Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross 1)
Flanagan sighed. “Please, let me go on. Unfortunately, there’s more to it than the phone call. Soneji murdered FBI agent Roger Graham last night. It happened right outside Graham’s house in Virginia, in the driveway.”
It’s difficult to shake up an experienced group like the ones gathered at the Dunnes’. The news of Roger Graham’s murder did it: I know that it buckled my knees. Roger and I had shared some tight spaces together over the past few years. Whenever I worked with him, I’d always known my back would be covered. Not that I needed another reason to want to get Gary Soneji, but he’d given me a good one.
I wondered if Soneji had known that. And what it meant if he did. As a psychologist, the murder filled me with a sense of dread. It told me that Soneji was organized, confident enough to play with us, and willing to kill. It did not bode well for Maggie Rose Dunne and Michael Goldberg.
“He left a very explicit message for us,” Flanagan went on. “The message was typed on an index card, or what looked like a little library card. The message was for all of us. It said, ‘Roger Grahamcracker thought he was a big deal. Well, he obviously wasn’t. If you work on this case, you’re in grave danger!’… The message was signed. He calls himself the Son of Lindbergh.”
CHAPTER 15
THE PRESS COVERAGE of the kidnapping case got down and very dirty right away. A front-page headline in one of the morning papers said. SECRET SERVICE BODYGUARDS OUT FOR COFFEE. The press hadn’t gotten the news about FBI agent Roger Graham yet. We were trying to sit on it.
The news gossip that morning was about how Secret Service agents Charles Chakely and Michael Devine had left their posts at the private school. Actually, they had gone out for breakfast during classes. It was pretty standard for this kind of duty. The coffee break, however, would be expensive. It would probably cost Chakely and Devine their jobs, possibly their careers.
On another front, Pittman wasn’t making much use of Sampson and me so far. This went on for two days. Left on our own, Sampson and I concentrated on the thin trail left by Gary Soneji. I followed up at area stores where someone might buy makeup and special effects. Sampson went to the Georgetown library, but no one there had seen Soneji. They weren’t even aware of the book thefts from their stacks.
Soneji had successfully disappeared. More disturbing, he seemed to have never existed before taking the job at Washington Day School.
Not surprisingly, he had falsified his employment records and faked several recommendations. He’d completed each step as expertly as any of us have seen in fraud or bunco cases. He’d left no trail.
Soneji had been brazen and supremely confident about getting his job at the school. A supposed previous employer (fictitious) had contacted Washington Day School and highly recommended Soneji, who was moving into the Washington area. More recommendations came via faxes from the University of Pennsylvania, both the undergraduate and graduate school programs. After two impressive interviews, the school wanted the personable and eager teacher so badly (and had been led to believe they were in competition with other D.C. private schools), they had simply hired him.
“And we never regretted hiring him—until now, of course,” the assistant headmaster admitted to me. “He was even better than advertised. If he wasn’t really a math teacher before he came here, I’d be totally amazed. That would make him a superb actor indeed.”
Late afternoon on the third day, I got an assignment from Don Manning, one of Pittman’s lieutenants. I was asked to size up and do an evaluation of Katherine Rose Dunne and her husband. I had tried to get some time with the Dunnes on my own, but had been denied.
I met with Katherine and Thomas Dunne in the backyard of their house. A ten-foot-high graystone wall effectively kept out the outside world. So did a row of huge linden trees. Actually, the backyard consisted of several gardens separated by stone walls and a wandering stream. The gardens had their own plantsmen, a young couple from Potomac who apparently made a very nice living tending gardens around town. The plantsmen definitely made more money than I did.
Katherine Rose had thrown an old camel’s hair steamer over jeans and a V-necked sweater. She could probably get away with wearing anything she wanted, I thought as we all walked outside.
I’d read somewhere, recently, that Katherine Rose was still considered among the most beautiful women in the world. She had made only a handful of movies since she’d had Maggie Rose, but she’d lost none of her beauty, not so far as I could see. Not even in her time of terrible anxiety.
Her husband, Thomas Dunne, had been a prominent entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles when they met. He’d been involved with Greenpeace and Save the Earth out there. The family had moved to Washington after he became director of the American Red Cross.
“Have you been involved with other kidnappings, Detective?” Thomas Dunne wanted to know. He was trying to figure out where I fit in. Was I important? Could I help their little girl in any way? He was a little rude, but I guess I couldn’t blame him under the circumstances.
“About a dozen,” I told him. “Can you tell me a little about Maggie? It could help. The more we know, the better will be our chances of finding Maggie.”
Katherine Rose nodded. “Of course we will, Detective Cross. We’ve tried to bring Maggie up to be as normal as possible,” she said. “That’s one of the reasons we finally decided
to move East.”
“I don’t know if I’d call Washington a normal place to grow up. This isn’t exactly Mayberry R.F.D.” I smiled at the two of them. For some reason, that statement started to break the ice between us.
“Compared to Beverly Hills it’s pretty normal,” Tom Dunne said. “Believe me, it is.”
“I’m not even sure what ‘normal’ means anymore,” Katherine said. Her eyes gave the appearance of being grayish blue. They penetrated when you got up close to her. “I guess ‘normal’ corresponds to some old fashioned image in the rear of our minds, Tom’s and mine. Maggie isn’t spoiled. She’s not one for ‘Suze got this’ or ‘Casey’s parents bought her that.’ She doesn’t have a big head about herself. That kind of ‘normal.’ She’s just a little girl, Detective.”
As Katherine Rose lovingly talked about her daughter, I found myself thinking of my own children, but especially Janelle. Jannie was “normal,” too. By that, I mean that she was in balance, definitely not spoiled, lovable in every way. Finding parallels between our daughters, I listened even more carefully as they spoke of Maggie Rose.
“She’s a lot like Katherine.” Thomas Dunne offered a point he felt was important for me to hear. “Katherine is the most egoless person I’ve ever met. Believe me, to live through the adulation a star can get in Hollywood, and the nasty abuse, and to be the person she is, is very hard.”
“How did she come to be called Maggie Rose?” I asked Katherine Rose.
“That’s all my doing.” Thomas Dunne’s eyes rolled back. He liked to talk for his wife, I could see. “It was a nickname that just caught on. It started the first time I saw the two of them in the hospital.”
“Tom calls us ‘The Rose Girls,’ ‘The Rose Sisters.’ We work out here in ‘The Rose Garden.’ When Maggie and I argue, it’s ‘The War of the Roses.’ It goes like that.”
They loved their little girl very much. I sensed it in every word they said about Maggie.