Monday
October 27, 2008
Asheville, North Carolina
7:51 a.m.
I shoved my suitcase into the backseat of the car next to my climbing gear and stared up at the methodical gray slabs sliding across the sky. Dark continents hanging from heaven. The temperature hovered right around freezing; the air was wet and heavy. Freezing rain-or maybe even snow-was on its way.
Here’s what I knew:
(1) I was off the case. Last night was it, the last straw for Margaret. She was holding me responsible for Joseph Grolin and Vanessa Mueller’s deaths; and of course last night when the killer got away-well, that was my fault too. So Tessa and I were flying back to Denver today. And when all the internal investigations were over, I’d be lucky to get a job as a truancy officer in a middle school-at least according to Margaret.
(2) Alice and her children were safe, at least for the moment. Everything had turned so explosive that Ralph had kept her location top secret. He didn’t even tell me where he sent them.
(3) The Illusionist was still on the prowl. We hadn’t found any sign of him last night, even after searching the entire neighborhood.
(4) Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid and his group never arrived in Seattle. It was like they’d dropped off the planet. That worried me a little, but it looked like the team still had a few more days to find him.
(5) The safe house had run out of Mountain Java Roasters coffee beans. All we had left was tea.
I could tell already, it was going to be another rough day.
I still had some things to pick up from the federal building, but maybe I could get those on the way to the airport. My emotions? Honestly, they were mixed. Maybe I was better off at a desk job in Denver. I’d helped narrow the suspect pool here and focus the search area, but still, I felt empty, useless, like a failure. Yes, it would give me more time with Tessa, but I wanted to catch this guy. Wanted it bad.
I wasn’t sure if I would see Brent Tucker again before I had to leave town, so I gave him a call to encourage him. After all, I was beginning to understand how he felt. “You’re a good man, Brent Tucker,” I said as I walked into the kitchen and found Tessa foraging for some breakfast. “I appreciate all your hard work on this case.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bowers,” he said. “It was an honor to work with you. I look forward to the day our paths cross again.” After a couple minutes we both said our good-byes and hung up.
“Is there any coffee?” Tessa asked groggily.
“You drink coffee?” I said. “Oh, right. A twenty-first-century teenager. Of course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I think we’re out.”
“Aha.” She held up a coffee can she’d found in the cupboard. “Want some?”
I read the label. “Hmm. I think tea this morning. But I’ll brew it for you if you want.”
“I can do it,” she said.
“I know. Just let me. Please. Have a seat.” I pulled out the chair for her. She hesitated for a moment and then eased into it. “Want some cereal too?”
“Whatever.”
While the coffee percolated I searched for some cereal. “So,” I said to her. “Almost packed?”
“Almost. So, the guy got away, huh?”
Great. Make me feel even worse.
“Yeah, but they’ll get him. There are good people on the case.. . and I guess this will free me up to spend more time with you.”
Silence. I waited.
Nothing.
“How does that sound?”
“Whatever.”
“Well, are you glad you got to miss a day of school?” I opened the fridge and pulled out some milk and OJ.
Tessa shrugged.
C’mon, Pat, think. You can do better than that.
“Tessa, do you know what the most dangerous shark in the world is?”
She grunted in a teenage girl sort of way. “That was random.”
“Well, do you know?”
She rolled her eyes. “The bull shark. Everyone knows that.”
Kincaid led his family through the staff entrance to the Stratford Hotel. He recognized the faces of some of the guests who were milling around. Even though most attendees had come last night for the opening session, the most prestigious guests were arriving this morning by helicopter, trying to beat the snowstorm that was predicted to hit the area.
Security was tight. As tight as a glove. Metal detectors had been set up at every public entrance. But no one was the least bit suspicious of Kincaid and his family.
After all, they’d been hired as the caterers for this morning’s event.
It was time to prepare the food.
I opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of peanut-butter-flavored cereal. “How’s this?”
She shook her head very, very slowly. “I’m allergic to peanuts.
