Anonymous Page 5

  “I feel like I can trust you,” Felicity said. “I don’t know why. Do people say that to you a lot?”

  Madison realized that Felicity wanted to tell her something. So all she said was, “Yes, people trust me,” and then she waited. As her father used to say, the next person who talks loses.

  “He called me.”

  Madison said nothing. She didn’t know who Felicity was referring to, but she was not about to interrupt her. If she waited, Felicity would tell her.

  “Samantha has been missing for four years.” Felicity stirred her coffee, although the stevia had long since dissolved. “When she had been missing for two years, I got a phone call.”

  Madison waited.

  “It was on my house phone. I don’t know whether my phone number is listed or not. I guess it is, because everyone’s phone number is listed unless you pay to have it unlisted. So, he called and … I … I … picked up the phone.”

  Madison looked at her and waited.

  The seagull swooped down from behind Felicity to grab a piece of bread someone had thrown on the ground for it. Felicity jumped up and knocked the table on the way up, rocking the coffee cups and spilling coffee. Madison reared back slightly but remained seated. Felicity started walking away from the table on the way to the street and stopped. She had her back to Madison. Madison took napkins and mopped up the coffee before it dripped onto her pants and the ground. She wondered if she’d ever hear what this man had said on the phone. It was probably important. Felicity made her decision. She turned, looked at Madison, and took a deep breath. She came back and sat down.

  “I haven’t told this to anyone, do you understand?” Felicity said. “Not even the police.” She seemed to be looking at Madison for a response.

  “I understand.”

  “I just—I couldn’t be sure if it was real or just a prank. An evil prank. I had been on Twitter a lot trying to get the police to investigate and to not forget about my sister. I also responded to people who were trying to help find out what happened to her. I didn’t want to tell the police about the call because I was concerned they would tell me I had to get off social media, and it is the only thing keeping my sister’s case alive … keeping her alive.”

  “Yes,” Madison said.

  Felicity started to cry.

  Madison hated watching interrogators on TV pepper a subject with questions when they were trying to tell their story in their own way and in their own time. It caused them to lose their train of thought. You could always come back and ask questions when the person was done telling their story in their way. Madison said the fewest number of words possible, only enough to show Felicity that she was listening.

  Madison waited.

  Felicity cleared her throat and used a napkin to wipe under her mascaraed lashes. She took a sip of her coffee. She cleared her throat again. “The caller said, ‘I had fun with your sister. She was a good fuck. Are you a good fuck?’”

  As disturbing as this was, Madison was careful not to react.

  “Then he said, ‘Stop investigating me or I will hunt you down and kill you, bitch.’”

  And there it is, Madison thought. The exact same language as the note left on my door.

  Felicity had stopped talking.

  “Did you ever hear from him again?” Madison asked.

  “No,” Felicity said. She grabbed a tissue out of her purse and wiped her nose. “But I also stopped tweeting as much. I stopped … I did what he said. Because I was afraid.”

  “That would make anyone afraid.”

  “But I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to be like you and not scare easily.”

  Madison sighed. “Felicity, you need to tell the police about the phone call. They are going to be unhappy that you didn’t tell them two years ago, but you need to tell them.”

  “Why? They already treat me like I’m a nuisance!”

  Madison decided to tell her. She explained about the note left on her door. “It was the same wording. It is clear that the person who left that note on my door is the same person who took your sister—and then called you. You can just explain to the police that you thought it was a prank call, a mean prank call but a prank call nevertheless, and that’s why you didn’t tell them at the time.”

  This meant that the detectives handling the missing persons case were going to find out about the note left on Madison’s door. They would be really upset that Tom had taken the note and processed it without putting it through normal police channels. She didn’t want Tom to get in trouble, but she wasn’t going to obstruct a police investigation by not reporting this phone call that Felicity had received.

  Felicity’s face was getting firmer. “No. I understand that the note on your door connects everything, but I don’t want to tell them about this phone call. It is too late for them to do anything about it now anyway. If something happens in the future and it becomes important, I will tell them.”

  Madison was silent. This put her in a difficult position. She had knowledge of a crime, or at least of evidence in an active police investigation, and she had a responsibility to report it. She opened her mouth to tell Felicity that. “Felicity, I—”

  Felicity stood up and put her finger in Madison’s face. “You do not have permission to tell that to anyone!”

  It came out in a screech, and people at tables nearby looked over at them. Felicity’s face was bunched up, and there were tears streaming down her face. Her chin was quivering. It was the face of anguish.

  “Sit down,” Madison said quietly. “I won’t say anything.”

  Chapter Eight

  Madison walked to her car, putting her hair in a bun as she went. She got in the car and drove home with the windows rolled down. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the temperature was a perfect seventy-five degrees, which helped to clear away her meeting with Felicity. The phone call Felicity had received was very disturbing; the fact that it showed that Madison was on the right track was only a small consolation. Madison got to a red light and leaned her head back on the headrest. There was a pretty blonde girl crossing the street, and at first Madison thought it was Gabrielle; then she realized it wasn’t. Just another beautiful girl. There were always younger, more beautiful versions of Madison in La Jolla.

