Authors: Diana Dempsey
He felt Annie’s eyes on
him as he pulled out his laptop.
“I’m going to soak in the tub,” she said to his back.
“It helps me plot.
Maybe it’ll help me figure this
out.”
Seconds later she shut the
bathroom door and he heard water spill from the tub’s spigot.
Though he felt churlish to admit it, he
was grateful for the solitude.
She had thrown him
earlier when she said she accepted that he didn’t want to get serious.
It seemed an example of being careful
what to wish for.
Was he such a cad
that he hated not having the emotional upper hand?
Or was it that he couldn’t stand the
possibility that she would leave him if he didn’t make her happy?
He wondered to what
extent he’d simply gotten comfortable with his Get Larry Bigelow obsession.
In a way it kept Donna by his side.
Dead though she might be, she wasn’t in
his past.
Not really.
She was front and center every waking
day.
And all of this meant
he was being royally unfair to Annie.
He wanted to keep her without committing to her.
He wanted her to be ready and willing
should he one day decide he did want to get serious.
Which might not ever happen.
Because it depended on nailing a
fugitive he’d spent five years chasing.
Reid’s laptop booted
up, he went to the
Crimewatch
site tips
line, which he hadn’t visited in more than 24 hours.
As drawn as any addict to his drug of
choice, he focused on the Bigelow tips first.
There was the usual motley assortment of
sightings, some described with precision and literary finesse, others barely
coherent.
One that fell in the top
half of that spectrum caught his eye.
Then got his pulse racing.
It wasn’t just that the
age and physical descriptors fit the bill, or that the guy went by the name
Lenny Barnwell, which boasted the same initials as Bigelow’s real name.
It was the item noted under “additional
physical description.”
The guy has a
tatt
on his bicep that looks
like an 8 ball except that its not an 8 in the white circle its the letter B.
How would the tipster
know that much about the tattoo unless he’d seen it with his own eyes?
In the only photograph of Bigelow aired
on
Crimewatch
, the tattoo was
difficult to see, impossible to describe.
In addition, this tip went so far as to include a photo of the suspected
perp
, which was unusual but not unheard of.
It was a grainy shot taken in poor
lighting across a subterranean parking lot, probably from a cell phone.
Reid enlarged it.
There was no question the guy in
question bore a strong resemblance to Bigelow.
And there on his skinny arm was the
tattoo.
The guy works as a security guard at an apartment building in
Encino.
My girlfriend lives there
so I see him every once in a while.
I told her to stay away from him.
I
dont
like the look of him.
She says
hes
been there since she moved in, about six months ago.
They got a different guy weekends.
This guys there overnight during the
week.
Tipsters were asked to
provide a level of sureness on a one-to-ten scale.
This tipster had entered a nine.
Reid didn’t trust
tens.
In his view, a ten reflected
cockiness on the part of the tipster.
A nine he gave more weight.
A nine showed a great deal confidence in the tip yet some degree of
prudence.
It wouldn’t surprise
Reid that Bigelow was working as a security guard.
He knew it was far from difficult to
obtain a fake security guard license, which Bigelow would have had to do given
his felony record.
He’d been
arrested half a dozen times in the years before he killed Donna, and convicted
once, of carrying a concealed firearm.
The justice system being what it was, that had landed him in jail for
less than a year.
Reid
googled
the San Fernando Valley address the tipster
provided, then switched from a map to a street view.
It showed an upscale apartment complex,
on the large side, the sort that had the resources to provide a security guard
as an amenity.
Though if it were
Bigelow on patrol, that was no perk.
Reid glanced at his
watch.
9:27 PM.
Monday night.
This guys there overnight during the week.
Reid could get there in
just over an hour.
He rose, paced.
Was it insane to leave Annie alone to
follow up on this tip?
Or was the
true folly to let this chance pass him by, when in all likelihood—given the
precautions he’d taken moving them from the cabin to this hotel—Annie
would be just fine during the short time he’d be gone?
He paced for some time,
then made a decision.
“I cannot believe what
I’m hearing.”
Annie sat in the tub,
up to her neck in hot water in more ways than one.
“You’re going to go?
Now
?
Just like that?”
“Not just like
that.”
He shifted from one foot to
the other, a gesture of impatience.
“I’ve thought about this a lot.”
In that moment it
became clear to Annie that Reid didn’t want to talk about this, despite what
he’d said when he joined her in the bathroom ten minutes before.
He’d already made up his mind.
This so-called discussion was one step
better than merely bolting, but the fact remained that he would walk out that
door regardless what objections came out of her mouth.
“Don’t you understand
about the tattoo?” he was saying.
“Don’t you see that there’s only one way to explain the tipster knowing
about the tattoo?”
“It
may
be that the security guard is
Bigelow and that’s why he has the tattoo and the tipster saw it.
But maybe the tipster knows about
Bigelow’s tattoo some other way and is playing you.
Didn’t you tell me that happens
sometimes?
Some lowlife has reasons
of his own for wanting to send Reid Gardner on a wild-goose chase?”
