David’s soul could not rest. Kate had loved him, he knew that from reading her diary, but she hadn’t been completely honest with him. She was being threatened, harassed, and stalked, and had kept it all to herself. Was she afraid to tell him? Was there something lacking in him? Did she think he was not man enough to handle the problem? Damn it! He pounded the desk with his balled up fist so hard that the ‘world’s best daddy cup, his ink pen set – a present from his mother –, and the silver framed picture of Kate took a little hop on top of the desk.
He paced the length of his office wearing thin its plush beige carpet. Damn, damn, he kept muttering to himself. Kate’s killer had been someone she knew, someone who had attended his wedding party, someone who had smiled in his face, shaken his hand and had wished him well, someone who had spied on him and Kate from afar. And that someone was still out there. How much did Lester, Mary Ellen, or whatever the hell she was calling herself, know about him and Kate? Should he be fearful for the rest of his family? Were Kaila and his mother in danger? Was he? Deep in his heart, he knew what he had to do in order to be safe and answer all these nagging questions.
He’d backed off and left the investigation to the Feds and they had botched it. Rebecca or Mary Ellen or Lester, had been very good at the job of evading capture.
Evidently, she had intercepted the FBI’s request for her files and had fled that very same day. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips as he stomped back across the room and slumped back down into the big overstuffed chair that had formerly belonged to Sam Larson.
Mildred knocked on the door and interrupted his train of thought.
“David, I just wanted to remind you that it’s Nelson’s birthday today and we’re about ready to cut the cake. Perhaps, you’d like to say a few words.”
“Nelson? Which one is Nelson?”
“Nelson is the young thin blonde haired boy. You know the one. She took a few steps closer to his desk and leaned in and whispered in an amused voice, “the one everybody says is so pretty he could pass for a girl.”
His eyes bore into Mildred’s wrinkled face. And in that moment, it struck him why the FBI had not been successful in locating Rebecca Schuster. They were looking for a woman, when they should have been looking for a man.
The pictures circulated by the FBI of Rebecca Schuster showed her as a tall, red hair woman with a stocky build, however, there were no pictures of Lester Schuster – a slim built man with short dark brown hair — being circulated, at all.
After a few seconds, he realized Mildred was still in the room waiting for his reply.
“Ah, yes, Mildred the party. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He took out a notepad and pencil before getting up from his desk and wrote, thinking like a man, where would I go and what would I do?
A man would not go home, or to friends, nor a women’s shelter.
A man would have had a hideout (some place familiar yet safe)
A man would need money, transportation, an anonymous sex.
He also wrote track these things and you’ll find Lester, before leaving with Mildred for Nelson’s party.