that someone would put it on my car when we’re together in the gym,”
Catherine pushed it roughly back to Lynn. “I told you I don’t know him.”
Lynn wadded up the picture and tossed it in the trash can. “Well, it’s of no use to me. I better get going. Thanks for an enjoyable evening. See you monday at self-defense class?”
“Uh . . . yeah. I’ll be there.” Lynn went out the front door and looked at her truck. Someone had spray painted “Stay Away” in big letters along the side. Lynn glanced back and saw Catherine looking out the window, then walked down and looked at the other side of the truck. Same paint, different message. “She’s Mine.”
As she opened the door to get in the truck Catherine called to her from the front porch. “Lynn, please come back. I need to tell you something.”
As Lynn came back into the
living room, Catherine said, “I wasn’t honest with you. I know the man in the picture. I told you earlier that I did something to get back at my husband for his lying and affairs. Well, I went out and had my own affair – with an exercise trainer at my old gym. Carl Martin is his name. He’s the one who painted your truck. After a month of motel meetings my guilt took over and I ended it. I told him it was over and that I never wanted to see him again.”
“How did he take that?”
“Not very well. He’s been stalking me ever since. My husband hired a private investigator to find out who it was, but I don’t think they have found anything yet. If my husband finds out it’s my former lover, he’ll divorce me. The investigator wanted to put a tail on me, but I told him I wouldn’t stand for it. I didn’t want anyone to find out who it was.”
“I have a confession to make myself, Catherine. I haven’t been totally honest with you either. I’m your tail. I had to do it undercover so you wouldn’t find out.”
Catherine looked shocked for a minute, then broke out laughing. “You were pretty darn good at it. I never suspected you weren’t who you said you were.”
“Oh, I’m who I said I was. You made friends with the real me. I just didn’t tell you the whole story.”
“Well, I’m glad we can still be friends. Now what are we going to do about my stalker?”
“I need to talk that over with my boss, Dave Cramer, and see what he suggests. But since Martin hasn’t committed any crimes – other than vandalizing my truck – we probably can’t do anything but get a restraining order.”
“You mean he can keep stalking me?”
“As long as he stays far enough away so he doesn’t violate the order. That’s usually only a couple hundred feet.”
“What can I do? He scares me.”
Lynn thought for a moment, then decided to offer her special brand of retribution. “This is just between you and me, Catherine. Not even my boss can know. I have sort of a hobby on the side where I help women who are being victimized. I can do things with my computer that will cause him a lot of grief – have the police computer create a warrant for his arrest, for instance. Or I can mess with his credit card accounts, even his bank account. I think I can make things bad enough that he will have to leave town. That would solve your problem.”
“You can do all that! I thought stuff like that is against the law?”
“It is. But when bad people need to be straightened out and the law can’t help, I step in.”
“This is fantastic! When can you start?”
“I’ll report back to Dave and tell him I identified the stalker. He doesn’t need to know about the affair part. Then I’ll start running him out of town.”
Catherine came over and gave Lynn a hug. “Thank you so much, Lynn. You have lifted a big load off my back. Can we get together every now and then?”
“Sure. I’ll let you know when I’m finished with my attack on Martin. We can get together to talk about it.”
Three weeks later Carl Martin had been arrested four times, each for a different offense. The last charge was child molestation. The police could only hold him for a day or two because they couldn’t find any evidence. The computer had a record of the supposed crimes, but they couldn’t locate the arresting officers to corroborate the information.
His credit cards had turned into a nightmare. Besides having to pay for lawyers to get him out of jail, there was no record of his last two months payments and they were threatening to cancel his credit. His last rent check bounced because there was no record of the automatic deposit to his bank account. The last thing Lynn did was to send his employer a notice from the Pennsylvania Department of Corrections informing them that Martin was an ex-convict who had skipped out on parole.
By eavesdropping on Martin’s email, Lynn found out later that, when he went to work the next day, his employer stopped him at the door and told him to wait for a parole officer to arrive to take him in. He ran to his car and left the state. Lynn raised both hands over her head and shouted “Mission accomplished!” She sent an email to Catherine that repeated those words.