JULIA PUT HER new key into the new lock and opened the front door, only to be confronted with the same sort of surprise she felt whenever she entered her office and found Marie.
In this case, the surprise was Jake, who launched himself as soon as she stepped inside, hitting her knees full force, nearly toppling her. She stepped back but he came at her again, scrabbling at her legs for purchase, whimpering, trembling all over. She picked him up and he pressed himself against her, still keening.
Had he had an accident? Destroyed something so consequential that even he knew he was in trouble?
Her gaze scanned the hardwood floors, already in need of mopping—no matter how often she told Calvin to take off his shoes as soon as he came inside, he inevitably forgot, and yesterday’s small boot prints were visible across the polished oak—but saw nothing. She carried Jake into the kitchen, its floor likewise dry.
“What’s the matter, boy?”
She’d accepted the puppy as a necessary evil, gladly turning over most of the dog-related chores to Calvin. But something had upset Jake badly, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She stroked him until he relaxed and rewarded her by licking her chin. She put him down and, out of habit, scanned the backyard, checking to see if her anonymous caller was standing there in broad daylight, phone to his ear, readying new harassment.
He wasn’t.
But he—or someone—had been there.
A line of footprints crossed the snow from the back gate by the alley to the middle of the yard—where someone had written, in large, crooked letters, STOP.
Wayne Peterson took one look and bent double laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
Julia didn’t think anything about this situation was amusing and said as much. “Wayne, somebody came into my yard in broad daylight.”
“Aw, c’mon.” Wayne straightened and wiped his eyes. “You’ve got to admire the guy’s work. That’s some pretty impressive pee writing right there.”
“Pee writing?” She looked again, noting for the first time the letters’ yellow tinge.
“I mean—those letters are big. Guy must’ve drunk a gallon of water.”
Wayne was laughing again. At the look on Julia’s face, he stopped.
“I could have been here. With Calvin. As it happened, whoever it was scared Jake half to death.”
A grin creased Wayne’s face, but he halted another laugh. “Not much of a watchdog, is he?”
Julia surprised herself by coming to the defense of Jake, heretofore viewed as a small, furry enemy of most of her belongings, tolerated only because Calvin adored him. And because of the rent, something she had to remind herself daily.
“He let me know right away something was wrong. Isn’t there anything I can do?”
“Whoever did this is guilty of trespassing. Only problem is, you have no way of knowing who did it.”
“Can’t you tell from footprints or something?”
“Or his—uh—handwriting?”
Julia folded her arms and tapped her foot, playing disapproving schoolmarm to Wayne’s recalcitrant student. Even though she couldn’t get too angry with him. He had, after all, sped to her house on a Saturday—the benefit, she supposed, of his most recent divorce, which left him little to do on his weekend days beyond watching an endless series of basketball games and eating takeout in his new apartment.
He swiped a hand across his face as though to physically erase his mirth. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. But very little of what I do involves humor.”
“Pretty twisted sense of humor.” She heard the forgiveness in her voice. Their jobs had that in common, and had the yellow-snow message not been so personal, she’d probably have laughed too.
“What can I do about it then? What if he comes back when we’re here?”
“You’re right.” Just as she appreciated the dark humor that permeated law enforcement—not to mention the Public Defender’s Division—Wayne well knew the tendency of stalkers’ behavior to escalate.
But both knew the limits of the law.
“Here’s what I’ve done. I created a file after the first incident. I’ll add this to it.” He walked to the back door, opened it, pointed his phone at the yard, and took a few photos. “That way, if anything else happens, these things are in an official record. I don’t suppose you’ve got a gun.”
“With Calvin in the house? Of course not.”
Something else they both knew—the statistics that showed a gun purchased for self-defense was exponentially more likely to injure or kill a family member or friend, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose when an argument escalated and, instead of throwing a punch, someone reached for a gun.
Besides, she was an amateur, unlike Wayne, with his years of training and routine practice at the gun range.
He grimaced. “Wouldn’t hurt you to get one. You can always take a safety course.”
“Not a chance. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to Calvin.”
He looked meaningfully toward the yard, wordlessly emphasizing that a handgun in a drawer wasn’t the only threat Calvin might face.
“No, Wayne.”
“What about security cameras? The same guy who did your locks? He could install them.”
“Christ!” She slammed a hand on the granite counter. “Ow.” She shook out her hand and blew on her fingers. “Blackout curtains and drapes. New locks. Security cameras. I don’t have the money for all of this. I don’t know who this person is or why they’re after me, other than that I’m living in Leslie Harper’s house.”
“What if it’s not that?” Wayne fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt, twisting it until it popped off in his hand. “Damn. That was stupid.” He held it out to her. “I don’t suppose you sew?”
She backed away. “When have I ever struck you as the domestic type? Not a chance.”
He pocketed the button. “Listen, Julia, I’m really sorry I made light of this. The method is funny. The intent clearly isn’t. But did you ever stop to think this might not have anything to do with Leslie Harper?”
She shook her head. “What else could it possibly be about?”
“What else are you working on?” He waited for it to come to her.
“Ray Belmar? I don’t mean to diminish the case, but the general feeling I get is that the only reason people give two cents for this case is that it raises safety issues about the creek trail. If it was just a couple of transients ending up dead anywhere else in town, nobody would care.”
“Solid thinking there, Counselor.” But Wayne’s smile lacked warmth. “I know you’ve always considered Ray some sort of lovable goof.”
“For God’s sake, Wayne. Lovable might be a stretch.”
“You know what I mean. Harmless, mostly.”
“Maybe not harmless. But not nearly as bad as some,” she acknowledged.
“Dude runs with a rough crew. Not just those folks along the river, those sad drunks. I hate to say it, but being sober might not have been the best thing for him. When he was drinking, he was too stupid to get into real trouble. But once his brain started working again, he might have done like a lot of folks—looked at some pissant minimum-wage job with no benefits and decided life as a solid citizen was not for him. That there are other ways to make money. A lot of money. See what I’m saying?”
Julia saw.
She didn’t like the picture Wayne was painting, one that went against everything she knew about Ray. But she had to admit it made sense.
She told him good-bye and went online before calling the locksmith to get an idea of just how much security cameras were going to set her back.