The Glock fired once into the wall of the interrogation room, even as it fell out of her grasp. I snatched it up, the shot still ringing in my ears, the side of my face numb.
There was a brief, suspended moment of near silence. Mary stopped struggling immediately, and then, in an unbelievable echo of the previous day's events, the police descended on her like a small army They picked her up as she flailed once again, arms and legs whipping crazily I could hear her unchecked sobs as they carried her away “My babies, my babies, my poor babies ... Where are my children? Oh, where? Oh, where? What have you done with my children?”
Her voice receded down the hall until a heavy door slammed with great finality, and she was gone. Not surprisingly, I didn't get the chance for another interview To make matters worse, if that was possible, I saw James Truscott as I left the building about an hour later. He was among the throng of reporters gathered outside waiting for any tidbit of news.
He yelled at me, "How did she get your gun, Dr. Cross?
How'd that happen?" Somehow, Truscott had already gotten the story.
Mary, Mary
Chapter 98
I COULD ONLY WONDER about the causes and the full extent of Mary Wagner's mental illness and the obvious torment and stress it was putting on her. There certainly hadn't been any time for a meaningful psych evaluation, and my part in the investigation was coming to an end now, whether I liked it or not. And, to be honest, I had mixed feelings.
By early that afternoon, Mary's state of mind was a moot point. LAPD's search of her house had turned up a holy trinity of evidence.
A Walther PPK, discovered under a blanket in her attic crawl space, had already shown a preliminary ballistic match to the weapon used in the murders.
CSI had also found half-a-dozen sheets of children's stickers and, most significant, stolen family photographs from Marti Lowenstein-Bell's office and Suzie Cartoulis's purse.
Both Michael Bell and Giovanni Cartoulis had positively identified the photos as having belonged to their murdered wives.
“And best of all, most important anyway,” Fred Van All5- burg told the small group of agents assembled in his office, "twelve o'clock came and went today without incident.
No new victim, no new e-mail. It's over. I think I can safely say that."
The mood was grimly congratulatory Just about everyone was glad to leave this one behind, but the details of the case would haunt most of the team for some time, just as the D.C. sniper case still lingered in theJ. Edgar Hoover Building back East. It's an unsatisfying and unpleasant feeling, but also part of what drives us to do better.
“Alex, we owe you one on this.” Van Allsburg finally came over to me. “Your work on the case was invaluable. I have to say that. I see why Ron Burns likes you close to home.”
A few uneasy laughs went through the room. Agent Page reached from behind and patted my shoulder. He would go far in the Bureau, if he could keep his passion for solving crimes.
“I'd still like to take a peek at that final evidence LAPD found. And maybe get a real interview with Mary Wagner,” I said, diverting back to what I thought was most important.
Van Allsburg shook his head. “Not necessary.”
“There's no reason for me not to stick around another day -” I started to say "Don't worry about it. Page and Fujishiro are good for the details; I can back them up.
And if we really need you again, there's always frequent-flier miles, right?“ His tone was artificially bright. ”Fred, Mary Wagner wouldn't talk to anyone before I came. She trusts me."
“At least, she did,” he said. “Probably not anymore.” It was a blunt statement, but not aggressive.
“I'm still the only person she's opened up to. I hear LAPD is getting nowhere with her.”
“Like I said, you're just a plane ride away if we need you back. I spoke about it with Director Burns and he agrees. Go home to your family You have kids, right?”
“Yes, I have kids.”
Hours later, packing my bag at the hotel, I was struck hard with another kind of realization: Actually, I couldn't wait to get home. It was a huge relief that I'd be back in D.C. again, with no immediate travel plans.
But - and the but was important - why had that fact been so far from my mind in Van Allsburg's office? What were these blinders I wore, and how did I keep forgetting I had them on? What kind of dramatic wake-up call did I need before I got the message?
On the way to the airport I figured out another piece. It just hit me. The A's and B's on the children's stickers at the crime scenes. I knew what the letters meant. Mary's imaginary children's names - Ashley, Adam, Brendan. Two A's and a B.
