Eventually, she forced herself to stand and walk to the door. She unlocked and cracked it again, then unlocked the storm door. The envelope fell to the threshold. She grabbed it, relocked everything, and returned to the sofa where she stared at it for ten minutes.
When she opened it, and saw her silly poems, her hands instinctively flew up to her mouth and muffled her scream.
* * *
—
The police were irritated by such a frivolous call. It took them twenty minutes to arrive, thankfully without the benefit of all those blue lights, and she met them on the stoop.
“A prowler?” the first one asked.
For her benefit, the second one poked around the flower bed with a flashlight, seeing nothing.
Jeri showed them the video. “It’s just a prank, ma’am,” the first one said, shaking his head at such a nuisance. “Somebody just tryin’ to scare the hell out of you.” It was Friday night in a big city, and they had far more pressing matters with violent crimes, drug dealers, and drunk teenagers.
“Well, the prank certainly worked,” she said.
Mr. Brammer from next door walked over and the cops quizzed him. Jeri hadn’t spoken to him in weeks; same for all of her neighbors. She was known as a recluse and not that friendly.
He told her to call if it happened again. The police were ready to leave and promised to patrol the area for the next few hours. After they were gone, she refortified her condo and sat on the sofa, all lights on. Thinking the unthinkable.
Bannick knew it was her. He had been to her house, rang her doorbell, left behind her poems. And he would be back.
She thought about calling Denise, but why frighten her? She was a thousand miles away and could do nothing to help. She thought about calling Lacy, just so someone would know. But she was three hours away and probably wouldn’t take the call at such an hour.
At midnight she turned off all the lights and sat in the dark, waiting.
An hour later, she packed a small bag and, pistol in hand, left through her back door and got in the car. She drove away, eyes glued to the rearview mirror, and saw nothing suspicious. She zigzagged through quiet neighborhoods, turned east on Interstate 10, and when the downtown lights were behind her she relaxed, relieved to be out of the city. She took an exit and went south toward the Gulf on Highway 59. The road was deserted at that hour and she was certain no one was following. Through the towns of Robertsdale and Foley. She parked at an all-night convenience store and watched the road behind her. A car passed every ten minutes. The highway stopped at the beach in Gulf Shores. East or west were the choices. Bannick was probably still lurking around Mobile, so she turned left and drove through the beachside towns in Alabama, then crossed into Florida. For an hour she drifted along Highway 98 until a traffic light stopped her in Fort Walton Beach. A car had been behind her for a few miles and it was odd because there was virtually no other traffic. On a whim, she turned north on Highway 85, but the car did not follow. Half an hour later she crossed Interstate 10 and saw signs for fast food, gas, and lodging.
She needed to rest and was attracted to the bright lights and half-empty parking lot of the Bayview Motel. She parked, put her pistol in her bag, and went in to get a room.
* * *
—
Twenty minutes later, Bannick turned in to the parking lot. He sat with his laptop in his SUV, again with Alabama tags, and reserved a room online. When the confirmation email landed he waited ten minutes and replied that there had been a problem with the reservation. Please look at his attachment. When the clerk did so, Rafe eased through the rather lame security system and began fishing around the network.
Since 9:28 the previous evening, only one guest had checked in, a Margie Frazier, who evidently used a prepaid credit card.
How cute, thought the judge. She likes to use different names.
Rafe found her in room 232. Across the hall, 233 appeared to be vacant. Down the hall was an exit door and stairwell, for emergencies only.
The motel used a typical electronic keycard system with a master switch for fire evacuations. Rafe found the lighting smart panel, and for fun the judge flipped off the lights in the lobby, left the place in the dark for a few seconds, then turned them back on. Not a soul was stirring.
He entered the empty lobby and tapped the bell at the reception desk. Eventually, a sleepy-eyed young man appeared and said hello. They went through the quick paperwork for a single for one night only, with the judge chatting away. He asked for room 233, said he stayed in it six months earlier and slept for nine hours, a recent record. Wanted to try his luck again. Superstition and all that. The kid didn’t care.