They're Watching (2010) by Gregg Hurwitz Read Free Book Online Page B

search. "Teacher, really."
    " 'Guy,' " she noted. "You said 'the guy.' "
    "Better odds for an intruder. Plus, the gloved hand looked masculine."
    "Just a little big, really. Maybe it's a woman retaining water."
    I crouched next to her. "He used his right hand to open the door. So I'm guessing he's left-handed."
    She paused in her examination of the doorframe, just for a split second, but I knew I'd surprised her. "Ah," she said, "because you figure he'd use his dominant hand for the camcorder." Another sideways glance at me. "Glad to see you're not obsessing about this."
    A faint mark in the thin layer of dirt on the rear step caught her attention. The edge of a footprint. She swept me back and leaned over it, fists on her knees.
    My heart quickened. "What can you tell?"
    "It was made by a Mexican male, six-two, goes about a buck ninety, had a backpack slung over his right shoulder."
    "Really?"
    "No. It's a fucking footprint."
    I laughed, and her eyes crinkled a bit at the edges; it seemed she found me as amusing as I did her.
    But there'd be no lingering in our joint fondness. "Lemme see your shoe," she said. "No, take it off."
    I tugged my sneaker off. She held it over the imprint. A perfect match. "Square one."
    "How 'bout that."
    She stood, arched to crack her back. It didn't crack, but she got in a good groan. Clicking on her Mag-Lite, she started along the wall, reversing the course the camera had traveled. "Any problems with your left-handed wife?"
    Don and Martinique's bedroom light was still on. "All couples have problems," I said.
    "Any serious disputes with anyone else?"
    "Keith Conner. And Summit Pictures. There's a lawsuit--it was all over the tabloids. . . ."
    "I don't read The Enquirer much. Tell me about it."
    "The judge issued a gag order until the matter's resolved. The studio didn't want any bad press circulating."
    She looked mildly disappointed in me, as if I were a dog that messed the carpet. "Maybe that's not so important right about now."
    "It's so stupid you wouldn't believe it."
    "I probably would. I had to arrest a director last month for taking a dump in his agent's pool. I can't mention any names, but it was Jamie Passal." She looked at me flatly, not pushing.
    I drew in a breath of cool air. Then I told her about the confrontation with Keith, how he'd slipped and banged his jaw on the counter, how he'd lied and said I'd hit him, how the studio had joined him in suing what was left of my ass.
    When I finished, she looked unmoved. "Money disputes are our bread and butter." She looked at me, then added, "And stupid domestic disputes." She ran her fingers along the wall, as if checking for wet paint. "So this thing with Summit and Keith is ongoing."
    "Right."
    "And expensive."
    Right.
    "Seems like a pretty elaborate and time-consuming method for an actor or a studio to harass you," she said.
    I pressed my lips together and nodded. I'd considered the same.
    "Besides," she said, "what would they hope to gain by this?"
    "Maybe they're wearing me down in preparation for a demand of some sort."
    It sounded thin, and Sally's face showed that she thought so, too.
    "Let's get back to Ariana." Sally had maneuvered our exchange so we were looking through the window into the family room. "She have any enemies?"
    We stood side by side, a big-screen view of the blanket and pillow on the couch. I took a deep breath. "Aside from the neighbor's wife?"
    "Okay," Sally said. "I see." A pause. "I'm not gonna find out anything about those bruised knuckles that makes me mad, am I?"
    "No, no. I hit the dashboard now and again. When I'm alone. Don't ask."
    "Make you feel better?"
    "Not yet. I don't know of Ariana's having any real enemies. Her only sin is being overfriendly."
    "Often?" she hazarded.
    "Once."
    "People can surprise you."
    "All the time." Following her out across the lawn to the sumac, I stayed on the underlying question. "Ariana doesn't lie well. Her eyes are too expressive."
    "How long until she told you