I phoned it in on my way out of L.A.
Mary, Mary
Part Five
END OF STORY
Mary, Mary
Chapter 99
THE STORYTELLER WAS DONE KILLING. Fini. It was over, and no one would ever know the whole truth about what had happened. End of story.
So he threw himself a party with some of his best buddies from Beverly Hills.
He told them he'd just gotten a gig writing a screenplay for an A-list director, a big, dopey thriller based on a dopey bestseller. He'd been given license to change anything he didn't like, but that was all he could say about it right now. The director was paranoid - so what's new? But a big party was definitely in order.
His friends thought they understood what was going down, which gave him some idea how little they knew him.
His best friends in the world - and hell, none of them knew him at all. None of them suspected he could be a killer. How fricking unbelievably crazy was that? No one knew him. The party was at the Snake Pit Ale House, a bar on Mel- rose where they'd held a fantasy football league during his early days in L.A., soon after he'd arrived from Brown University to act, and maybe dabble at writing scripts - serious, worthy stuff, not box-office crap.
“The order of the night is free beer,” he said as each of his buds arrived at the bar, “and wine for the wussies among you. So I guess it's vino all around?”
Nobody drank wine, not one of the fourteen pals who came to the bash. They were all glad to see him out and about, and also about his new gig - though some of the more honest ones admitted they were jealous. Everybody started calling him “A-list.”
He and David and Johnboy and Frankie were still at the bar when it closed at a little past two. They were overanalyzing a movie called We Don't Live Here Anymore. They finally more or less stumbled outside and exchanged Hollywood hugs on the street next to Johnny's fucking Bentley - talk about A-list - the spoils of the last movie he'd produced, a 400-million-dollar grosser worldwide, which made all the rest of them sick because all he'd done was buy a dipshit graphic novel for fifty thousand then sign up the Rock for ten mil. Genius, right? Yep - 'cause it worked.
“Love ya, man. You're the best, you sick, obnoxious, ostentatious bastard. You too, Davey!” he yelled as the silver Bentley pulled away from the curb and sped west.
“I know - I'm just a bastard right now,” David yelled back. “But I have dreams of being sick, obnoxious, and ostentatious, too. And talented - which is what's holding me back in this town.“ ”Hey, man - I hear you, I feel ya,” he yelled.
“Seeya, A-list! Ya hack!”
“I'm just a storyteller!” he yelled back.
Then he was kind of floating down a side street to his own car, a seven-year-old Beamer.
Not a Suburban. He was definitely three sheets to the wind. Happy as a pig out of a blanket - humming jimi Hendrix's “The Wind Cries Mary” An in-joke that only he would get.
Until suddenly he began to sob, and he couldn't make himself stop, not even when he was sitting on the lawn of some grungy apartment building with his head down between his legs, bawling like a baby And he was thinking,Just one more, just one.
One more kill and I'll be good.
Mary, Mary
Chapter 100
THE NEXT MORNING, he couldn't sleep, and
he drove up and down Meirose - past IJAngelo, which used to be Emilio's; the Groundling Theater where Phil Hartman got his start; Tommy Tang's; the original Johnny Rockets; the Blue Whale. His city, man. His and Proud Mary's.
It was around 5:30 or so when he bounced into the Star- bucks on Melrose, which used to be The Burger that Ate LA back in the day Man, he did not like Starbucks, but they were open, the greedy little Yuppie bastards. The numbers dictated that they be open, right?
The numbers ran everything these days.
And here he was - proving the number crunchers right. Five-thirty in the A.M. and he was already making their day God, he despised these dipshit coffee places, the new McDonald's, overpriced rip-offs.
He remembered when a cup of coffee was fifty cents, which seemed about right. But “Sumatra blend” - now that was worth two-fifty if it was worth a nickel. For a tall, which really meant a small.
And the goateed schmo minding the store was too busy setting up shop to give any attention to his paying customer, his early bird, the day's first sucker.
