Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross 1)

I wanted to see the farm all by myself this time. All the “disconnects” in the case were bothering the hell out of me. Loose fragments were flying around inside my head as disconcerting as shrapnel. Could someone else have taken Maggie Rose from Soneji/Murphy? I couldn’t have cared less if Einstein was investigating the case—the possibilities would have made his head spin and maybe straightened his hair.

As I wandered around the grounds of the eerie, deserted farm, I let the facts of the case run freely through my mind. I kept coming back to the Son of Lindbergh and the fact than the Lindbergh baby had been abducted from a “farmhouse.”

Soneji’s so-called accomplice. That was one unresolved problem.

Soneji had also been “spotted” near the Sanders murder house—if we could believe Nina Cerisier. That was a second loose end.

Was this really a case of split personality? The psychology community remained divided over whether there was such a phenomenon. Multiple-personality cases are rare. Was all of this a Byzantine scheme by Gary Murphy? Could he be acting out both personas?

What had happened to Maggie Rose Dunne? It always came back to her. What had happened to Maggie Rose?

On the battered dashboard of the Porsche, I still kept one of the tiny candles that had been handed out around the courthouse in Washington. I lit it. I drove back to Washington with it burning against the gathering night. Remember Maggie Rose.

CHAPTER 64

I HAD A DATE to see Jezzie that night, and it had kept me going with anticipation through most of the day. We met at an Embassy Suites motel in Arlington. Because of all the press in town for the trial, we were being especially cautious about being seen together.

Jezzie arrived at the room after I did. She looked absolutely alluring and sexy in a low-cut black tunic. She had on black seamed stockings and high-heeled pumps. She wore red lipstick and a scarlet blush. A silver comb was set in her hair. Be still my heart.

“I had a power lunch,” she said by way of explanation. She kicked off her high heels. “Do I make the social register or not?”

“Well, you’re definitely having a positive effect on my social register.”

“I’ll just be a minute, Alex. One minute.” Jezzie disappeared into the bathroom.

She peeked out of the bathroom after a few minutes. I was on the bed. The tension in my body was draining into the mattress. Life was good again.

“Let’s take a bath. Okay? Wash away the road dust,” Jezzie said.

“That’s not dust,” I said to her. “That’s just me.”

I got up and went into the bathroom. The tub was square and unusually large. There was a lot of gleaming white and blue tile, all mounted a foot or so higher than the rest of the bathroom. Jezzie’s fancy clothes were strewn on the floor.

“You in a hurry?” I asked her.

“Yep.”

Jezzie had filled the tub to the brim. A few independent-minded soap bubbles floated up and popped against the ceiling. Wisps of steam rose steadily. The room smelled like a country garden.

She stirred the bathwater with her fingertips. Then she came over to me. She still had the silver comb in her hair.

“I’m a little wired,” she said.

“I could tell. I can tell about these things.”

“I think it might be time for a little healing.”

We went for it. Jezzie’s hands played with the buttons on my trousers, then the zipper. Our mouths came together, lightly at first, then hard.

Suddenly, Jezzie took me inside her as we stood beside the steamy tub. Just two or three quick strokes—then she moved away from me again. Her face, neck, and chest were flushed. For a moment, I thought something was wrong.

I was caught by surprise—shock—pleasure—entering her, then parting so quickly. She was wired. Almost violent.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I’m going to have a heart attack,” Jezzie whispered. “Better figure out a story for the police. Whew, Alex.”

She took my hand and pulled me into the tub. The water was warm, just right. So was everything else.