I’ve always been allergic to peanuts.”
Oh boy.
“I must have forgot.”
“I thought you were supposed to notice everything.”
“So they say.”
Silence again.
So notice something already.
“Um, right now, I notice that your left eye is slightly darker brown than your right one.”
She grunted. “Brilliant.”
I heated some water for tea and poured myself a glass of juice. “Do you want some OJ?”
“I guess.”
The coffee was ready. I poured her a cup, and then I studied her for a moment. “I notice you’re wearing long sleeves again, and I remember seeing scars on Cherise’s left arm back when we were living in New York City, and I’m wondering if…”
She stared past me quietly, wouldn’t look at me.
Careful, Pat, don’t blow this.
“Sugar and cream?”
“Black.”
You can get into all that later… Reach out to her with your hand open… Do it slower… that way she knows you’re not going to hurt her…
I set it on the table. “That’s all. Just long sleeves.”
After a brief silence she said, “Well, so far your powers of perception are unparalleled. ‘The girl is wearing long sleeves.’ That oughtta crack the case wide open. No wonder you get the big bucks.”
I took a slim breath. “Do you ever think about wearing a color other than black?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Pink, maybe.”
“I look better in black.”
“How’s your coffee?”
She drank some. “Horrible.”
Well, at least she had good taste.
I found some puffed rice cereal and poured it into a bowl for her.
“I notice that you’re wearing your mother’s perfume.”
She paused with the coffee cup halfway to her lips. Just then the phone-Ralph’s phone-rang. I glanced at the number on the screen: unknown.
Kincaid walked around the magnificent enclosed courtyard of the Stratford Hotel. It was absolutely breathtaking: hanging gardens, verandas, walkways, fountains. And winding around everything was an indoor whitewater river with a pool at the base of an eight-foot waterfall. Even though the temperature outside was dropping, in here it was still over 60°F. Right now the hotel staff was busy setting up fifty round tables on the east side of the courtyard for the luncheon.
And in less than two hours the tables would be full.
Yes, his family had been infected and would be breathing the airborne bacteria on the guests as they served them, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.
He went back into the kitchen where his family was preparing the meat. As Marcie walked past, he nodded to her. She lowered her gaze and nodded back deferentially.
Humans typically contract both tularemia and Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever through ticks, but either can also be contracted through direct contact with the blood of infected livestock. He’d opted for the cattle rather than the ticks. In fact, he’d infected his whole herd. Even now the roasts that the conference attendees would be eating were soaking in the infected blood he’d shipped on Friday.
Governor Taylor arrived at the Stratford Hotel and went up to his suite of rooms. The presidential suite. Aptly named, he thought as he slid his key into the lock.
Anita Banner followed the governor closely, wearing her favorite skirt, enjoying the turned heads of all the young men she passed. Soon she’d be able to afford an even better skirt. In fact, a whole new wardrobe. A whole new life.
A life finally free from the groping hands of Sebastian Taylor.
Tessa watched to see if I’d answer the phone.
It rang again. I reached for it.
She ventured a bite of cereal.
I flipped the phone open and then snapped it shut, turning off the ringer when I did.
She’d been following my movements out of the corner of her eye. “Why didn’t you answer that?”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Noticing you.”
Suddenly I remembered the words from Christie’s note: Don’t run from the risk of loving her… “We need to be here for each other,” I said. I wondered if Christie had left a similar note for Tessa. I’d never asked her. Make it right, Pat. C’mon.
Tessa was toying with her spoon. “I found it in the dresser.”
“Found what?”
“Mom’s perfume. It’s OK, isn’t it? That I’m wearing it, I mean?” For a moment she almost looked shy. A shy raven.
“Yeah. Of course. I’m glad you’re wearing it. Really.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s cool.”
“Cool?” she said with a slight grimace. “Did you just say cool?” “Is that OK? Is it still cool to say cool?”
“I guess,” she said. “It just sorta surprised me…”
I picked up the jug of milk and a jet of pain shot through my shoulder. I flinched and set the jug down again.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.”
