Vanessa’s mother—Gloria—had been found semiconscious in her room by a nurse who heard her moaning on the floor. The doctors were thinking it was a stroke.
Vanessa told the emergency staff at St. Joseph Hospital that I was her brother. I don’t think they believed her, but no one argued. So we got in to see Gloria in our face masks, while she wore an oxygen mask and had several IVs in her arms.
“Just a few minutes,” the doctor said. She left to check on her next patient, pulling the curtain behind her.
“Mom? Ma?” Vanessa leaned down. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Her eyelids flickered. “Oh, Vannie. Hi. What are you doing here?”
“You had a stroke. Or something. That’s what they say. Ma—” She put a hand on Gloria’s arm. “Did that guy come? With the dog?”
Gloria’s eyes closed. Vanessa shook her arm. “Mom? Mom?”
“Peter,” Gloria murmured. One of her shoulders twitched. Was she going into a seizure? “Peter was . . .”
“Is that his name?” I bent down, on the other side of the bed. “The man with the dog?”
“Peter . . .” Her body started shaking. “I’m sorrrryyyy . . .”
I pulled the curtain back, but two nurses were already bursting in. “Stand back, please,” one of them told us, and we backed off. Vanessa cried softly.
The doctor came back and looked Gloria over. “We need to do some scans,” she told us. “I’m optimistic, but once we have a look inside her head and other places, we’ll have a better idea of how to treat your mother.”
Vanessa sighed. “Thank you.”
We found the cafeteria for coffee. Vanessa slumped in her chair. “Is it because of him? How could he—maybe he injected her with something?”
I sipped my coffee. “Who’s Peter?”
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temples. “A friend of hers? Or that guy? I can’t think—” She stopped. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“I have—had—I had a brother named Peter. He died when I was eleven. But that couldn’t—maybe she was hallucinating?” She pushed her coffee aside. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Could the guy—” I tried to think of the right way to ask. “Does he look like your brother at all?”
“What? No.” But she seemed to consider it for a moment. “I don’t know. He’s dead. What are you getting at?”
“How did he die?”
She closed her eyes. “It was a car accident. Dad said a dog ran in front of the car, and he hit a tree. Peter was in the front seat. I wasn’t there. Dad died a few years later. But Peter was killed instantly.” She was reciting a story, not reliving the loss. Her tone was calm and quiet. Then—“What the hell are you thinking? Dad somehow faked Peter’s death or something? That’s crazy!”
I’ve seen some crazy things as a P.I., and when I was a reporter before that—which is why I’m not a reporter any more. The dead don’t always stay dead. But I shook my head. “No. It could be nothing. I’m just trying to think through all the possibilities.”
“It couldn’t be Peter. I mean, it’s been 10 years, but I’d know.” She shivered. “There’s something about that dog, though. It just gives me the creeps whenever I see it.”
“What kind of dog did your father see? When the crash happened.”
Vanessa shook her head. “I don’t know. Look, I know your girlfriend’s psychic and everything, so I’m trying to keep an open mind. I just can’t think about that right now.”
“Of course.” I finished my coffee. “Will you stay, or do you want me to drive you back?”
“I’ll stick around for a while.” She stood up.
We disposed of our cups, and Vanessa went back to wait outside the ER. I headed out for the parking garage, across a small courtyard where ambulances parked. The clouds were thicker, darker overhead.
Standing next to an ambulance was the stalker. And his dog.
Our eyes met. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me, but he didn’t back away. The Yorkie sat at his feet, sniffing the air.
I stopped, watching him as he looked at me. I pulled out my phone and called Vanessa. “He’s here. Outside.”
“Oh hell.” She gulped. “Do you—can you go talk to him?”
“Yeah.” Not my first choice, but sometimes I have to grit my teeth and dive in. “I’ll call back.”
I switched my phone to video, took a deep breath, and walked forward. “Hi.” I waved with my free hand. “Nice dog. Boy or girl?”
