Alex Cross 11 - Mary, Mary

by Patterson, James

  The meeting was to be run by Fred Van Allsburg, and he breezed in ten minutes after the rest of us got there. For some reason his late arrival made me think of Kayla Coles and how she liked to be punctual at all times. Kayla believes that people who are habitually late don't have respect for others - or at least, for clocks.

  Fred Van Allsburg had a dusty old nickname - the Stop Sign. It dated back to a United States-Central American heroin corridor he'd shut down in the late eighties. From what I knew, he had done little of note since then except climb the bureaucratic ladder. Having worked with him now, I had no more respect for him than the job required, per his rank and seniority I think he knew that, so it caught me off guard when he started the meeting the way he did.

  “I just want to say a few things before we get going,” he began. “As you all know by now, we're quasi on our own where LAPD is concerned. Maddux Fielding seems intent on going it alone if he can, and he's outdoing himself at being a huge pain in the ass. Isn't that right, Alex?”

  A knowing chuckle went around the room. Heads turned my way “Uh, no comment,” I said, to more laughtet Van Allsburg raised his voice to quiet everyone. “As far as I'm concerned, we keep our lines of communication open, and that means full and timely disclosure to LAPD on anything we know If I hear about anyone doing any petty withholding, they'll find themselves back in fingerprints on their next case. Fielding can run his end of things how he likes. I'm not going to let that compromise our own professionalism. Is that clear to everybody?”

  I was pleasantly surprised by Van Allsburg's response to the situation. Apparently he had allegiances of his own, even if it meant sticking by me.

  We then moved on to Mary Smith's new e-mail. He used the conference room's projection system to put the message up on the big screen where we could all see it.

  As I read it through, I was struck not by what she had written, but by what she seemed to be saying to us. It was the same thing I'd noticed before, in her earlier messages, but much plainer now, like a steady drumbeat that had gotten louder over time.

  Come and get me, she was telling us.

  Here I am.Just come and get me. What's taking you so long?

  And she'd sent the e-mail to the late Arnold Griner, the dead letter office, so to speak.

  Mary, Mary

  Chapter 81

  To: agriner@latimes.com From: Mary Smith To: The one who will be next: We've already met, you and I, so how about that?

  Do you remember? I do.

  You gave me an autograph the other day, and you were so full of your perky, charming mannerisms. You seemed so approachable, so down-to- earth. i don't want to say where we met, but you wouldn't remember anyway. I told you how much I liked your movies, and you smiled as though I hadn't said anything at all. It reminded me of how invisible I can be to you people.

  It wasn't the first time you looked right through me, either. You didn't see me at the day care yesterday, or at the gym today. Not that I'd really expect you to.

  It's like I'm the opposite of you in every way. Is that a clue I smell burning?

  Everyone knows who you are, and no one knows who I am. I'm not famous or movie-star beautiful or any of the things you are. I don't have flawless skin or a trademark grin. By all reports, you are a better mother than Patsy Bennett was, a better actress than Antonia Schifman, a better wife than Marti Lowenstein-Bell, and surely more famous than that up-and-comer Suzie Cartoulis.

  You are exactly who they mean when they say “she has everything.” You do-and I'll bet that you know it, even if you forget from time to time.

  There's only one thing I have that you don't. I know something. I know that by noon two days from now, you'll be dead. You'll have a bullet in your brain and a face that no one could recognize, not even your own beautiful children, not even the adoring public that flocks to your films.

  But I didn't tell you any of that when we met.

  I just smiled, almost curtsied, and thanked you for being you. I walked away knowing that the next time you look at me, it will be in a different way.

  Next time, I won't be invisible, I promise you that much.

  And I keep my promises-just ask Arnold Griner.

  Chapter_82 “WHAT DO WE THINK about this?” Van Allsburg asked the room, and then he stared directly at me. “You have more cases like this one than anyone else here. What's going on? What is she up to now?”