He let it go for a minute or so, but the jerk was starting to piss him off royally “Be right back,” he finally told the superbusy “barista” behind the counter, and the guy still hardly noticed him. What an ass and a half. No doubt, an actor out of work. Too good for the job, right? With an attitude - which was supposed to be a good thing these days.
A minute later, he reentered the Starbucks with a piece in his jacket pocket. He was starting to rev-up now. This was probably stupid, definitely not too smart, but God, it felt pretty good.
Hey, pal, my gun is getting thirsty.
Right then and there, the decision was made. This arrogant fuck wannabe actor was going down for the count. He was tomorrow's headlines today “Hey buddy, I'm waiting here for some coffee. You got any coffee at Starbucks?”
The barista didn't look up from his busy work even then, just waved a free hand. “Be with ya.”
The Storyteller, the Storyteller, heard the door open behind him. Another sucker arrives.
“Hey, morning, Christopheic” A woman's chirpy voice came from behind. He didn't even turn to look at her. Screw her, too.
“Hiya, Sarah,” called the counter guy And he was suddenly all chirpy, too. Now the jackass came to the front, now he wakes up. For Sarah.
And that's when he shot the dude in the chest, right in the Starbucks apron.
“Forget the coffee, Christopher. Don't need it now I'm already wired.”
Then he turned to see about the woman. First time he ever looked at her.
Chirpy-looking blonde, maybe midthirties, wearing a black leather jacket over black pedal pushers, black thongs, too.
“Hey, morning, Sarah,” he said, casual-like and friendly as a cocker spaniel off its leash in the park. “Wearing black for the funeral?”
"Excuse me And he shot her, too. Twice. Then one more for the barista.
Just one more kill, right? he was thinking. Well, maybe two more.
He robbed the cash register, took Sarah's ratty buckskin pocketbook, and off he went into the early morning L.A. smog, heading west, across Stanley, Spaulding, Genessee.
Mary Smith rides again, right?
Mary, Mary
Chapter 1 01
I LOOKED AT JANNIE in the rearview mirror. “The Spy Museum, huh?” I asked.
She nodded. “Absotootly”
Jannie had drawn Saturday afternoon in our little lottery Tonight was mine, Sunday day was Nana's, and Sunday night was Damon's time to howl. The Cross Family Weekend was all mapped out, and it was already under way We spent the afternoon learning about ninja, cloak-and- dagger, and shadow spies, a construct I must have missed in my classes at Quantico. The kids tested their powers of observation in the School for Spies, and even I was impressed with some of the future- world props and models they had in the 21st Century section.
Since dinner was my choice, I decided to introduce everyone to Ethiopian food. Jannie and Damon did fairly well with some of the more exotic tastes - except for the kitfo, essentially steak tartare. Still, they liked eating with their fingers, which Nana called “real down-home cooking.”
'When Jannie and Nana went off to the ladies' room, Damon turned to me. “You know, you could have invited Doctor Coles. If you wanted,” he said, then shrugged.
I was touched by the man-to-manness of Damon's remark. I'd even say it was adorable, except that he'd hate it if I saw it that way. “Thanks, Day,” 1 said, playing it straight.
“Kayla and I are having dinner on Tuesday I appreciate the thought.”
“She's a good lady Everybody thinks so. You need somebody you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
"And she's the only person I've ever seen who can make Nana do stuff she doesn't want to.,' I laughed, liking that he had noticed so much about Kayla, and his observations were mostly sharp and true.
“What's so funny?” Nana asked, suddenly at the table again. “What did I miss?”
“What is it?” Jannie asked, demanded actually “I want to know what's going on. Was it about the Spy Museum? You two mocking me? I will not be mocked.”
“Guys' privilege,” Damon said.
“I bet it was about Doctor Coles.” Jannie's voice turned to a squeak as her instincts landed her in exactly the right place. “We like her, Daddy” she said, when I had neither confirmed nor denied her guess.
