looked at me. âDaniel James Calder. Know him?â
I recalled a sordid trial, an audio recording of a rage-filled voice mail message, and the partly reconstructed face of a weeping, terrified woman on the witness stand. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I nodded wearily.
âI got him the full five for breaking his ex-wifeâs face.â
Geiger sighed. âAnother dissatisfied customer.â He made a show of checking his ultracool TAG Heuer Monaco watch, flipped his book closed, and said, âOkay, Ms. Talbot, you know the drill. Come in tomorrow and weâll take a statement. Iâm on at four.â
I thought the âMs. Talbotâ formality was a bit odd, but then there was a stranger in the car.
Geiger shifted his attention to the man sitting behind me. âYou, too, Mr. Hastings. Can you drop by our office tomorrow?â
âSure.â
Geiger passed his business card over the seat. âPretty gutsy, by the way. Taking on the guy like that.â The words âat your ageâ were implied but unspoken.
âI used to be on the job.â
âYeah? Guess you havenât lost your touch. How did you happen to be here? Just right time, right place?â
âSomething like that.â I sensed from my rescuerâs tone that he wanted to end this conversation. He confirmed that impression with: âAre you done with us?â
âYes, sir. For now.â
âMind letting me out?â he asked.
Geiger pressed the security button under the dash, and the rear locks gave an audible click. âTimes have changed since your day, Mr. Hastings. Everythingâs electronic.â
âI suppose thatâs good in some ways,â Hastings replied. âNot in others.â He opened the door and got out.
I followed suit. âIâll speak to you tomorrow,â I said to Geiger as I stepped out of the car.
Hastings stood waiting. âIâd better walk you back to your car.â
I decided to let him. âThank you for coming to the rescue.â
âMy pleasure, Missââ
âClaire is fine.â
âMarc. Marcus, actually, but no oneâs called me that since grade school.â
âSo youâre an ex-cop.â
âHere in town. Before your time.â
âInteresting.â
We reached my car. I turned to face him. âWhen you made that 911 call, you knew my name and my job. Thatâs not just from being in my courtroom that day, is it?â
He smiled faintly. âNo, it isnât.â
âIâm guessing it was no accident that you were in this parking lot tonight. Am I right?â
He was silent for a second. âI left you a file.â
âI figured that was you. Why?â Uneasiness stalked my thoughts. I pressed him. âWhy were you in this parking lot?â
âI wanted to talk to you.â
âHave you heard of making an appointment?â
âWould you have given me one without knowing what it was about?â
He had me there. âMaybe ⦠eventually.â
âEventually?â
âYes, eventually. After Iâd had you arrested, I might have dropped by the lockup to ask you why youâve been stalking me.â
âYou would never have done that.â
âWhat?â
âHad me arrested.â
âYou sound confident.â
âI am.â
I opened my car door. âI assume you want to talk to me about those missing women?â
âYes.â He held the door for me while I slid behind the wheel.
I looked up at him. âThat file made me sick.â
âItâs made me sick for thirty years.â
âNo, I meanââ
âYou mean physically. You read it, you started to perspire, and you had to run to the washroom.â
My expression must have registered surprise and roiling suspicion, but he made no effort to explain. He just stood there ⦠looking haunted.
I had a sudden, overwhelming feeling that I