“You bastard,” he heard her repeat between sobs. “You bastard.”
He didn’t know who she meant — him or the killer.
26
When Sarah awoke the following morning, she felt as if she had taken a sleeping pill; her mouth was dry, eyes heavy, and her head felt muzzy, as if it were filled with warm cotton wool. For a while, she didn’t know where she was. Then she realized she was home at the beach house again.
She lay on her back watching the play of green light on her ceiling and walls, listening to the waves, the gulls and the rumble of traffic on the Coast Highway. In the background, she could hear the gabble of a radio talk show coming from next door.
Slowly, she rolled out of bed, stretched and wandered downstairs to put the coffee on before she took a shower. She’d skip the run this morning. It would take a couple of days to get back into the routine. Maybe even longer.
She had finished grinding the coffee and was tapping it into the filter cone, when the man walked into the kitchen. At first she was aware only of a presence, like a shadow crossing her heart. Grasping a kitchen knife, she twirled round to face him.
It was the detective. He just stood there rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, tie askew, hair dishevelled, hand on his gun in its nylon holster at his waist.
And the next thing Sarah realized was that she was stark naked, as usual first thing in the morning. She always slept in the nude and came down naked to put on the coffee. There was no reason to worry about anyone seeing her because she always closed the front drapes before she went to bed and there were no windows at the back or sides of the house.
Though Sarah had never been concerned about appearing nude in films, this time, in front of a stranger in her own home, she felt vulnerable and shy about it. She especially didn’t want this man to see her naked. Too late for that.
She put the knife down, gave him a hard look and walked to the door with as much dignity as she could muster. Dumbly, he moved aside to let her through. They were so close that she couldn’t help but brush lightly against him as she went. “Coffee’s on,” she said over her shoulder, feeling her skin burn with shame and embarrassment. She could feel him watching her as she walked away.
In the shower, she began to remember how the previous evening had ended, how she had sobbed uncontrollably and he had comforted her in a perfectly gentlemanly way, held her close, told her everything was going to be fine. She had been crying as much for Jack as for anything else, and in a way it had been a relief finally to let it all out.
Stuart had returned with the coffee and other groceries, and the detective had asked him to leave. Then, she had told him everything, just as she had told all to Paula on Christmas Day.
Far from being angry with her, he had simply nodded, made notes, asked more questions. Once he had broken through the dam of her silence, he didn’t criticize her for what she had failed to do; he seemed to understand her denial.
When she went back downstairs, fully dressed this time in jeans and a Hard Rock Cafe sweatshirt, she found Arvo sitting on a stool at the kitchen island sipping coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat opposite him. He still looked embarrassed. She felt irritated by his presence.
“Look,” he said, “I’m sorry about walking in just now.”
She stared at him and shrugged. Was this the way it was going to be until they caught the stalker? A man in her house. It wouldn’t be Arvo, she knew that. But the police, or the network, would surely arrange to have someone watch over her. Scared as she was, the idea still upset her. She hadn’t shared her space with anyone in a long time, and she didn’t think she could stand it, whatever the circumstances.
“This is good,” he said, holding up the coffee.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I don’t remember asking you to stay.”
“You weren’t in any shape to ask me anything.”
“You put me to bed?”
He smiled. “Yes. But I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you mean. I just dropped you on the bed, that’s all. Scout’s honour.”
“So why are you still here? Couldn’t you find the door or something?”
“Maybe I just got tired. Maybe I’d had too much to drink, too.”
“Policemen aren’t supposed to drink on duty.”
“There’s a lot of things policemen aren’t supposed to do.”
“Had you?”
“What?”
“Had too much to drink.”
“No.”
“Then why did you stay? You already made it perfectly clear it’s not your job to act as a bodyguard.”
Arvo sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “It isn’t. I just used my judgement. I didn’t think it was safe for you to be here alone. It was late, too late to arrange for any other security, and you were tired and emotional. Last night, it just seemed easier for me to stay in the armchair, that’s all. Besides, I’d nowhere better to go. If it’s any consolation, I had a lousy night’s sleep.”
Sarah couldn’t stop the corners of her lips twitching in a brief smile. “I slept like a log,” she said, then added softly, “Thank you.”
“See, that didn’t hurt did it?” Arvo said, then stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Anything to eat?” He walked over to the fridge.
“You’re staying for breakfast?”
“It’s the least I can do. Ah-ha. Bacon, eggs. Perfect.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s obvious Stuart did the shopping. That man’s diet... ” She found some oranges in the basket on the bottom shelf and peeled one. “At least he bought some fresh fruit.”
Arvo poured more coffee and fried up the bacon and eggs. Sarah turned her nose up when he offered her some, so he ate it all himself.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” she asked.
“Trying to get rid of me already?”
“Just wondering.”
“I could ask the same.”
“I’m still on vacation. If... if Jack hadn’t died I would still be in England.”
“You showbiz people get so many days off. Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”
“Try it,” she said.
Arvo finished his bacon and eggs and pushed the plate aside. Sarah picked it up and carried it to the sink. She was beginning to feel a little more comfortable around him, but she still hoped he would go soon. She hadn’t even unpacked from her trip yet. Besides, a strange male presence infringing on her place of solitude and privacy disconcerted her. Apart from Stuart, Jack and Jaimie, she hadn’t even had another man in the house.
“If you’re ready,” Arvo said, “I’ll drive you over to the studio.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here. I told you, I’m still on holiday.”
“Sarah—”
She slammed her coffee cup down. “Don’t you Sarah me! This is my home. You’re the only one who’s leaving. Right now.”
He didn’t move.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard.”
“If you don’t go now I’ll call the police.”
“I am the police.”
“Then I’ll call your superior officer. You can’t do this. It’s my home.”
“My, you are grumpy in the morning, aren’t you?” he said.
She tried to gauge his expression as he looked at her, but she couldn’t fathom it. He was obviously giving her the same kind of stone-faced look he gave to the criminals he interrogated. After a brief staring match, though, he stood up, picked up his sport jacket and the plastic bag in which he had put the letter and card. Then he said, “Whatever you say. An Englishman’s home is his castle, right?”