Read Online Mary, Mary by James Patterson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Patterson
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taking Alex away to Seattle had more or less ended our vacation, at least the joy in it. My one conversation with her had been tense and also sad. She and I were both so controlled, so intent on not losing our temper, that we ended up with almost nothing to say.
But Christine worried me—the ups and downs, the inconsistencies I saw all the time these days. I wondered what she was like with Little Alex when I wasn’t around the two of them. Alex never complained, but kids usually won’t.
Now I was back in my kitchen in D.C., feeling almost as if I hadn’t had any time off at all. Today was Thursday. I had until Monday morning to not think about work—a resolution that lasted a whole five minutes.
Almost by habit, I wandered up to my office in the attic. I threw my fat pile of mail on the desk and, without thinking about it, pressed Play on the answering machine.
Big mistake. Nearly fatal.
Nine new messages were waiting for me.
The first was from Tony Woods at the Bureau.
“Hello, Alex. I’ve tried paging you a few more times but haven’t had any luck. Please call me at Director Burns’s office as soon as you can. And please apologize to your house sitter for me. I suspect she thinks I’m stalking you. Possibly because I am. Call me.”
I smiled thinly at Tony’s dry humor and delivery as a
second
message from him began.
“Alex, Tony Woods again. Please call in as soon as you can. There’s been another incident with the murder case in California. Things are most definitely running out of control there. There’s a lot of hysteria in L.A. The
L.A. Times
has finally broken the story about Mary Smith’s e-mails. Call me. It’s important, Alex.”
Tony knew enough not to leave too many specific details on my home phone. He may also have been hoping to hook my curiosity with his vagueness.
He did.
Chapter 29
I WAS FAIRLY CERTAIN the latest victim would have to be another Hollywood mother, but I couldn’t help wondering if Mary Smith’s methods had continued to evolve. And how about the e-mails to the
Times
? The TV news and the Web would only give me half the story, at best.
If I wanted to know more, I would have to call in.
No, I reminded myself. No work until Monday. No murder cases. No Mary Smith.
The machine beeped again, and Ron Burns came on. He was brief and to the point, as he almost always is.
“Alex, I’ve been in touch with Fred Van Allsburg in L.A. Don’t worry about him, but I do need to ask you a few questions. It’s important. And welcome back to Washington, welcome home.”
And then another call from Ron Burns, his voice still carefully modulated.
“Alex, we’ve got a phone conference next week, and I don’t want you coming in cold. Call me at home over the weekend if you have to. I’d also like you to speak with Detective Galletta in L.A. She knows something you need to hear. If you don’t have her phone numbers, Tony can get them for you.”
The implication was clear already. Ron Burns wasn’t asking me to stay on this case.
He was telling me
. God, I was tired of this—the murders, the horrific cases, one after another. According to estimates at the Bureau, there were more than three hundred pattern killers currently operating in the United States. Hell, was I supposed to catch all of them?
I clicked Pause on the machine to take a second and decide how I felt about what was going on here. My thoughts went straight back to Mary Smith. I had let her into my head again. She’d caught my interest, my curiosity, probably my ego. A female serial killer—could it be? Killing other women? Mothers?
But why? Would a woman do that? I didn’t think so. I just couldn’t imagine it happening, which didn’t mean that it hadn’t.
I also wondered if there had been another e-mail to Arnold Griner. What part did Griner, or the
L.A. Times,
play in all this? Did Mary Smith already have the
next
victim in her sights? What was her motivation?
That was the line of thought that
But Christine worried me—the ups and downs, the inconsistencies I saw all the time these days. I wondered what she was like with Little Alex when I wasn’t around the two of them. Alex never complained, but kids usually won’t.
Now I was back in my kitchen in D.C., feeling almost as if I hadn’t had any time off at all. Today was Thursday. I had until Monday morning to not think about work—a resolution that lasted a whole five minutes.
Almost by habit, I wandered up to my office in the attic. I threw my fat pile of mail on the desk and, without thinking about it, pressed Play on the answering machine.
Big mistake. Nearly fatal.
Nine new messages were waiting for me.
The first was from Tony Woods at the Bureau.
“Hello, Alex. I’ve tried paging you a few more times but haven’t had any luck. Please call me at Director Burns’s office as soon as you can. And please apologize to your house sitter for me. I suspect she thinks I’m stalking you. Possibly because I am. Call me.”
I smiled thinly at Tony’s dry humor and delivery as a
second
message from him began.
“Alex, Tony Woods again. Please call in as soon as you can. There’s been another incident with the murder case in California. Things are most definitely running out of control there. There’s a lot of hysteria in L.A. The
L.A. Times
has finally broken the story about Mary Smith’s e-mails. Call me. It’s important, Alex.”
Tony knew enough not to leave too many specific details on my home phone. He may also have been hoping to hook my curiosity with his vagueness.
He did.
Chapter 29
I WAS FAIRLY CERTAIN the latest victim would have to be another Hollywood mother, but I couldn’t help wondering if Mary Smith’s methods had continued to evolve. And how about the e-mails to the
Times
? The TV news and the Web would only give me half the story, at best.
If I wanted to know more, I would have to call in.
No, I reminded myself. No work until Monday. No murder cases. No Mary Smith.
The machine beeped again, and Ron Burns came on. He was brief and to the point, as he almost always is.
“Alex, I’ve been in touch with Fred Van Allsburg in L.A. Don’t worry about him, but I do need to ask you a few questions. It’s important. And welcome back to Washington, welcome home.”
And then another call from Ron Burns, his voice still carefully modulated.
“Alex, we’ve got a phone conference next week, and I don’t want you coming in cold. Call me at home over the weekend if you have to. I’d also like you to speak with Detective Galletta in L.A. She knows something you need to hear. If you don’t have her phone numbers, Tony can get them for you.”
The implication was clear already. Ron Burns wasn’t asking me to stay on this case.
He was telling me
. God, I was tired of this—the murders, the horrific cases, one after another. According to estimates at the Bureau, there were more than three hundred pattern killers currently operating in the United States. Hell, was I supposed to catch all of them?
I clicked Pause on the machine to take a second and decide how I felt about what was going on here. My thoughts went straight back to Mary Smith. I had let her into my head again. She’d caught my interest, my curiosity, probably my ego. A female serial killer—could it be? Killing other women? Mothers?
But why? Would a woman do that? I didn’t think so. I just couldn’t imagine it happening, which didn’t mean that it hadn’t.
I also wondered if there had been another e-mail to Arnold Griner. What part did Griner, or the
L.A. Times,
play in all this? Did Mary Smith already have the
next
victim in her sights? What was her motivation?
That was the line of thought that
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