He blinked. I did a close-up on his face. He was in his 60s, with pale, icy blue eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his face. A thick chin and a nose that looked like it had been broken in the past.
“Why are you videoing me?” His voice was low and gravelly.
“Why are you following Vanessa? And sending pictures of your dog to her?” My heart was pounding, but I managed to keep my voice steady. “Why did you go to her mother’s place today?”
The dog stood up and yapped at me. The man pulled gently on his leash. “Settle down, Peter. Just some asshole.”
Peter? “Your dog’s name is Peter? What’s your name?”
“Saul. Ben—” He stopped. “Who the hell are you?”
“Tom Jurgen. Vanessa hired me.” I fumbled in my pocket for a card, but the man yanked on the dog’s leash and turned to walk away. Not to the parking garage, but toward the park across the street. Maybe Peter needed to pee.
I let them go and called Vanessa again. “Peter is the dog’s name.”
“What? So that’s why mom . . .” Her voice trailed off. “That still doesn’t make sense. Is he still there?”
“No, he left. His name is Saul. Does that mean anything to you?”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t . . . think so.”
“Okay. I can crosscheck it with the list of tenants.”
“I’m going to stay here for a while. If I get to talk to my mom again I’ll ask her.”
“Good.” I started walking to the parking garage. “Be careful.”
“Yeah.” After a moment she said, “You too.”
There were actually two Sauls at the apartment building—Ben and Jean, a married couple. Both retired, he was 67, a former telecom executive, and Jean, 64, had worked at a bank. No unpaid taxes or liens on their property. The tenant listing showed they owned a dog. They still had a landline, so I got their phone number.
I dug a little deeper, and soon I found it: Nine years ago they’d sued a driver for running over their dog and killing it.
“Yahtzee,” I said quietly.
Rachel swiveled in her chair. “What’s that?”
“The owner of the dog that caused the car accident where Vanessa’s brother got killed tried to sue them for killing their dog. It got thrown out of court because, well, a kid got killed. The brother was named Peter, and so is the little Yorkie.”
“So it’s a revenge stalking thing? Because of a dog?”
“Yeah, but if they were crazy enough to actually sue the family . . .” I shook my head.
“People love their pets. Dogs, cats, boa constrictors too.”
“Don’t remind me.” I’d had a close encounter with a big snake in a recent case. It still gave me nightmares.
Rachel pulled her chair over as I called Vanessa. “The dog owner is named Ben Saul. He and his wife owned the dog that your father hit in the car accident.”
“What the . . .” Vanessa was silent for a moment. “I remember that now. He tried to sue dad for killing his dog, after Peter—anyway, I never met him. I remember mom and dad saying he was crazy. It really hurt dad.” She swallowed. “What the—what’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Have you talked to your mother?”
“They won’t let me see her yet. Do you think this guy tried to kill her? Because of his dog?”
“Ask the doctors when you get a chance if there’s any sign of injury. I don’t know.”
“All right. But what do we do now?”
I looked at Rachel. “I think it’s time to confront him. We have enough for a restraining order. He’s got a motive for stalking you—”
“But how’s he putting pictures in my pictures? What does he want?”
“That’s what we have to ask him.”
Vanessa sighed. “Okay. I want to be there. Can I call you when I’m ready? After I talk to mom, if I get to.”
I nodded. “We’ll be here.”
Rachel punched my shoulder as I hung up. “What’s this ‘we,’ kemo sabe? I’ve got work to do.”
I rubbed my arm. “I thought you might come along and check him out. And the dog. Using your awesome psychic powers. Plus, between you and her, Saul might be more intimidated by two strong gorgeous women than just me. But if you want to stay here—”
“Forget it.” She punched me again, but lighter this time. “Besides, I want to meet this chick. If I ever need to switch careers, I could use some pointers.” Then she patted the top of my head and headed back to her desk.
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