  I just went ahead and said it. “She wants to be caught.”

  I felt I needed to stand to address the group. "Most likely, this is a person who feels completely isolated. The reaction to eliminate the people she fixates on is paradoxical.

  She, he, or it destroys what she can't have. Over time, it's making her feel worse. Some part of Mary may know that, and doesn't want to do this anymore, but she lacks the self- control to stop on her own."

  “And the latest e-mail?” Fred asked.

  “Another sign that the killer is conflicted. Maybe the conscious mind believes it's taunting the authorities while the subconscious is drawing a map for us to follow. That's the only thing I can come up with that makes sense of what's happened, and I'm not even sure if it makes sense.”

  “What about the counterpossibility?” asked David Fujishiro. “That she's trying to deliberately mislead us, throw us off with fiction.”

  “You're right. That is a real possibility” I said. “And what it leaves us with is every conceivable outcome except what's in the e-mail. I think we have an obligation to take the message at face value first, and consider the alternatives second. But David has just stated the other logical possibility. Of course, we don't know if she's logical.”

  Several agents, including my buddy Page, scribbled notes while I spoke. I was aware of my stature here, if not exactly comfortable with it.

  “Do we know what LAPD's doing with this? I'm talking about the latest threat,” asked an agent in the back, one of several faces I had never seen before. I looked over to Van Allsburg for a response.

  "They've got a very large internal task force up and running. That much we know for sure. They're working on a database of potential targets. But you take every name-above- the-title actress in this town, even just sticking to the ones with families, and you've got a long list on your hands.

  "Plus, LAPD's going to be a little trigger shy about the panic factor. Outside of increased patrols and some awareness- raising, there's not a hell of a lot they can do for all of these women and their families - except keep after Mary Smith. Someone has to catch her.

  And you know what? I want it to be us, not LAPD."

  Mary, Mary

  Chapter 83

  DISNEYLAND WAS CHOCK-FULL of ironies for any good mother. “The Happiest Place on Earth,” the brochures called it, and maybe it could be, but with the large, electric crowds, it also had to be one of the easiest places to lose a child.

  Mary tried not to give in to her worry. Worrying just makes bad things happen.

  Worrywarts are the saddest people in the world. I should know.

  Besides, this day was supposed to be about fun and family Brendan and Ashley had been looking forward to it - for like forever and a day Even little Adam was bucking up and down in his stroller, squealing with a wordless excitement.

  Mary kept close watch on her older two as they led the way along Main Street USA, with its candy-colored shops and other attractions. Each of them held one side of a park map.

  This was adorable, since neither of them knew what they were looking at. Ever since Adam was born, they liked to play at being older.

  “What do you want to do first, my three little pumpkins?” she asked them. "We're here.

  We're finally at Disney, just like I promised."

  “Everything,” Ashley said breathlessly. She watched slack- jawed as Goofy, the real Goofy, went ambling past on Main Street.

  Breridan pointed to a little boy about his own age wearing Mickey Mouse ears with Matthew embroidered across the brim.

  “Can we g
et those?” he asked hopefully “Can we please, please, please?”

  “No, I'm sorry sweetie. Mommy doesn't have enough money for that. Not this trip. Next time for sure.”

  She wondered suddenly why she hadn't thought to pack sandwiches. The trip to Disney was going to cost far more than she could afford. If something went wrong at home between now and her next paycheck, she'd be in deep doo-doo.

  But that was just more to worry about. Stop. Stop. Not today. Don't ruin everything, Marsey-doats.

  “1 know just what we should do,” she said gently, taking the map from their hands.

  Shortly, they were floating through the It's a Small World boat ride, something Mary hadn't done since she was Brendan's age.

  But it was still the same, and that was comforting. The cool and the dark were as soothing as she remembered, and she still loved all the smiling animatronic faces that never changed. There was something reassuring about the ride, about Disneyland. She loved being here with the kids, and she'd kept her promise.

