Chapter Four
With a sigh, Sara lifted the phone from its stand and placed it to her ear.
"Sara."
"Hey, it's Max," he replied, his voice warbled, leading Sara to assume he was on his cell. "I just wanted to call, you know, let you know they haven't found anything else incriminating yet."
Sara paused to take the thought in, tapping her fingers on the countertop as she allowed the relief from his message to wash over her. Scared for nothing. "That's good news, then, I guess…" She stopped moving her hand and spoke again. "I'm wondering though, how you're getting all this information. If I remember correctly, the case was analyzed by the San Rafael crime lab, not San Francisco."
He cleared his throat. "My brother. He's one of the detectives up there. He's not working on this case, but he's good friends with a couple of people who are."
Sara vaguely recalled Max's two older siblings—Aaron and Kevin Hall. One she knew was a schoolteacher in San Francisco, Kevin, and that left Aaron as the detective in San Rafael. She barely remembered them. Kevin was married, and the last she had heard, had two children. She'd met both of them—Tyler was two the last time she saw him, and Shana was only a couple months old. They'd be eight and six now. Max was close with both of his brothers, and their families, but Sara had never met Aaron. It struck her as surprising that he was providing information to Max about her, someone he had never been introduced to.
"I'll keep you posted, okay? It doesn't seem like they're going to find much." She still couldn't help but wonder why he sounded so apprehensive. "Aaron said that that one detective…Detective Rayfield, I think, would be heading out towards you to ask questions and…and…make an arrest if necessary. But it won't be. They have barely anything on you."
Sara's stomach squirmed at the thought and she took it as a cue to sit down on the sofa. "You had me worried when the phone rang," she mumbled with slight annoyance as she walked over to the cushion. "I wasn't expecting a call unless it was something urgent."
A pause lingered. Sara pulled a throw pillow to her, laid down, and set her head on it, wrapping her right arm around the soft material. She pulled her knees up to her chest and held herself in that curled up position.
"I thought I should keep you in the loop," Max finally responded. "And you said to call your cell if it was urgent, but it wasn't, so I called home."
"You're taking a big risk," Sara managed through a yawn. She let go of the pillow and brought her right hand around her knees, pulling herself into a tighter ball. "Leaking information in an active case, let alone to the key suspect, could get you and your brother fired."
"Are you doubting my judgment again?" His tone of voice changed quickly to bitter and hostile.
Sara winced inwardly. "Don't bring that up, Max."
"Why? I'm just wondering what you're implying."
Damn. She hadn't meant for it to come out that way.
"Well that wasn't it. I just don't want you to get hurt on my behalf." She had wanted so badly to say 'again', but knew it would only spark more arguments. That particular topic was a tender one between the two of them. She didn't even want to think about it—it was too hard, especially considering everything else she had on her mind.
"I'm just trying to help you," Max said through a sigh. "My brother was the one who brought it up, because he remembers me talking about you and showing him pictures of us. I didn't know until he told me. It just seemed wrong to know you were in trouble and…and just…just ignore it."
There was silence again, Sara suddenly finding it hard to keep up with her own thoughts. There were so few from all those years ago, swirling around in her mind, blurring her understanding of them. They played over and over in her head, out of context, but still providing that all familiar sense of fear.
"Sara…" Max said slowly, his tone transforming again into sympathetic and soothing. "Are you scared?"
She thought on that, but only briefly. In the same slow, deliberate way, she replied with a yes. There was nothing else she could say. The churning stomach, restlessness, and nightmares could only be fear.
"I wish I could help," he said softly.
"That's alright. I'll be fine." Her grip tightened on the phone.
"I guess you always have been, huh?"
She grinned, though she knew he couldn't see it. "Yeah, I guess so…"
And they hung up.
Sara woke up with a start, her heart racing and breathing strained. She struggled to make sense of where she was, since it was certainly not her bed. Within seconds, she realized she was sitting on her couch, the phone and pillow on the floor. Easing off the sofa, she brushed her tangled hair from her face and put the pillow in its respectful place. She picked up the phone from the floor and stood to place it back where it belonged.
Nightmares. Headache inducing, at the very least. She rubbed her temples as she strode to the countertop. The sun was slowly drifting away outside, and she wondered what had caused her to sleep so long. Judging by the amount of light, swing shift had only a couple of hours before ending. She hadn't felt tired after work. She'd felt energized, as she always did when there was a hot case. Why then had she slept for such a sinful amount of time? She had lain awake silently on the couch for an hour or two after they ended their conversation, thoughts occupying her time, but it still felt wrong. Never had she been so well rested and yet felt so exhausted. Maybe it would just be best to blame it on a messed up body clock, or jetlag from her plane ride.