  She had stayed with Felicity for another hour, discussing details of the investigation the police had shared and comparing notes on tweets Felicity had sent out. The police either hadn’t shared much or there just weren’t that many leads: they had checked the main rideshare companies and “hadn’t come up with any viable evidence,” which Felicity took to mean that they didn’t feel like sharing what they had come up with. When Felicity asked about other things, they would just say, “We are pursuing all avenues.” As far as tweets, Felicity had tweeted the same things as Madison, at least up until that horrible phone call. After the call, Felicity had stopped originating her own tweets, but she couldn’t resist retweeting some of Madison’s; this made Madison more of a target, since it showed that her investigative ideas were getting picked up by others—even by those who had been warned off.

  A couple that used to live in the house in front of hers waved as she turned the corner onto Nautilus. They were walking to the beach with all of the accoutrements: beach chairs, cooler, small toddler struggling to carry her boogie board. Madison often took a drive by the ocean before parking at her apartment. She liked to see the beach, but also to check to see if Dave was in the water.

  After comparing notes with Felicity, Madison could see no new clues or suspects to add to her whiteboard. However, she had made progress: she knew now that at least part of the Gaslamp mystery, the disappearance of Samantha, was connected to the note left on her door. The wording on the note and Felicity’s phone call were exactly the same. Also, Madison had learned that Felicity had made friends with a waitress at Hank’s Dive, the bar where Samantha was last seen, and this waitress was trying to help in any way she could. Felicity was going to give th
e waitress Madison’s phone number so they could connect. Madison didn’t know how she was going to reconcile not telling the police about the phone call and now the note, both likely the work of their suspect. All she knew was that Felicity had been through so much and she didn’t want to add to it. Felicity was right about one thing—there was nothing the police could do about the phone call now. Nevertheless, Madison thought she might call her friend Haley, who was an attorney, just to get her advice.

  Madison turned onto Neptune Place and drove slowly past the parking lot. There were several surfers in the lot watching the pattern of the waves before surfing. Dave had explained that they watched to see how many waves were coming in each set, how fast they were, and how they were breaking. This data was all needed to have a good surf session—and to not drown. Never turn your back on the ocean, Dave would say. That was true about a lot of things in life. Do your due diligence. Trust everyone, but cut the cards. Dave’s jeep wasn’t there.

  Madison parked in her space and locked the car. She walked down the path, turned the corner of her building, and saw a woman sitting on her stairs. The woman was older than Madison: short dark hair, a little extra weight around the middle, wearing stretchy jeans, an off-label polo shirt, and Keds. The woman was reading a paperback novel and didn’t see Madison approaching.

  “Hi,” Madison said.

  The woman’s head shot up and her body quickly followed. She dropped her book on the ground with the abrupt movement and left it there. She was shaking.

  “I have something to say!” she shouted. She seemed to realize she was yelling and lowered her voice for the next part. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Okay. Who are you?”

  “My name is Elaine Clark.”

  Oh shit, Madison thought.

  “I’m Tom’s wife.”

  “Yes, I know. Do you want to come inside?” Madison looked to her left to see if Ryan or his roommates were home. She didn’t need to have a scene in the garden for the neighbors.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Okay,” Madison said. “We can talk here. But can you relax with the adversarial stance? We’re not adversaries.”

  “We are when you’re sleeping with my husband!”

  Madison sighed and sunk into a lawn chair. She was suddenly so tired. “I’m not sleeping with your husband, and I have never slept with your husband.”

  “I know how often he used to come over here,” Elaine said. “I used to follow him. And now it’s happening again.”

  Madison looked at her, trying to translate what Elaine was saying into what Madison knew to be reality. Also, with all of this following going on, it was a wonder they didn’t all run into each other.

  “Nothing is happening again, because nothing happened before. Truly.”

  Elaine was still staring at Madison. “But I know he loves you.”

  Madison leaned back in the lawn chair and closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. She hated drama. She didn’t have many friends that were women; well, to be fair, she didn’t have many friends at all. But usually her friends were guys. She couldn’t tolerate crying over guys, fighting over guys; frankly, she hated acting like guys were all that important to a happy life. She’d fallen for Dave and she regretted it on a daily basis; she did everything she could to avoid the drama he inherently brought with him. But what she didn’t need was drama brought to her door from a guy that was just a friend, and barely that.

  She opened her eyes. “He doesn’t love me. He was obsessed with me because he couldn’t have me. It happens. The only cure is to let them have you, at which point they realize it was all smoke and mirrors; but I didn’t want to do that. However, he got over it. Right now he’s just helping me with a case I have. I’m a private investigator.”

  “I know that,” Elaine said accusatively.

  “Anyway, I can’t prove a negative, which is all I seem to be trying to do these days.” Madison stood up. “I’m not sleeping with your husband. I barely like him.”

  “You’d be lucky to have him!” Elaine said.

  “And with that piece of logic and reason, I’m going upstairs to my apartment.” Madison walked the ten feet to her stairs, but Elaine didn’t move to let her pass. There was sweat along her upper lip. Madison actually felt bad for her; she had kids. This was no kind of life.

  Elaine was continuing. “He sees other women too, you know, not just you. I’ve followed him and seen him.”