  “Look at that!” Brendan squealed, pointing to a jolly- looking Eskimo family, waving from their snow-covered home.

  Brendan and Ashley probably didn't even remember snow, she realized, and Adam had never seen it at all. The gray and the endless cold from back home were like another world now, like the black-and-white part of The Wizard of Oz. Except Dorothy went back, and Mary never would. Never again. No more snow-covered mountains. It was all a million miles away, right where it belonged. From now on it was going to be nothing but California sunshine - and smiling Eskimos, and Goofy - “Excuse me, ma'am, please step out,” said an attendant, breaking her reverie.

  “Mommy!”

  Mary winced in frustration. She had missed out on half the ride, thinking about other things. What was the last part she remembered? The Eskimo family. Snow. Oh, yes, snow.

  “Ma'am? Please. Others are waiting.”

  Mary looked up at the uniformed worker, who gave her a look of utter politeness.

  “Can we go around again?” she asked.

  He smiled obligingly. “Sorry but we're not allowed to let people do that. You'll have to get back in line.”

  “Let's go!” Brendan cried. “C'mon, Mommy No scenes. Please?” “All right, all right,”

  Mary said. Her voice was tense, and she was a little embarrassed.

  She winked to the attendant. “Kids,” she said conspiratorially, then jogged across the platform to catch up with her crew, her lovies.

  Mary, Mary

  Chapter 84

  LUNCHTIME CAME QUICKLY, and Mary was terribly disappointed to find she had only twelve dollars and change in her purse. A small pizza and a drink to share were going to have to be it for herself and the kids.

  “There's green stuff on it,” Ashley said as Mary set the food on the table.

  “It doesn't taste like anything,” she said. She wiped away the flecks of oregano with her napkin. “There. All the green's gone, all gone now.”

  “It's under the cheese, too. I don't want it, Mommy I'm hungry, I'm really hungry!”

  “Sweetie, this is lunch. There won't be anything else until we get home.”

  “I don't care.”

  “Ashley”

  “No!”

  Mary took a deep breath and counted to five. She tried to get control of herself, tried so hard. “Look at your brother. He likes it. It's so yummy”

  Brendan smiled and took another bite, the picture of obedience. Ashley only ducked her chin and completely avoided Mary's eye contact.

  Mary felt the tension building in her shoulders and neck. “Ash, honey, you have to have at least one bite. Ashley! You have to try it. Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

  Mary knew with all her heart she should just let it go. Not eating was a self-correcting problem. Ashley's problem, not hers. “Do you know how much this cost?” she said in spite of herself. “Do you know what everything costs here at Fantasy- land?”

  Brendan tried to intervene. “Mommy, don't. Mommy, Mommy”

  “Do you?” she pressed. “Have any idea?”

  “I don't care,” Ashley fired back. The little bitch, the awful girl.

  The tension took hold, shooting from her shoulders down into her arms and legs. Mary felt a sharp prickling in her muscles, and then all at once, a release.

  Ashley didn't want the food? Fine.Just fine.

  Her hand swept across the table.

  “Mommy!” Brendan cried out.

  Paper plates and slices of pizza slid to the concrete patio floor. The one soda tipped over, its sudsy contents sloshing onto the open stroller where Adam was sitting. His shriek was almost instantaneous. It resonated with Mary's own.

  “Do you see what you've done? Do you?” She barely heard any of it. Her voice was like something on the other side of a door, and the door was closed, and locked.

  Oh, this wasn't how it was supposed to be. She and the kids were at Disneyland for God's sake. This was so wrong, so wrong. Everything she'd worked so hard for was going down the toilet. This was a nightmare. What else could possibly happen to spoil everything?

  Mary, Mary

  Chapter 85

  IF MARY SMITH'S LATEST E-MAIL was to be believed, we were down to forty-eight hours or less to stop the next homicide.