“Yeah, but you like everyone.” “Guess where I got that from?”
“We need to have her over for dinner,” Nana piped up.
“Just not Tuesday,” Damon told her.
Jannie grinned, and her eyes got wide. "Yeah. Tuesday night is date night. Right, Daddy?
Am I right?"
Mary, Mary
Chapter 1 02
TUESDAY NIGHT WAS A DATE NIGHT with Kayla Coles.
And then so was Thursday At a little past 1:00 in the morning, I was sitting with Kayla on her front porch. We'd been out there talking for at least a couple of hours. Kayla had just recruited me to do some work for the Children's Defense Fund in D.C. She used statistics to make her points - just like Nana did: forty million uninsured in America, a new baby born uninsured every minute of every day Sure I would help - whatever I could do. Even if the circumstances hadn't been what they were.
“What are you doing Saturday?” she asked, Just the question, in her sweet voice, made me smile. “This isn't about the Children's Defense Fund by the way”
“I was hoping you'd come over for one of Nana's home- cooked meals,” I said.
“Don't you need to ask Nana?” I laughed. “It was her idea. Or one of the kids. But Nana's definitely part of the conspiracy She might even be the ringleader of the gang.”
If the universe wanted me to stop dating, its message was getting garbled. All day Saturday, I was a little nervous about Kayla coming over, though. This meant something, didn't it?
Bringing her home - under these circumstances.
“You look good, Daddy,” Jannie said from the door to my room.
I had just rejected a shirt onto the bed and pulled on a black V-neck sweater, which I had to admit looked pretty good. It was a little embarrassing to be caught in the act of preening, though. Jannie invited herself in, flopped down, and watched while I finished up.
“What's going on?” Damon wandered in next and sat be- side Jannie on the bed.
“Anybody ever hear of privacy around here?”
“He getting all handsome for Doctor Kayla. All dudedup and such. I like him in black.”
My back was to them now, and they spoke as if I weren't there, their voices just a little stagy “Think he's nervous?”
“Mm-hm. Probably”
“You think he'll spill something on himself during dinner?”
“Definitely”
I turned on them with a roar and grabbed them both before they could separate and squirm away They exploded into screams of laughter, forgetting, for an instant, that they had outgrown this kind of horsepl
ay I rolled them both around on the bed, going for all the ticklish spots I knew from past tickle fests.
“You're going to get all wrinkly!” Jannie yelled at me. “Dadd-eee! Stop!”
“That's okay” I said. “I'll have to change anyway ... when I spill something on myself!”
I chased them all the way down to the kitchen; then we pitched in to help Nana with the parts that she would let us. Adding a leaf to the dining table. Putting out the good china and new candlesticks.
Nana was showing off a little, maybe a lot. Fine by me; I've got no problem eating her finest. Never have.
After dinner, which was pretty amazing - two herb- roasted chickens with oven fries, asparagus, mesclun salad, and coconut cake - Kayla and I got out of there. We took the Porsche, and I drove out to the Tidal Basin and then up to the Lincoln Memorial. We parked, then strolled the length of the Reflecting Pool. It's a beautiful, tranquil spot at night. For some reason, not too many tourists make it there after sunset.
“Everything was perfect,” she said as we approached the Washington Monument. “Back at your house.”
I laughed. “A little too perfect for my taste. Didn't you think they were trying too hard?”
It was Kayla's turn to laugh. “What can I say? They like me.”
“Three dates in a week. Had to give them ideas.”
Kayla smiled. “Gave me some ideas. Want to hear?”
“Like what? Give me an example, a for-instance.”
“My house isn't far.” “You're a doctor. Must know a lot about human anatomy”
“And you're a psychologist so you know the human psyche, right?”
“Sounds like a lot of fun.”
And it was.
But then the Job got in the way again.
Mary, Mary
Chapter 103
"I'LL BE OUT THERE TOMORROW. That's the best I can do. I'll book a flight to L.A.
Alex Cross 11 - Mary, Mary Page 19