“No.”
He shook his head vigorously.
“That’s not what’s happening here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know a good
tip when I see one.”
His voice
hardened.
“I’ve been doing this for
years and I can separate the wheat from the chaff.”
“I think you’re seeing
what you want to see.
Hand me that
towel.”
She was going to lose this
argument but didn’t want to do it naked and wet.
She rose, wrapped the towel around
herself and stepped out of the tub.
“Even on the slim chance that this security guard actually is Bigelow,
what’s the rush?
Didn’t the tipster
say the guy has been working at that apartment complex for six months?
He’ll still be there in a few days.
Or a week.”
Reid shot Annie a look
of astonishment.
“Are you kidding
me?
You think it makes sense to sit
on this?
That’s crazy.”
No, what was crazy was
Reid bailing on her at this incredibly dangerous juncture to pursue a tip that
seemed dubious at best.
“Meanwhile
what do I do?
Paint a target on
myself and then sit here and wait?”
“As I have said to you
repeatedly, you will be fine.”
Yeah, right.
“I took a huge number
of precautions to make sure that nobody followed us here and I am completely
sure that nobody did.
You will be
safe.
And I won’t be gone long anyway.
Four, five hours max.”
She barreled out of the
bathroom and dressed without bothering to towel herself dry.
“At the cabin it took the killer only a
few hours to get to me.
I doubt
I’ll have four or five hours tonight.”
“Don’t get
melodramatic, Annie.
Let’s keep
things in perspective here.”
More remarks in that
vein and Annie knew she’d skid from angry to irate.
“What part of the big picture am I
missing, Reid?
Pray tell.”
“I have had just about
enough of your sarcasm, too.”
He
got in her face the way he did when he wanted to make a point.
“I have an opportunity here to take down
Bigelow.
You know how important
that is to me.
And you know I’ve
been trying to do it for five years.
I would think you’d be delighted if I could snag him and once and for
all close that chapter of my life.”
He didn’t say what
naturally followed but she heard it all the same.
I
could be with you then.
There’d be
nothing holding me back.
We could
be together.
Could Reid be so
cynical?
Was he dangling her
dearest wish in front of her to get her blessing for this nocturnal jaunt of
his?
It was like showing a cancer
patient a cure, a barren woman a baby, and saying,
Do this one thing and get your heart’s desire.
In this case the one
thing required Annie to be alone and vulnerable to a killer who’d very nearly
sent her to her maker just 24 hours before.
While Reid tilted at the windmill that
remained forever on his horizon.
She threw out her
hands.
“Why do I even bother
arguing?
If it has to do with
Bigelow, if it has to do with Donna, I lose.
I know that already so why do I bother?”
“This isn’t some sort
of competition, Annie.”
Like hell it isn’t.
She
spun around and gave him her back.
She couldn’t look at him anymore.
“Fine, then.
Go.
Just go.”
He needed no further
encouragement.
She heard him grab
his keys and slam the door.
His
feet stomped away down the motel’s exterior corridor and in short order the
pickup’s engine sprang to life.
He
took off at a tear.
She could tell
from the squeal his tires made on the asphalt.
Apparently this motel
was a hotbed for drama.
Between the
two of them and the couple next door, Hollywood producers could launch a
primetime slate of reality shows.
She collapsed onto the
bed, its fraying coverlet already askew from when she and Reid had sat side by
side watching the news.
His
attention had begun to stray even then, when he’d learned further details about
Sheila Banerjee’s arrest.
While
Annie had occasionally envied Sheila for her longstanding relationship with
Reid—the nature of which remained a mystery to her—she felt
terrible for Sheila having been drawn into this morass.
And Reid would feel doubly bad.
Annie knew he hated nothing more than
being unable to help those he loved when they needed it most.
She felt sure that Reid
cared a great deal for her as well, but the fact remained that she found
herself once again alone, once again trumped by his Bigelow obsession.
Yes, she expected Reid to return.
Yes, there was a chance she’d be just
fine when he did.
But it was
equally possible that disaster would have struck.
It had just the night before.
What was that saying?
Fool
me once, shame on you.
Fool me
twice, shame on me.
And Annie wasn’t
risking only ignominy.
She was
risking death.
She catapulted off the
bed as an idea that had been niggling at the back of her brain took center
stage.
She looked at Reid’s laptop,
still booted up, abandoned on the desk.
There was something that had bothered her from the start about this
Bigelow tip but until now she hadn’t been able to put her finger on exactly
what.
The timing.
The timing was too convenient.
This excellent tip appears on the
Crimewatch
site, complete with photo and
precise tattoo description, on the very night Reid is being sought by the
FBI.
And it sites Bigelow at a
Southern California location that Reid is bound to be both close to and familiar
with.
Was the tip a
hoax?
A lure concocted to smoke out
Reid Gardner?
Lionel Simpson would
know how desperately Reid wanted to capture Bigelow; the FBI had been helping
him for years.
And since Bigelow
was a wanted fugitive, Simpson would be privy to the details of his tattoo.