  To make the impossible situation even worse, we couldn't be everywhere at once, not even with hundreds of agents and detectives on the case.

  One lead in particular had emerged, and we were going to run with it. That's all Fred Van Allsburg had told us. I wasn't sure we needed another meeting to discuss it, but I showed up, and now I was glad I did.

  We'd managed an end run around Maddux Fielding's unofficial closed-door policy at LAPD. A member of their blue- Suburban detail was on the phone when I got there.

  The LAPD detail consisted of two lead detectives, two- dozen field agents, and a clue coordinator, Merrill Snyder, who was on the line with us. Snyder started with his overview of the search. His voice had a subtle touch of New England. “As you know DMVs don't track by color, which is the only specification we have on Mary Smith's alleged Suburban,” he told the group.

  “That's left us with just over two thousand possible matches in Los Angeles County As a matter of triage, we've been focusing on civilian call-ins. We're still getting dozens every day - people who own a blue Suburban and don't know what to do about it; or people who've seen one, or thought they might have seen one, or maybe just know someone who's seen one. The hard part is recognizing the worthwhile point zero zero one percent of calls from the other ninety-nine point ninety-nine.”

  “So why did this one spike?” I asked.

  It was a combination of things, Snyder told us. Plenty of leads had some individual compelling detail to them, but this one had a convergence of suspicious factors.

  “This guy called in about his neighbor, who's also his tenant. She drives a blue Suburban, of course - and goes by the name Mary Wagner.”

  Eyebrows bobbed around the room. This was the stuff coincidence was made of, but it wouldn't have shocked me to know that our killer - with her penchant for public attention - was actually using her own first name.

  “She's a virtualjane Doe,” Snyder went on. “No driver's license here, or in any state for that matter. The plates on the car are California, but guess what?”

  “They're stolen,” someone muttered from the rear.

  “They're stolen,” said Snyder. “And they don't track. She probably got them off an abandoned car somewhere. ”And then, lastly, there's her address. Mammoth Avenue in Van Nuys. It's only about ten blocks from that cybercafe where the one aborted e-mail was found."

  “What else do we know about the woman herself?” Van Allsburg asked Snyder. “Any surveillance on her?”

  An agent in front tapped some keys on a laptop, and a slide came up on the conference room screen.

  It showed a tall, middle-aged white woman, from a vantage point across a parking lot.

  She wore what
looked like a pink maid's uniform. Her body was neither thin nor fat; the uniform fit but still looked too small for her mannish frame. I put her age at about forty- five.

  “This is from earlier this morning,” Fred said. “She works in housekeeping at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

  “Hang on. Housekeeping? Did you say housekeeping?”

  Several heads turned to where Agent Page was sitting perched on the window ledge.

  “What about it?” Van Allsburg asked.

  “I don't know. Maybe this sounds crazy -”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Actually, it was something in Dr. Cross's report,” Page said. “At the hotel where Suzie Cartoulis and Brian Conver were found. Someone made the bed. Perfectly” He shrugged.

  "It's almost too neat, but... I don't know. Hotel maid.

  The silence in the room seemed to intimidate him, and the young agent shut up. I imagined that with more experience, Page would come to recognize this kind of response as interest, not skepticism. Everyone took the theory in, and Van Allsburg moved on to the next slide.

  A tight shot of Mary Wagner. In close up, I could see the beginnings of gray in her dark, wiry hair, which was tamed at the nape of her neck in an unfashionable kind of bun. Her face was round and matronly, but her expression neutral and distant. She seemed to be somewhere else.

  The mutterer from the rear spoke up again. “She sure doesn't look like much.”

  And she didn't. She was no one you'd notice on the street.

  Practically invisible.

  Mary, Mary

  Chapter 86

  AT 6:20 THAT NIGHT, I was parked up the block from Mary Wagner's house. This could definitely be something, our big break, and we all knew it. So far, we'd been able to keep the press away.