Pop Goes the Weasel (Alex Cross 5)
“If you get lonely in here tonight, you can come to my room. I mean it,” she said as she gently shut the door on the two of us.
She is so wise and has such a good perspective on so many things. Both she and Damon are such good kids. Nana says they have “sound character,” and it is building nicely. So far, so good.
“Thank you, sweetie. I will come to your room if it gets bad in here. You’re very thoughtful and nice.”
“I am, Daddy. You helped me be this way, and I’m glad of it. Now I have a real serious question for you, Daddy. It’s hard, but I have to ask anyway.”
“You go ahead,” I told her, feeling uncomfortable under her serious little gaze. I wasn’t completely focused, and I didn’t know if I could handle one of Jannie’s hard questions. “I’m listening, sweetheart,” I said. “Fire away.”
She had let go of my hand, but then she took it up again, held my big hand tightly in both her small ones.
“Daddy, is Christine dead?” she asked me. “You can tell me if she is. Please tell the true truth, though. I want to know.”
I almost lost it, sitting on the edge of the bed with Jannie. I’m sure she had no idea how much her question hurt, or how hard it was to answer.
I was hanging over the edge of a dark abyss, just about gone, but I pulled myself together and took a deep, hard breath. Then I tried to answer my little girl’s honest question as best I could.
“I don’t know yet,” I told her. “That’s the truth. We’re still hoping to find her, sweetie. We found one witness so far.”
“But she might be dead, Daddy?”
“Let me tell you the best thing I know about dying,” I said to Jannie. “The very best thing that I know. Just about the only thing, in fact.”
“You go away, and then you’re with Jesus forever,” Jannie said. The way she spoke, though, I wasn’t sure if she really believed what she was saying. It sounded like one of Nana’s “gospel truths,” or maybe she’d heard it in church.
“Yes, that can be a great comfort to know, baby. But I was thinking of something else. Maybe it’s the same thing, but a different way to look at it.”
Her intense little eyes held mine, wouldn’t let go. “You can tell me, Daddy. Please. I want to hear it. I’m very interested in this.”
“It’s not a bad thing, but it helps me whenever somebody dies. Think about this. We come into life so easily—from somewhere, from the universe, from God. Why should it be any harder when we leave life? We come from a good place. We leave—and go to a good place. Does that make any sense to you, Jannie?”
She nodded and continued to stare deeply into my eyes. “I understand,” she whispered. “It’s like it’s in balance.”
She paused a second, thinking it over, then she spoke. “But Daddy, Christine isn’t dead. I just know it. She isn’t dead. She hasn’t gone to that good place yet. So don’t you lose hope.”
Chapter 52
THE CHARACTER AND TRAITS of Death were so much like his own, Shafer was thinking as he sped south along I-95. Death wasn’t brilliant, but he was always thorough, and he always won in the end.
As the black Jag raced past the exits for various small towns, Shafer wondered if he wanted to be caught now, if he needed to be unmasked, needed to show his true face to everyone. Boo Cassady believed that he was hiding, even from her, but more important, from himself. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did want Lucy and the kids to see who he really was. And the police. But especially the uptight and sanctimonious staff at the embassy.
I am Death—it’s who I am. I am a multiple killer—it’s who I am. I am not Geoffrey Shafer anymore; maybe I never was. But if I was, it was a long, long time ago.
Shafer had always had a natural mean streak, a vengeful, nasty way. He remembered it from his early years traveling with his family through Europe, then Asia, and finally back to England. His father had been in the military and was always a real “tough guy” around the house. He struck Shafer and his two brothers often, but not nearly as often as he hit their mother, who died of a fall when Shafer was twelve.
Shafer was large as a boy, and he was one “tough hombre,” a real bully. Other boys feared him, even his brothers, Charles and George, who believed that Geoff was “capable of anything.” He was.
Nothing in his early days prepared him for being the man who finally emerged once he joined MI6. It was there that he learned he was capable of killing another human being—and he found that he loved it. He had discovered his calling, his true passion in life. He was the ultimate “tough guy”; he was Death.
He continued traveling south on the interstate highway. Because it was late, traffic was light, mostly high-speeding trucks headed toward Florida, he supposed.
He mentally composed a message to the other fantasy game players.
DEATH GOES TO FREDERICKSBURG, MARYLAND, TONIGHT. A GOOD-LOOKING 37-YEAR-OLD WOMAN LIVES THERE WITH HER MIRROR-IMAGE 15-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER. THE WOMAN IS DIVORCED, A SMALL-TOWN LAWYER, A PROSECUTOR. THE DAUGHTER IS AN HONOR STUDENT AND A FOOTBALL CHEERLEADER. THE TWO WOMEN WILL BE SLEEPING. DEATH HAS COME TO MARYLAND BECAUSE WASHINGTON IS TOO DANGEROUS NOW. (YES, I TOOK YOUR WARNING TO HEART.) THE D.C. POLICE ARE SEARCHING FOR THE JANE DOE MURDERER. A WELL-THOUGHT-OF DETECTIVE NAMED PATSY HAMPTON IS ON THE CASE, AND DETECTIVE CROSS HAS RETURNED FROM BERMUDA. IT WILL BE INTERESTING TO SEE IF HIS CHARACTER HAS CHANGED IN ANY WAY. CHARACTER IS EVERYTHING, DON’T YOU AGREE?
I CAN SEE THE CAHILL HOUSE UP AHEAD. I CAN PICTURE BOTH OF THE LOVELY CAHILL WOMEN. THEY LIVE IN A FOUR-BEDROOM RANCH HOUSE. THE SUBURBAN STREET IS VIRTUALLY SILENT AT 1:00 A.M. NO ONE COULD POSSIBLY CONNECT THESE TWO MURDERS TO THE JANE DOES. I WISH YOU COULD BE HERE WITH ME. I WISH YOU COULD FEEL EXACTLY AS I DO.
Chapter 53