“You’re right.” My back was throbbing. “OK, honestly, I hurt my shoulder pretty bad yesterday.”
“Doing what?”
“Someone tried to blow me up.”
“Really?” She sipped her coffee.
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
I stirred some honey into my tea. “I’m not certain, but I’m reasonably sure it was the serial killer.”
“Oh,” she said, and then, “How many people has he killed so far?”
“At least six. Maybe more. Probably more.”
“So, not up to the average of eight victims yet? I mean, for North American serial killers?”
I hesitated. “You know, in some families this kind of conversation would seem a little odd.”
“Not in this one,” she said.
I blew on my tea. “Not quite up to eight yet. As far as we know.”
We ate our cereal.
“So, why do they do it?” she asked after a few minutes.
I gave her my stock answer. “Well, I try not to ask why. You get sidetracked doing that.”
She scoffed. “Yeah, right. That’s a cop-out if I ever heard one. I know you wonder. You have to. You’re too curious about stuff not to.”
My cup of tea trembled in my fingers. Her words struck home. “Well, I guess maybe I have, but in the end I think the why is easy: killers want the same things out of life everyone wants-fulfillment, accomplishment, a sense of worth, acceptance, power-”
“Love.”
I fumbled for what to say. “Yeah. That too. But they don’t know the right way to get it.”
Neither do you.
“No one does,” she said. “Not all the time, at least.”
I couldn’t tell if she was saying that as a simple observation, or as something more personal. After a moment she added, “So then what makes us different from them?”
I was about to say something trite, cliched, stupid. But the truth is, there’s only a fine line that separates us from them, and sometimes it wavers back and forth like a snake in the sand. Sometimes we step over it, all of us do. Curiosity, maybe. Desire. Anger. Who knows. But the ones who step over with both feet are still just as human as we are. All of them are: those people in Jonestown, the killers I track. They’re searching for hope, looking for love, trying to figure things out. Just like us. In so many ways they’re just like us. That’s the scariest truth of all.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference,” I said. “I guess a lot of it boils down to the choices we make.” Then I remembered a quote I heard once. “I think it was Goethe who said that all of us have within us the potential to commit any crime.”
“Something like that.” She sipped at her coffee.
“What do you mean?”
“Goethe wrote, ‘There is no crime of which I do not deem myself capable.’ At least that’s the most popular translation.”
I took a long look at her. “How do you know that? How do you know all this stuff?”
“The Internet,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard of that.” I waited to see her reaction.
“And I like to read too. I read a lot.” She took a bite of her cereal. “I read your books.”
“You did? What did you think?”
She shrugged. “They’re OK, I guess. Kinda boring.”
Well, then.
I reached into my pocket. I wasn’t sure if now was a good time, but I couldn’t think of a better one. “Hey. I got you a birthday present. Sorry it’s late.”
She eyed me. “What is it?”
“I’m not telling. It’d take away the surprise.” I set the small rectangular box on the table. She looked at the present but didn’t reach for it. I slid it to her. “You’ll have to open it.”
She picked it up abruptly, tore the gold foil wrapping paper away, flipped open the fuzzy gray box, and then stopped. She didn’t even remove the necklace.
“It’s got your birthstone,” I said.
“Tourmaline.”
“Yeah. They had other colors, but I thought you’d like black the best.”
She set the box back onto the table.
“Do you like it?”
Tessa shoved her cereal bowl to the side and blinked, letting her eyelids rise very slowly. “So that’s what this is all about.”
“What?”
She looked around the room. “This. All this.”
“What are you talking about?”
Her eyes became razors. “Why didn’t you ask me if I wanted to move to Denver?”
“What do you mean?”
“After Mom died. We just picked up and moved. Why didn’t you ask me if I wanted to move?”
“Well, I just thought it might be best for both of us to get some space-”
“For both of us?”
“Yeah.”
“And how did you come to know what would be best for me?” “Tessa,