“Yeah.” She grimaced, then shrugged. “Life is a bitch no matter what, it seems.”
“It is, indeed.” He gave a startled laugh. “Anyway, I didn’t see anything I could help with. Otherwise I would have called somebody,” he said. But he appeared to be dismissive of it.
“Did you see the vehicle?”
“Which one?”
“So, they weren’t the same?”
He stopped, looked at her, and shook his head. “No, they weren’t.”
She nodded. “It was a thin hope anyway. Anybody hanging around the same crime scene twice?”
“Not that I noticed, but it did occur to me. When it happened the second time, that just seemed like way too much of a coincidence.”
“My thought exactly. Anyway, if you do hear something…” She pulled out her card and handed it to him.
He nodded. “I can do that. Particularly if you’re paying for my pizza.”
She rolled her eyes at that one but paid for his pizza, ordered herself a coffee to go, and walked outside. She didn’t know whether she believed Bill or not, but it was interesting that he sat here all the time. Did he have any attachment to this place, or did it just happen to be a cheap place to get food on a limited budget? Despite his disability claim, he looked very healthy, so she didn’t know what the hell was going on. She didn’t even know his full name and considered whether she should interview Bill further at the station. She frowned at that, and, as she walked back inside and looked around to find Bill, he wasn’t here. She looked at the kid. “Where’d he go?”
“As you went out the front, he went out the back. Bill muttered something about the air no longer being as fresh and clean.”
“Interesting. I don’t suppose you know his last name.”
“Huh.” The kid frowned. “You know what? I don’t think I do.” He paused, as if thinking. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it mentioned. Bill is all I know.”
She nodded. “Any idea where he lives?”
He shrugged. “Nope. He just shows up and buys stuff and sits here a while, then leaves. Just the way we like it.”
She nodded and headed out the rear exit. She went outside, seeing that the back of the pizza place connected to an alley that went around the corner and came out at the block again. She kept walking down the same direction, wondering where Bill had gone and why he’d left so suddenly. Was it really because he didn’t like cops and had a bad taste from all of it? Or was it something else?
Instinctively she felt like something else was going on, but she had no idea what it could possibly be. She wanted it to be connected, but just because she wanted it to be didn’t mean it was. She kept on walking, until she saw him up ahead. He turned to look back, saw her, froze for a moment, then bolted. She tossed her coffee and raced after him.
Now she really wanted to have a talk with him.
Then lost him around the next corner.
*
“Son of abitch.” He wondered how long it would take to have somebody come in and check out the coffee shop. The fact that they had finally gotten around to it made him laugh, but, at the same time, it pissed him off because he didn’t want them to have connected it. He wanted to have his safe little coffee spot and enjoy the view. After all, there was little enough in his world that he could really enjoy. And this was definitely one of them.
After the cop had left, he’d laughed because it seemed like all he could do was play games with the coppers, and that suited him and the other guy, fleeing her now; the police were kind of boring and stupid. But when she came after the other guy, he realized she must have suspicions. He’d been looking after this for a long time now, and he wouldn’t let them get in his way, not when he was finally down to the wire. He needed to finish this, and, as soon as he did, he would stop. That was the plan.
He hoped he could stop; it had at least been something he had looked forward to every year. The fact that things were off this year wasn’t his fault. It was the damn rich kid’s fault. If he and his crew hadn’t done what they had done, then he wouldn’t have done what he’d done. At least that was the theory, but a part of him, that tiny sneaky part of him, was staring at him sideways, reminding him that he was enjoying it a little too much.
He didn’t think anything could be alittle too much. Yet it was too risky to keep this up, so he couldn’t. He had to finish. Butknowinghe should versusdoingwhat he should was like getting a gym membership because he knew it was good for him, yet, at the same time, he hated it. So he found any excuse to not go. Thus he was now finding any excuse tonotstop because it really was far too much fun. Something about the control and regaining a sense of purpose in his life and the sensation of not being a victim to the world around him anymore.
That was an inescapable pleasure.
Putting it on other people, letting them be the victims, made it even better and was something he really wanted to pursue. But, if he didn’t stop doing what he was doing, he knew that, at some point in time, the cops would catch him. They might be stupid now, but they wouldn’t be stupid forever. And the thought of having to go to jail for this and to be a victim all over again made him sick to his stomach.
If he continued this—and here he was, already trying to set up alternate plans in order to give himself permission—then he would have to find a way to get out of it permanently at some point. Whether that meant killing himself before the cops found him or suicide by cop was something else; it would have to be an all-or-nothing deal.
So what the hell would he do about it?
He had pondered his options, as the day had turned from morning to afternoon. And finally he shrugged and parked it.