Ten minutes after leaving the house, I walked up to my desk in the federal building. The office chatter drifted into silence as I walked in. No surprise there. I gave a slight nod to the people staring at me and maneuvered between the tables to my makeshift work station. I didn’t see Ralph, Lien-hua, or Sheriff Wallace, just Margaret watching me from behind the glass door of her office.
I ignored her.
I stared at my desk. Not a whole lot here. A couple notepads, a framed picture of my wedding, the mic patch I’d been using and must have forgotten to turn in. As I was grabbing my files, papers, notes, I noticed a manila folder-today’s briefing. There was really no good reason for me to look at it now except that Margaret wouldn’t want me to.
I flipped the folder open.
The Hazmat team in New Mexico had sent in the tissue samples, and the lab found a bacterial agent, just as I’d feared they might. Pathogen type: unknown.
Aaron Jeffrey Kincaid made sure the preparations for the meal were going well and then slipped quietly away from the family. He had a special role to fulfill in today’s narrative. There was someone he needed to meet.
The phone on my desk rang. I looked around. No one else nearby. I should just let it ring. After all, I didn’t work here anymore.
But then again, maybe it was Lien-hua calling to say goodbye.
I snatched up the receiver. “Bowers here.”
“I wanted Alice.” The same voice distortion software as before. I waved to Margaret, pointed frantically to her phone. She scowled at me but at last picked it up.
“Well,” I said. “I guess last night you were the one who was too slow.”
“How did you know I’d run down Richmond?”
“Fleeing suspects follow standard patterns. You’re not nearly as clever as you think.”
I heard his breathing grow heavier. Good. I was getting on his nerves.
I decided to test him. See how much he really knew. “You killed an officer last night. They’re not going to be satisfied bringing you in alive anymore. Turn yourself in. Save us another funeral.”
“All of us are on our way to a funeral, Dr. Bowers. Don’t you see that yet? It’s just a matter of timing and location. You of all people should know that.”
He doesn’t know the officer lived. He thinks he killed her.
“So that’s it, then?” I needed to get him to stumble. To give something up. “We’re all just pawns waiting to die?”
His voice became acid. “Dr. Bowers, my mother was murdered in cold blood. No reason. No design. She was a prostitute. You know what that means, don’t you? She was expendable. How many hours do you think the cops spent tracking down the killer of a trailer-trash hooker?”
I had no idea if he was telling the truth or not, but I played it like he was. “No one is expendable,” I said. “And I’m sorry about your mother, really-”
“No you aren’t. No one was sorry. No one is sorry.”
“Was she a pawn too then?”
“We’re all pawns.”
“Then who’s playing the game?”
“God is. He’s knocking us off the chessboard one at a time, littering this pathetic little planet with the corpses of his beloved little children. Just passing the span of eternity killing us off to entertain the angels.”
His words chilled me. They could have come from my own lips a dozen times over the last few months.
I thought of Christie.
Remembered her note. All I can control is what I do with each moment, with this moment, right now.
“None of us are pawns,” I said. “Not you, not your mother.”
He snickered. “If I kill someone I spend the rest of my life in jail or maybe I get the needle, but if God beats me to it, he gets to stay in heaven and be worshiped by his faithful little minions. You tell me-is that fair?”
“Death wasn’t his idea.” I could almost hear Christie speaking to me, the words of her note finally making sense after all this time. I could hardly believe I was saying this, wondered if I really believed it myself. “But life is. Life has always been his idea.”
“Pain was his idea. It shapes us. Defines us.”
“No, we’re defined by our choices, our priorities, the things we love-”
“Well,” said the killer. “I know what I love.”
“And what’s that?”
A pause. “Bethanie and Alexis weren’t mine.”
I’m tired of playing it his way. “I know.”
“I’m not sloppy like that.”
Push him. Get him to play a card. “What then? Did you call me to confess?”
“I know who the other killer is.”
It’s another one of his games. His tricks. “Yeah, well, I’m off the case. Tell somebody else.”
“You’re the only one I’ll talk to-”
I slammed down the phone.
There. I made my move. Let’s see what the Illusionist does now.
Tessa finished stuffing her clothes into her knapsack and overheard the two cops talking in the living room. “You all right with the kid?” the guy said.
“Of course. What’s up?”
“I’m gonna run out and grab some cigarettes.” It was Officer Stilton again.
“Can’t you wait half an hour? They’re leaving in a few minutes, anyway.”
“Half an hour?” he scoffed. “Obviously you don’t smoke.”
Tessa listened intently.
Officer Muncey sighed. “All right, then. Whatever.”
“I’ll be right back.” He walked out the door.
This would make it even easier. All she had to do was slip past one cop to be on her way to New York City. She watched out the window as the guy climbed into the car and backed down the driveway.
“Bowers,” screamed Margaret from her office. “What did you just do!” She burst through the doorway.
Call back, c’mon, call back…
I stared at the phone. “He’ll call back.”
“You hung up on him!”
Call back. “He has to be in control, he’ll call back.”
She was fuming, ready to explode.
“Let me stay, Margaret.”
The phone began to ring.
“Pick it up, Bowers!”
“Let me go after this guy.”
She reached for the phone.
“He won’t talk to you. You heard him.”
Ring, ring. Ring, ring.
“Answer it!” she yelled.
“Let me go after him. Tell me I’m on the case.”
“No.”
Ring, ring.
“Then I’m leaving.” I turned to go.
“All right! Now ans-”
“Say it.”
“You’re on the case!”
I snatched up the receiver. “Yeah.”
“You do not hang up on me, Dr. Bowers!” Each word was soaked with the killer’s slow, distinct rage.
“I don’t think you know who he is,” I said. “Why would you tell me his name?”
“I don’t like sharing center stage.”
“No. Too obvious. You wouldn’t give him to me. You’d go after him yourself.” There’s something more going on here…
“He’s an old friend, Dr. Bowers. It wouldn’t be right to kill him. Let’s just say I made a promise.”
“Who is he then?” I was testing him, of course. I already knew Kincaid was the man.
“I can’t tell you that. Fact is, he probably convinced someone else to do the dirty work for him anyway; he’s good at that. But I can tell you this: he’ll be at the Stratford Hotel, ten o’clock this morning.”
What? Not Seattle next week?
The luncheon.
Kincaid is going after the governor today!
Then the Illusionist hung up the phone, and the office became a frenzy of activity as people tried to trace the call. If he really knows Kincaid, then Kincaid can lead me to him.
Margaret stormed over to me. “Don’t ever do that-”
I grabbed the things off my desk. “I’m going to the Stratford Hotel.”
She seemed to ponder my words, the killer, the body in the trunk of her car, her prospects at Quantico, all in one condensed, career-defining moment, and finally gave me a brisk nod. “All right. I’ll have Ralph and Lien-hua meet you there. Be careful.”
“I will be. And thanks.”
She turned and walked away, and that was that.
Before I left, I called Officer Muncey to tell her I wouldn’t be back right away and to make sure Tessa was OK. “Don’t worry. She’s fine. She’s in her room. I think she’s packing.”
“OK.”
I hung up and patted my SIG P229.
Bring this guy in, Pat.
Next stop, the Stratford Hotel.