© by Elsa
Nancy Kowalski was thirty years old, petite, with brown short cut hair, brown eyes, and furthermore a rather common face – not a stunning beauty, not an unattractive woman either. She was obviously nervous. She stood in the middle of her living room and gestured for the officers to sit down, but she herself seemed to be a stranger in her own place. She fidgeted nervously with the hem of her shirt or kept pulling at her sleeve.
“Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Or err… coffee or tea? A sandwich?”
“No thank you. First, our apologies for the troubles at the station. It’s not normal to have that there, the watch commander was obviously distracted by it. He didn’t pay you the courtesy he should have. That’s why we’re here. Won’t you tell us why you were at the station?”
Nancy Kowalski sat down on the edge of the sofa, stood up, sighed shakily and then sat down again.
“Stalking… I feel bad about it,” she started. “The guy’s not really dangerous, but he’s throwing my life upside down.”
“Why don’t you begin at the beginning?” Hutch asked friendly. Starsky hadn’t said a word, sensing it was Hutch’s call since he was the one who’d been dealing with this before.
“I’m a librarian. I work at the Bay City Library. I see dozens of people day in day out, and I know a fair good deal of them. Not all by name, but their faces are familiar and the type of books they read I generally know as well.” She sighed. Now that she started, it did calm her down to talk about it. “About six months ago a man came to the desk, to get a membership. He was new and I helped him around, as I often do.”
“You remember his name?”
“O yes. He made sure I would. Will Vaughn.”
She went to the kitchen and came back with three glasses and fruit juice, which she poured for the detectives unasked. She took a sip from her own juice and continued, “He was back a few days later, asking me for my assistance again. That was the beginning. After that he came in nearly every day. Sometimes he stayed for a few minutes, sometimes he stayed all day. He sent me flowers, the bouquet stood on my desk when I came in. I didn’t know what to make of it. It happened more often but generally I put them in the personnel room, I felt uneasy with them on my desk. After a few weeks he approached me and asked if he could take me out to diner. I kindly refused – I had no intention of going out with a stranger. And I can’t say he appealed to me. He was just a library visitor, no more, no less.”
“Good for you,” Hutch said softly. Starsky studied his partner closely, noticed the attentiveness in his friend’s attitude and realised how close this was to his partner’s world. Diana Harmon had left a scar in Hutch’s past that was deeper than the one in his arm. It resulted in a strong sense of compassion for a stalking victim.
“After that, he disappeared for a while. Then, things started to happen. I came home from the gym one night and he was singing a serenade outside my window. That was hilarious for the neighbours, but kind of embarrassing for me. He slept on the doormat of the library. He put advertisements in the papers that we were going to get married. He sent me presents, dozens of them. Varying from a ring to clothes, flowers, toy bears, dolls, records and books. I received letters from him, every day. He wrote me long love letters, telling me how much he loved me and that I was the only one in the world for him and such. He called me, every day, more than once. I changed my phone number, he got hold of it again and -out of frustration, I guess- I threw the phone against the wall. It broke, I didn’t replace it. I use the pay phone outside now. When things were really going bizarre, I told him I didn’t want all that and I wanted him to end that silly crusade. I wasn’t interested in him, and I told it to him very clearly. He just didn’t listen. He stared at me, almost delightedly, and took my picture.”
She stopped and drank her juice. Starsky stood up and calmly walked to the windows, taking in what was outside. A view on the street, cars, the houses and opposite apartments; from the kitchen a view on a small inner court yard, with waste bins and small sheds. Two bicycles were parked against the wall. A street lamp stood in the middle of the inner court yard.
“Didn’t you go to the police?”
“I called. An officer I spoke to didn’t seem to take me seriously. He said it was all in my mind.” She said it hesitantly but with a clear sense of hurt. “I can’t really repeat what he said but it came down to tell the bloke to go away and that’s that. He’s in love with you, big deal? If you ignore him, he’ll quit soon enough.”
Hutch felt anger rise. “Do you remember his name?”
