I climbed into the car and headed to the federal building. All around me the day seemed soaked with the foretaste of death.
73
Tessa collapsed onto the bed, sobbing. Her heart screamed out, ached for love, but no one heard. No one at all.
She hated Patrick and she loved him at the same time. Both! She wanted to hug him and she wanted to slap him. It didn’t make any sense, but it was true. It didn’t matter though. Nothing mattered.
She pulled out the razor blade.
She couldn’t stand this anymore. Nothing had changed. She flew all the way out here, and nothing was any different. Patrick wasn’t her dad. Of course he wasn’t. No one was. What was she really hoping for, anyway?
She heard a car engine outside her window and looked up from the bed just in time to see Patrick backing down the driveway.
Going off to work again. Running away. Leaving her alone.
There’d always be another killer out there somewhere. That’s what really mattered to him, anyway. That’s what he loved. Not her.
If only she wasn’t in his life, they could both be happy.
In that instant she knew what she had to do: go back to New York. Hitchhike to the City. Maybe she could move in with Cherise or one of her other friends. She was old enough to get a job, to live on her own. All she had to do was slip out and get away before he came back. It’s what he really wanted, anyway. It’s what they both really wanted.
After all, it wasn’t his fault he’d fallen in love with a woman who had a stupid teenage daughter. What was he supposed to do? Suddenly know how to take care of a teenager? Suddenly care about the daughter too, just ’cause he loved her mom?
Tessa wiped at her tears and looked around the room.
She could solve everything by leaving. That’s what she needed to do.
She slid the blade into the back pocket of her jeans and flopped her suitcase open. She couldn’t bring the whole thing, way too obvious. Just the knapsack. That’s all she would need. She yanked it out of the closet and began to stuff her clothes inside it.
74
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!”