“Hello, Alex. God, I’m glad you’re here.” Mary Ellen took my hand and held it tightly. Seeing her brought on warm, but also painful, memories.
We decided to leave the dorm and stroll out onto the rolling grounds of the West Campus. I had always liked Mary Ellen. She’d been a history and psych major as an undergraduate. I remembered that we’d talked about psychoanalysis one night in D.C. She knew almost as much about psychic trauma as I did.
“Sorry I was away when you arrived in Durham,” she said as we walked east among elegant Gothic-style buildings that were built in the 1920s. “My brother graduated from high school on Friday. Little Ryan Klouk. He’s over six feet five, actually. Two hundred and twenty pounds if he’s an ounce. Lead singer for Scratching Blackboards. I got back this morning, Alex.”
“When was the last time you saw Naomi?” I asked Mary Ellen as we crossed onto a pretty street called Wannamaker Drive. It felt all wrong to be talking to Naomi’s friend like a homicide detective, but I had to do it.
The question had stung Mary Ellen. She took a deep breath before she answered me. “Six days ago, Alex. We drove down to Chapel Hill together. We were doing work there for Habitat for Humanity.”
Habitat for Humanity was a community-service group that rebuilt houses for the poor. Naomi didn’t mention that she did volunteer work for them. “Did you see Naomi after that?” I asked.
Mary Ellen shook her head. The gold dancing bells around her neck jangled softly. I suddenly got the feeling that she didn’t want to look at me.
“That was the last time, I’m afraid. I was the one who went to the police. I found out they have a twenty-four-hour rule on most disappearances. Naomi was gone almost two and a half days before they put out any all-points bulletins. Do you know why?” she asked.
I shook my head, but didn’t want to make a big deal out of it in front of Mary Ellen. I still didn’t know exactly why there was such a band of secrecy surrounding the case. I’d put in calls to Detective Nick Ruskin that morning, but he hadn’t returned any of them.
“Do you think Naomi’s disappearance has anything to do with the other women who have disappeared lately?” Mary Ellen asked. Her blue eyes were pierced with pain.
“There could be a connection. There was no physical evidence at the Sarah Duke Gardens, though. Honestly, there’s very little to go on, Mary Ellen.” If Naomi was abducted at a public garden right on the campus, there were no witnesses. She had been seen in the gardens half an hour before she missed a class in Contracts. Casanova was scarily good at what he did. He was like a ghost.
We finished our walk, ending up full circle where we had begun. The dormitory house was set back twenty to thirty yards from a graveled path. It had high white columns, and the large veranda was crowded with shiny white wicker rockers and tables. The antebellum period, one of my favorites.
“Alex, Naomi and I really haven’t been as close lately,” Mary Ellen suddenly confided in me. “I’m sorry. I thought you should know that.”
Mary Ellen was crying as she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. Then she ran up the polished whitewashed stairs and disappeared inside.
Another troubling mystery to solve.
CHAPTER 22
CASANOVA WATCHED Dr. Alex
Cross. His quick, sharp mind was whizzing about like a sophisticated computer—possibly the fastest computer in the whole Research Triangle.
Look at Cross, he muttered. Visiting Naomi’s old friend! There’s nothing to be found there, Doctor. You’re not even warm yet. You’re getting colder, actually.
He followed Alex Cross at a safe distance as he walked across the Duke campus. He had read extensively about Cross. He knew all about the psychologist and detective who’d made his reputation tracking down a kidnapper-killer in Washington. The so-called crime of the century, which was a lot of media hype and horseshit.
So who’s better at this game? he wanted to shout out to Dr. Cross. I know who you are. You don’t know dogshit about me. You never will.
Cross stopped walking. He took a pad from the back pocket of his trousers and made a note.
What’s this, Doctor? Had a thought of some consequence? I rather doubt that. I honestly do.
The FBI, the local police, they’ve all been trailing me for months. I suppose they make notes, too, but none of them has a clue….
Casanova watched Alex Cross continue to walk along the campus until he finally disappeared from sight. The idea that Cross would actually track and capture him was unthinkable. It simply wasn’t going to happen.
He started to laugh, and had to catch himself since the Duke campus was fairly crowded on a Sunday afternoon.
No one has a clue, Dr. Cross. Don’t you get it?… That’s the clue!
CHAPTER 23
I WAS a street detective again.
I spent most of Monday morning interviewing people who knew Kate McTiernan. Casanova’s latest victim was a first-year intern who’d been abducted from her apartment on the outskirts of Chapel Hill.