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“You’re right, there is,” Nick said. “You don’t need the phone book. I know where it is. And guess what? It’s open twenty-four hours.”
Fell, New York
November 1982
VIV
Maybe this was how the police did it. Viv had no idea—no movie or TV show she’d ever seen showed her how the police really worked. It was all car chases and shootouts with a background of sexy music. Whereas Viv had a choir list, a yearbook, and her trusty telephone.
She went down the list of names of the girls in the choir, looking each of them up in the yearbook. The seventh girl was the one: The face in the yearbook was that of the girl she’d seen pedaling away on her bicycle, the traveling salesman watching her. The girl’s name was Tracy Waters, and she was a senior.
Viv didn’t have a Plainsview phone book, so she called directory assistance and asked for the number for Plainsview High School. The operator gave her the number for the main office, and Viv dialed it and listened to it ring as she flipped the page in the yearbook, looking for a likely name.
She got a secretary and asked to please speak to the principal. “Who may I say is calling?” the secretary asked.
Viv put her finger on a face in the yearbook—an unattractive girl with a bad perm and glasses that seemed to take up most of her face. CAROL PENTON, the name said. “I am Carol Penton’s mother,” Viv said, making her voice sound older, lower, slightly aggrieved. “I have a concern about my daughter’s security.”
To her surprise, after a few minutes of holding she was put through to a man who sounded about sixty. “How can I help you, Mrs. Penton?”
“I was at Choir Night last night,” Viv said, “and I saw a strange man there. He was looking at the girls.”
“Excuse me? Looking at the girls?”
“Yes. He was there alone.” She described Simon Hess. “He was just standing there by himself—he didn’t have a wife or a child that I saw. I thought it was strange. And when the show was over and everyone was leaving, I saw him again in the hallway. Just standing by himself. He was staring. The look in his eyes when he looked at those girls—I didn’t like it one bit. If any man looked at my daughter that way, I’d call the police.”
“Well.” The principal sounded flustered. “That’s certainly a concern, Mrs. Penton. Though perhaps he was an uncle or a distant relative of one of the girls. I’m sure he meant no harm.”
Viv ground her teeth together. How are you sure? How? “I thought Carol was attending a school that took the students’ safety seriously.”
“We do, we do.” Now he was placating. “Let me look into the matter. See if anyone knew who this fellow was.”
“He was staring at Tracy Waters,” Viv said. “She walked past and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.” She said it so convincingly that she could see the imaginary scene in her head. “Tracy was with her parents, and none of them acknowledged him. He certainly wasn’t a relative.”
The principal sighed. “Mrs. Penton, what would you have me do?”
“Pay attention,” Viv said, tempted to shout. “Look out for your students, especially the girls. Tell your staff to keep their eyes open. Tell them to look out for Tracy especially. She might be in danger.”
“Mrs. Penton, I’m sure you’re overreacting. We haven’t had a complaint from Tracy’s family. He was likely an innocent fellow who means well.”
No. He is a hunter. There is a hunter after one of your students, you fool. “If anything happens to Tracy, it’s your fault.” Viv hung up the phone.
She sat for a minute, fuming. She wouldn’t be overreacting if she were a cop. If she were a man.
She was so limited, sitting here trying to warn people over the phone. No one would listen. She needed to warn Tracy, and she had to do it right.
She switched tactics, pulled out her stationery, and picked up a pen to write.
* * *
• • •
At midnight that night, she sat in a chair in the Fell police station, trying not to stare. She’d never been in a police station before. From what she could see, it was an open space with a few scarred desks and telephones. They were all unoccupied in the middle of the night except for Alma Trent’s. At the front was a desk facing the door, where presumably a cop usually sat to direct people who walked in. There was no one there, either. The entire space was dim and empty except for Alma at her desk, the circle of light from her desk lamp, and Viv herself.
Alma turned the page in Viv’s notebook, reading. Viv wanted to get on the phone and call all of these sleeping cops, get them out of bed. There’s a man named Simon Hess who is going to kill a girl named Tracy Waters. Why is everyone sleeping?
But she had to wait. She chewed her lip and tried not to jiggle her knee in impatience as Alma read her notes.
“Okay, wait,” Alma said, pointing to a page. “What’s this about Cathy Caldwell and door locks?”
“Cathy and her husband bought door locks before she died. From a door-to-door salesman.”
Alma looked up, her face pale. “You can verify this?”
“I don’t know the exact date, but Cathy’s mother remembers it. The locks were bought from Westlake Lock Systems.” She reached over the desk and turned the page. “Westlake Lock Systems also had a salesman scheduled on Peacemaker Avenue, which is Victoria Lee’s street. He was scheduled to make calls there in August of last year.”
“This can’t be,” Alma said, almost to herself. “It isn’t possible.”
“It’s very possible,” Viv said, trying not to sound impatient. “When I asked the Westlake scheduling service what the salesman’s name was, she said it had been erased from the scheduling book. He’s covering his tracks. That means he knows there’s at least a possibility that someone is onto him.”
“A line erased from a scheduling book doesn’t mean anything,” Alma said, but the no-nonsense confidence was gone from her voice. She was almost whispering. “It could be a random mistake.”
“But matched with everything else, it isn’t,” Viv said. “I’ve connected him to Cathy and Victoria for you. We already know that Betty saw a traveling salesman before she died. I can only get so much information by myself, but I bet if you requested all of Westlake’s records, you could find something I couldn’t. The connection between Betty and Simon Hess.”
Alma was staring at her. “You’ve done a lot of work on this,” she said. “Dozens of hours.”
