The Shadow Hunter

mirror image of mine; we share the bedroom wall. His other neighbor, in number four-two-two, shares the living room wall with him. She’s an elderly lady named Alice Finley, and she was happy to give me the cup of flour I asked for. Mrs. Finley likes to gossip. She informed me that Hickle never has friends over to visit and almost never goes out at night. He’s usually quiet, but at times she hears him shouting, and once or twice she’s heard loud banging on the shared wall, like he was pounding with his fist. Her conclusion was that, quote unquote, he’s not quite right in the head.
    “Bottom line: Hickle is socially isolated, probably paranoid, and deeply angry. He suppresses his most antisocial responses when dealing with others but can be violently enraged when alone. He’s a borderline personality, possibly schizotypal, but sufficiently well organized to hold down a job and pay the rent.”
    These notes were only partly for her benefit. In the event of her death, she wanted to leave a record that would allow the police to reconstruct what had happened. She was not entirely sure she could count on Travis to tell them what they needed to know. In her line of work, it was invariably necessary to break the law now and then, as Travis well knew. Faced with a police investigation, he would have to protect himself, quite possibly by denying all knowledge of her activities.
    She switched off the recorder, then used her cell phone to call Hollywood Station, asking for Sergeant Wyatt. “Vic’s not on duty tonight,” she was told. “You can reach him at home.”
    She knew his home number. He answered on the third ring. “Wyatt.”
    “Hey, Vic. Guess who.”
    He made a sound like a chuckle. “Took you nearly twenty-four hours to call. I was starting to think you didn’t need me after all.”
    “I need you. I’m a very needy person. There’s a guy in Hollywood we have to talk about, but not over the phone.”
    “You had dinner?”
    “Not yet.”
    “There’s a place on Melrose that’s not bad.” He gave her the address. “Half hour?”
    “I’ll be there. Thanks, Vic.”
    “Don’t thank me yet. I may not be able to help you this time.”
    “You’re always able to help.”
    “But I may not want to. It only encourages you, and I’m not sure I should do that.” He hung up without a good-bye.
    Most people Vic Wyatt could figure out. A decade spent riding patrol in Hollywood Division had taught him everything he needed to know about human nature, and although his promotion to sergeant confined him to a desk more often than he liked, he still saw a greater variety of people, night after night, than the average working professional would encounter in a lifetime. He was sufficiently jaded to think he had seen it all. At least, he used to be—until he met Abby.
    “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said as she slipped into the Leatherette bench opposite him.
    He checked his watch. “You’re right on time.”
    “Am I? That’s a first.”
    She was wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and a vinyl zippered jacket bearing the LA Dodgers logo. It was not an outfit that ought to have flattered her, but Wyatt found himself taking note of the smooth fall of her hair, the shapely stem of her neck. She was twenty-eight, four years younger than he was, a fact he had learned by the simple expedient of looking up her DMV records shortly after they’d met.
    He knew she never noticed him in that way. To Abby he was nothing but a resource. He had no chance with her at all.
    “What looks good here?” she asked, reaching for a menu.
    “I’m opting for the Matterhorn. Half-pound burger with Swiss cheese and pickles.”
    Her nose wrinkled. “You’re clogging your arteries just by talking about it.”
    “You might prefer the Garden of Veggie Delights.”
    She surveyed the menu. “Sounds like the least damaging of the possible choices.”
    “It’s funny, you being so concerned about health hazards.” He leaned forward, studying her. “Something gives me the feeling you aren’t so cautious when it comes to other hazards in your life.”
    “Me? I’m the original shrinking violet. I always play it safe.” She was smiling.
    He found that smile infuriating. He didn’t know why he had agreed to meet her. Their meetings were always the same. She pumped him for info, then went off and broke the law in some obscure way he couldn’t quite figure out—surveillance or undercover work or…something. She
used
him. At