“No. I guess I didn’t press on. I should have. But I guess the officer kinda sensed my hesitance and maybe I didn’t express clearly enough that it wasn’t only embarrassing but scary too. I really got the creeps when I found a rose on my pillow one day. He’d been IN my apartment. I changed the locks that very day. I received more mail, photos of me – everywhere. He’d been following me around, much longer than I had expected and that really freaked me out.”
“So why did you take off this morning when you came at the station?”
Over her pale cheeks a slight red glow appeared. “I… It… it feels so strange. A man is in love with me… and I go to the police?” In a sudden gush of desperation she hid her face in her hands. Muffled, her words tumbled out. “I… This… this is awful… He called my mother, my sister... friends. … my neighbour saw him rummaging through my waste bin… he’s been in my room, he’s been in my house…” Her voice trailed off. She stood up and walked to a cupboard, from which she took a cardboard box.
“I wanted to throw this away, but… well… you always hear about proof and evidence so I just throw whatever he sends me in this box.”
She didn’t open it, just pushed to box into Hutch’s hands and fell to the couch again. The detective took the lid off and found dozens of letters and photos, all carrying the same message: if I can’t have you, no one can. That’s not exactly what it said, of course, but to Hutch it radiated from the silent stolen privacy of the photos as if it was down there in neon lights. One after the other his slender hands picked up photos by the tip of the edge, one after the other were scrutinized by his deep looks. These were clearly shots of an obsessed person, and he could understand very well why Nancy Kowalski was getting nervous.
“I feel so… watched. As if he sees my every move. I feel like I can’t turn without him standing somewhere, watching me. I know it’s crap, but—“
Hutch stood up and sat down on the table in front of her. Their knees touched. He took her small hands in his and pressed them once.
“Miss Kowalski – we’re going to solve this. Officially there’s not much we can do.”
“But… can’t you book him for breaking and entering, or something?”
“Yes, but not without proof. These photos and letters don’t tell of a threat – they only tell of a man who’s interested in you. That’s not a federal offence. A rose on your pillow is not enough. You can’t prove it was him, so we can’t do much about it.” Hutch voice was soft and friendly. “It was good thing you came to the police. Don’t confuse obsession for love, miss. We’ll get him and he won’t bother you again.”
A silence fell in the room, but this time not a tensed one. It held a promise of better times. Nancy Kowalski went to the bathroom, giving Starsky and Hutch a chance to discuss their thoughts on the matter.
“Bad business, buddy,” Starsky said thoughtfully.
“Yeah. He’s been in here. That’s bad news.”
“Luckily she changed her locks immediately.”
“Those photos and letters… he’s a loose cannon.”
“Unbelievable. How many are there?”
“Dunno. Sixty? Seventy letters?”
“And the photos… big lenses. He could be anywhere.”
“He’s seen rummaging through her trash. You know what that means, don’t you Starsk?”
“What?”
“He’s got access now to a lot of information. You’d be surprised what you can find in someone’s trash, apart from orange peels and tissues. There’s a lot of information there for the take.” Hutch rose, stretched his long body to get the stiffness from his muscles and moved over to the window, exactly like his partner had done earlier. “Street’s wide, cars around, children playing, enough places to hide or go unseen…”
“I checked the back. There’s a inner court, small, but not closed off. A wooden fence with gate. He could come in through there.”
“Or just took the front door. Like you did. Ring a few buzzers, there’s always one to open up, right?”
“How did he get her key?”
“Dunno. Maybe he used a picklock or a master key. We both know it’s not hard to enter a place like this if you really want to.”
“We’re going to get that bastard, Hutch. We’re not going to let this get out of hand.”
Nancy Kowalski picked up Starsky’s remark as she returned from the bathroom. She’d freshened up and looked a whole lot better. Her bleak expression was gone and had made room for a belligerent look.
“So, how are we going to go about?” she asked.
Hutch laughed. “You sure sound like you can take on the world right now.”
She smiled shyly but gratefully. “For the first time in months I feel I’m not alone anymore.”