  “No, I don’t know,” Madison said. “And dear God I don’t care. Please, this is embarrassing for everyone. Just go home.”

  Elaine sat down on the stairs and started to sob.

  Oh, great, Madison thought. Now she’s crying. This was exhausting. She sat down next to her and handed her a Kleenex from her purse. They sat in silence for a few minutes; Elaine sobbing, Madison silent. All she wanted was to go upstairs and watch a Friends episode and eat popcorn. She’d had quite enough of today.

  “I’m sorry,” Elaine said. “I know I’m being irrational. But he’s the love of my life. I’ve been with him since I was sixteen. He’s everything to me. I get crazy when I think I’m losing him.”

  “It happens.” That was a good phrase that applied to many things: falling in love, falling in love with the wrong person, acting crazy.

  “I need to pick up my kids from school,” Elaine said. She stood up. “Thank you for not laughing at me.”

  Madison looked at the sky and recited:

  This man beside us also has a hard fight with an unfavouring world, with strong temptations, with doubts and fears, with wounds of the past which have skinned over, but which smart when they are touched.

  Elaine just stared at her.

  “John Watson, 1903,” Madison said. “It’s one of my favorites. I have my own doubts and fears and wounds of the past, they’re just different than yours. So why would I laugh at you?”

  “Right, well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Tom I’ve been here.”

  Oh, good. Another thing I get to keep from a cop today. “I can’t promise that, Elaine. But if it doesn’t seem relevant, I can avoid the topic.”

  Elaine nodded and turned to walk down the path to the street in front of Ryan’s house. She stopped a few feet along the path and turned back. “He’s a good guy, you know.”

  “That may be. But he doesn’t deserve you, Elaine.”

  Elaine paused. Then she turned to walk the rest of the way to her car.

  Madison stood up and stretched. It was only the middle of the day, but she felt like she’d been up for a week. She walked with a heavy tread up the stairs to her apartment. She pulled out her keys and froze. Speared to her front door with a nail, typed on 8 ½" by 11" paper, was another note:

  WHAT DID I TELL YOU?

  Chapter Nine

  Madison had called Tom three times in a row and ultimately he had put her straight to voicemail. She hadn’t touched the note; she had walked past it into her apartment and tried to get Tom on the phone. She went to the windows and looked down into the alleys on both sides of her apartment. Her apartment was situated at the intersection of two alleys that made a T. She could look out her living room window at the alley between Nautilus and Bonair, and out her bedroom window at the other alley leading to La Jolla Boulevard. There were no unusual cars driving by or parked in the alleys. Nevertheless, the hair on the back of her neck was standing up. She dialed Tom’s number again.

  “I’m in court, Madison,” Tom whispered when he finally answered. “You can’t just keep calling me over and over.”

  “Sorry, I was a little frazzled after the visit from your wife,” Madison said.

  “Visit from my wife? You visited my wife? What the fuck are you doing?”

  “No, dipshit. Your wife visited me. She was sitting on my steps when I got home.”

  “Oh Jesus. Look I can’t deal with this right now—I’m in the middle of testifying in a murder trial.” Madison could hear the echoing sounds of marble-hallway voice
s and footsteps.

  “And then I came upstairs and there was another note from Anonymous on my front door,” Madison continued. “Coincidence? Or your wife is my stalker? Keep it all in the family, right?”

  “What? Oh my God Madison you’ve lost your mind. My wife is not your stalker. She’s like … a housewife. Calm down.”

  “I am calm!” Madison realized after she said it that it had come out in a screech. She was not at all calm.

  “Okay, look: I need to finish testifying today. Meet me at McGregor’s tonight at seven thirty, and we will figure this out. Bring the new note.”

  Madison hung up. She was supposed to go out with Ryan tonight, but that no longer seemed appealing. She couldn’t exactly make up an excuse when he would see her every coming and going. Accepting his invitation was seeming less and less like a good idea. Well, she could limit it. She texted Ryan, naming the restaurant around the corner from their place: Do you want to make it happy hour at Su Casa?

  She sat in her office chair and stared at the whiteboard. Somehow yesterday it had seemed less personal or like it could still somehow be a fluke. Now it was as if she was having an actual conversation with a psychopath; someone was stalking her and knew that she was fully investigating him. It wasn’t funny anymore.

  The only thing to do was keep moving. The faster she figured out who he was, the faster he would be caught. If she stopped investigating out of fear, he could still think she was investigating; who knew how his mind worked. Nope, she had to just keep going and find him, even though she was really afraid now. She repeated the process of the day before with the note, but this time found a clear plastic sleeve to put it in; she would take it to Tom later.

  She wrote on the whiteboard: Anonymous has to be Samantha’s kidnapper, because of the connection to Felicity’s phone call and the exact same wording as the note. She had nothing to write under the Suspects column because she still didn’t have any idea who this person was. She then went to the Clues column and wrote down each note she had received, with the wording, along with the wording in Felicity’s phone call; it was chilling to see the similarities, especially considering the violent words included in Felicity’s call. Madison still didn’t know if any of this tied in to Elissa Alvarez’s disappearance.