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“She asked me if I’d noticed anyone hanging around in the neighborhood. She’d seen a man on the street, watching her.” Barbie hesitated. “I’ll show you. She texted this to me.”
Barbie’s manicured hands stretched for her phone, and she searched through her photos on it. She thrust the phone at my face.
I stared at it. It took me a second to make sense of what I was seeing. A blurred photograph of a tree.
“What is it?”
“What does it look like?”
“A tree?”
“Behind the tree.”
Behind the tree was a gray blob—it could have been anything from a lamppost to a large dog.
“It’s a man. You can see his outline quite distinctly.”
I wasn’t convinced but didn’t argue. I didn’t want Barbie to get distracted. “Keep going.”
“That’s it.”
“But what happened?”
Barbie shrugged. “Nothing. I told Alicia to tell the cops—and that was when I found out she
hadn’t even told her husband about it.”
“She hadn’t told Gabriel? Why not?”
“I don’t know. I got the feeling he wasn’t all that sympathetic a person. Anyway. I insisted she tell
the police. I mean, what about me? What about my safety? A prowler’s outside—and I’m a woman living alone, you know? I want to feel safe when I go to bed at night.”
“Did Alicia follow your advice?”
Barbie shook her head. “No, she did not. A few days later, she told me she’d talked it over with her husband and decided she was imagining it all. She told me to forget it—and asked me not to mention it to Gabriel if I saw him. I don’t know, the whole thing stank to me. And she asked me to delete the photo. I didn’t—I showed it to the police when she was arrested. But they weren’t interested. They’d already made up their minds. But I’m positive there’s more to it. Can I tell you...?” She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Alicia was scared.”
Barbie left a dramatic pause, finishing her wine. She reached for the bottle. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”
I refused again, thanked her, made my excuses, and left. There was no point in staying further; she had nothing else to tell me. I had more than enough to think about.
It was dark when I left her house. I paused a moment outside the house next door—Alicia’s old house. It had been sold soon after the trial, and a Japanese couple lived there. They were—according to Barbie—most unfriendly. She had made several advances, which they had resisted. I wondered how I’d feel if Barbie lived next door to me, endlessly popping over. I wondered how Alicia felt about her.
I lit a cigarette and thought about what I had just heard. So Alicia told Barbie she was being watched. The police had presumably thought Barbie was attention-seeking and making it up, which was why they had ignored her story. I wasn’t surprised; Barbie was hard to take seriously.
It meant that Alicia had been scared enough to appeal to Barbie for help—and afterward to