After the phone and pillow were back in their place, she took a shower and got dressed for work. It was easier to block the images this time—she had the case to look forward to. She grabbed her home phone off its stand again and quickly dialed Grissom. She didn't want to waste minutes on her cellphone if he was going to tell her he didn't want her coming into work as early as she was planning. The answering machine sounded and she began to leave a message when it was picked up.
"Grissom."
"Hey," she said, trying to sound cheery.
"Do you need another night off? I can give you that if you need it," he replied. His words were slightly rushed, as if he was forcing a day of no work on her.
"No, no. I was just letting you know I'm going to head in early."
"Oh." A pause. "See if Greg or Warrick want to come with, then go ahead. But I don't want you doing any overtime. You're almost maxed out."
Sara smirked. "Yeah, I know. Nobody wants to deal with me when I'm maxed out on overtime."
"I think you need your rest anyway. I caught a glimpse of you on my way back from the crime scene Catherine, Nick, and I are working on, and you looked like you hadn't gotten any sleep."
Sara shrugged, though she knew he couldn't see. "I'm…I'm just at the end of a burnout…I'll be back to normal soon."
"Well I would certainly hope so."
"Bye Grissom."
"Bye," he answered, before adding quickly. "Call Greg or Warrick!"
She hung up, grabbed her purse from her counter and headed out the door, rifling through her things as she searched for her cellphone. She jogged lightly down the stairs and entered Greg's number, putting it to her ear as she opened the door to the parking lot. It was always filled when she left for work. There was really nobody in her apartment other than newlyweds and older people, and none of them worked graveyard as she did.
The phone on the other line rang three times before Greg picked up.
"Hey Greg, it's Sara." She looked down into her purse, digging around for her car keys as she walked across the parking lot.
"Oh, hey. What's up?"
"I'm going into work early—Grissom wanted me to ask you if you wanted to come with."
She continued searching as he walked, head down, slowly growing more and more frustrated as the keys refused to show themselves.
"Well that depends on what you're going to do—I'm eating dinner. Breakfast. Dinnfast. You know, I've always wondered what people like us should call it."
Sara opened her mouth to reply when suddenly she heard an engine nearby turn over and the quick screech of tires. She gasped and stumbled backwards as the car in the parking space before her shot backwards, blocking her path.
"What the hell!" she screamed at the driver, unable to see his face, since she was on the passenger side. "Excuse me!" She bent down to look through the passenger window across at the driver, but the insults she had ready were pushed right back when she saw his face. Greg hung completely forgotten on the other side of the line.
"Sara? You okay? What happened? You all right? I heard a car."
Her eyes never left the man sitting on the other side of the car as she replied. "Greg…I'm just…I was going to bring the dummies out and take them to the scene to see where the shots came from…is all…" Her tone had changed from angry to quiet. Very quiet. She wasn't necessarily shocked—more surprised at finding him here so quickly after she was warned. And here in her parking lot, practically running her over.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later if you want."
"Okay, I'll be there. I'll bring you some dinnfast too. Fajitas. Without the chicken, for you of course."
She would have smiled had it been any other time. The passenger window suddenly rolled down on the sedan, and that face peered back at her.
"Long time no see, Sara."
Time had been fairly kind. He was probably in his mid-fifties now, and his face was slowly starting to droop. His hair was colored like salt and pepper, parts black, parts white, though mostly white now. And those eyes that he stared out at her with made her want to back away. Far away. Far as in back to her apartment and hiding under her bed kind of away.
She wasn't easily scared, but it was taking all her courage to speak to this man as a levelheaded, mature adult. "Same goes for you, Detective."
He scratched his ear casually, turned his head from side to side, then looked at her again. "Come over here, so I can talk to you better." He gestured for her to come to the driver's side. "Come on. I wanna talk to you."
With a mental eye roll, she did as he indicated, very unenthusiastically bending down to the driver's side window. "What do you want?" she asked flatly.
"Now, now. No reason to get upset. I just wanted to talk is all."
"I forgot my keys, and I have to go to work. I don't have time."
"Your shift doesn't start for another two hours," he pointed out, and the fact that he knew that detail sent shivers up her spine. "We can talk."
"Detective, I really, really don't want to talk right now. Excuse me while I go get my keys."
She made to move around the back of his vehicle, but he suddenly slammed on the gas and shot back in reverse again, blocking her way for the second time. She jumped back to avoid having her foot run over. Bending down to glare at him through the window, she spoke. "Get out of my way."
"We need to talk. Now."
"About what?" she asked snidely.
"Now, you see I was wondering when you were going to get around to that…kind of odd…like you were almost expecting me. There was very little…surprise."
"Detective, you nearly ran me over. There was plenty of surprise."
"I'm just saying…you haven't heard about what I'm planning on telling you, have you?"
"There is a very small window of things you would want to talk to me about. I don't have to take too many guesses."
