Final Sins Read Free Page B

necessary.”
    “He looks like anyone else. He’s just a man.”
    “That description is less helpful than you may think. Nobody is just a man. Everybody has something distinctive about him.”
    “Not this man.”
    “Try harder. Short, tall, fat, thin, young, old ...?”
    “Average height, average build, nondescript appearance.”
    “You’re trying to make this as hard as possible, aren’t you? How about hair color?”
    “Brown.”
    “More blond than brown,” Elise said.
    “I would say brownish,” Faust amended.
    “Great. Is he Caucasian?”
    Faust nodded. “Yes, this much I can say with certainty. He is Anglo.”
    “Well, that helps a little. But not much, because most stalkers are Anglos. As a pastime, stalking hasn’t caught on in the minority community in a big way. Sort of like serial killing. But then,” she added with a nod toward Faust, “I guess you would know about that.”
    “I am not a serial killer. I killed just once.”
    “Once that we know about. Ever miss it?”
    “I beg your pardon.”
    “The thrill of the hunt, the taste of blood? Ever start jonesing for it?”
    “I could ask you the same question, could I not?”
    “You’re a smooth one, Peter. I’ll give you that. Eyes?”
    “What?”
    “Your stalker. Presumably he has eyes. What color are they?”
    “I have not the slightest idea. I have never been that close to him.”
    “Elise, little help here. If he’s after you, maybe you’ve gotten a better look.”
    The girl seemed reluctant to join in the conversation. No surprise. Anyone who was attracted to a man like Faust would have low self-esteem and probably poor social skills. Elise might be intelligent enough, even creative in her way, but she would be overloaded with chronic anxiety and fear.
    “I’ve only seen him from a distance,” Elise said, her voice very low, “usually in places that are pretty dark.”
    “Okay, well, that takes us to our next question. Where have you seen him, exactly, besides the parking garage and this cafe?”
    “All over.”
    “Narrow it down.”
    “He seems to know where I’ll be. It’s like he’s there waiting for me.”
    “He’s where waiting for you?”
    “All the places I go. Clothing stores, nightclubs, ad shoots ...”
    “Elise is a model,” Faust put in.
    It made sense. She had the anorexic look favored by the purveyors of designer jeans and overpriced perfume.
    “He’s been present when you’re working?” Abby asked. “In a photography studio?”
    “No, in public. Last week we did a shoot on the beach in Santa Monica and another one on Mulholland Drive. People will stand around and watch. Both times he was there in the crowd.”
    “He might be following you from home. Do you two live together?”
    Elise shook her head. “I have my own place. Need my space, you know. Sometimes I leave from Peter’s house, sometimes from my condo, sometimes from someplace else entirely. How can he always know where I am? Is he following me twenty-four hours a day?”
    “I doubt it.” It was almost impossible for one person to maintain around-the-clock surveillance.
    “Since this started, I’ve been checking my rearview all the time. I’ve never seen anyone behind me.”
    Abby felt a tingle of interest in the case. They had no idea where the man would turn up next. No description. No details. The challenge appealed to her, even if the clients did not.
    “Okay,” she said, “maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree here. When was the last time you saw him?”
    “Yesterday,” Elise answered. “I went to the Farmer’s Market, and he was there.”
    “You were alone?”
    “At first I was. Peter joined me.”
    “How did Peter know where to find you?”
    “I text-messaged him to let him know where I was going. He messaged back and said he’d meet me there for lunch.”
    She looked at Faust. “Where were you when you got the message?”
    “At home.”
    “You got the message on your cell phone?”
    “That’s