"True," he said through a grin, nodding his head and rubbing his chin. "That's very true." He paused, glanced up at her apartment building, and turned back to face her. "How've things been, past 20 years?"
"Fine." She spoke through tightly gritted teeth.
"Talk to mom much?"
Sara glared at him. "No. Never."
He raised his eyebrows, looked away, then back again. "That's a shame. Shame, because you see…I have. Very nice woman. And you know what is a surprise?" His gaze hardened, and his voice became stern. "Seeing her behind bars."
"Seeing a murderer behind bars is not a surprise. I have to go to work now, Detective." She used the most authoritative voice she could muster, though just the sight of him made her want to run. She walked behind his car again, and this time he did not move to stop her.
"Keep in touch," he said to her retreating back. "I'm going to be in Vegas for awhile, it seems."
Sara stormed back to her apartment, stopping to stand at the door to the building in order to watch him drive away. She gave an annoyed huff before trying to enter. It didn't take long before realizing she had locked herself out of her apartment along with forgotten her keys to the car. The landlord wouldn't be here to give her the spare. It was a Thursday, and Thursdays were always poker days. He had pointed that fact out to her when she first moved in.
Cursing, Sara pulled her cellphone out of her pocket, frustrated with herself for the lapse in memory. She dialed Greg again and waited, tapping her foot, for him to answer.
"Greg."
"Hey, it's Sara again," she said breathlessly, tugging halfheartedly on the doorknob.
"Everything okay?"
"Umm…I locked myself out of my apartment—my car keys…my house keys…are inside. And…umm…the landlord doesn't…doesn't come back until later tonight so…"
"I'll come pick you up," he said, graciously keeping her from letting go of some dignity.
"Thanks."
She was sitting on the stoop to the front of the building when Greg pulled up. She entered the passenger side of his car, returning the small grin and nod he gave her.
"Thanks again—I can't believe I locked my keys inside. I feel so stupid."
"Don't," he replied, pulling the car out of the parking lot. "It happens all the time. Oh, and there's some dinnfast in the back seat if you want some. It should still be warm." A wide smirk spread across his face as he made a right turn onto the busy road.
She ate the chicken-less fajita silently, staring out the window as Greg drove. Detective Rayfield showing up at her apartment had been quite an interesting experience she hoped not to relive for a second time. She felt like she was twelve years old all over again, being yelled at for three hours by this strange man, accusing her of killing her own father. There had been tears and fear then. There was certainly fear now, and she was sure it wouldn't take long for there to be tears. After several months of being called back for questioning over and over, she was so relieved to finally be rid of that man. And here he was again. Those same piercing blue eyes that would make you tell him what he wanted to hear, even if it was a lie, had stared at her just a few minutes ago.
She didn't notice Greg watching her, and was slightly startled when he suddenly spoke. "You sure you're okay?"
She waved her hand at him. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
"What happened that made you freak out on the phone?"
Sara shrugged. "Some idiot just pulled out in front of me in the parking lot and almost ran into me."
"And it took you nearly ten minutes after that to find out you had no keys?"
"We shared words." She smirked.
Greg laughed at that and they continued in silence.
Then suddenly she saw it. The same old, blue, sedan, glaring at her in the rearview mirror. The night was growing darker, and she couldn't see his face in the darkness, but she knew it was him.
"Greg," she said uneasily.
"What?" he glanced at her briefly, but continued driving.
"Turn right at this next road."
"Why?" He looked at her quickly with an eyebrow raised.
"Just do it." Her voice was level, but inside she felt jittery and on edge.
He did so and Sara was crushed to see the car follow.
"Right again."
Again, he did as she told, and again she was disappointed to see the sedan in the rearview.
She continued throwing out commands, and Greg continued following them. He asked her several times what was going on, but she noticed him looking in the rearview mirror and the questions died down after that. Finally, the sedan disappeared, and she could only breathe a sigh of relief.
"Who was that?" They had driven into a quiet suburban area, and Greg slowed down slightly as they tried to find their way out.
"You saw it?"
"Well it's kind of hard not to notice when that car goes left, right, left, left, right, left, right, a bazillion times in the same order you do!" He was looking nervously over his shoulder every few seconds.
Sara let out a deep exhale and said quietly, "Let's go to work, Greg."
"Who was following us though?"
She turned and looked out her window, to avoid eye contact, as she replied, "I don't know."
Greg watched her for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road. "You spilled taco sauce on your shirt by the way."
She looked down, and sure enough, there was one giant red glob right in the middle of her black t-shirt. Could the day get any worse? "Just…get us to work, Greg…" She entered her purse and pulled out a tissue to wipe it the sauce off with. As he drove back to the main road, she couldn't help but glance every few minutes at the rearview, and she knew that Greg was as well. The situation she was in seemed to become less and less surreal as time went on. She really was being investigated—by the psycho detective of her nightmares, no less.