It wasn’t the first time you looked right through me, either. You didn’t see me at the day care yesterday, or at the gym today. Not that I’d really expect you to.
It’s like I’m the opposite of you in every way. Is that a clue I smell burning?
Everyone knows who you are, and no one knows who I am. I’m not famous or movie-star beautiful or any of the things you are. I don’t have flawless skin or a trademark grin. By all reports, you are a better mother than Patsy Bennett was, a better actress than Antonia Schifman, a better wife than Marti Lowenstein-Bell, and surely more famous than that up-and-comer Suzie Cartoulis.
You are exactly who they mean when they say “she has everything.” You do—and I’ll bet that you know it, even if you forget from time to time.
There’s only one thing I have that you don’t. I know something. I know that by noon two days from now, you’ll be dead. You’ll have a bullet in your brain and a face that no one could recognize, not even your own beautiful children, not even the adoring public that flocks to your films.
But I didn’t tell you any of that when we met.
I just smiled, almost curtsied, and thanked you for being you. I walked away knowing that the next time you look at me, it will be in a different way.
Next time, I won’t be invisible, I promise you that much.
And I keep my promises—just ask Arnold Griner.
Chapter 82
“WHAT DO WE THINK about this?” Van Allsburg asked the room, and then he stared directly at me. “You have more cases like this one than anyone else here. What’s going on? What is she up to now?”
I just went ahead and said it. “She wants to be caught.”
I felt I needed to stand to address the group. “Most likely, this is a person who feels completely isolated. The reaction to eliminate the people she fixates on is paradoxical. She, he, or it destroys what she can’t have. Over time, it’s making her feel worse. Some part of Mary may know that, and doesn’t want to do this anymore, but she lacks the self-control to stop on her own.”
“And the latest e-mail?” Fred asked.
“Another sign that the killer is conflicted. Maybe the conscious mind believes it’s taunting the authorities while the subconscious is drawing a map for us to follow. That’s the only thing I can come up with that makes sense of what’s happened, and I’m not even sure if it makes sense.”
“What about the counterpossibility?” asked David Fujishiro. “That she’s trying to deliberately mislead us, throw us off with fiction.”
“You’re right. That is a real possibility,” I said. “And what it leaves us with is every conceivable outcome except what’s in the e-mail. I think we have an obligation to take the message at face value first, and consider the alternatives second. But David has just stated the other logical possibility. Of course, we don’t know if she’s logical.”
Several agents, including my buddy Page, scribbled notes while I spoke. I was aware of my stature here, if not exactly comfortable with it.
“Do we know what LAPD’s doing with
this? I’m talking about the latest threat,” asked an agent in the back, one of several faces I had never seen before. I looked over to Van Allsburg for a response.
“They’ve got a very large internal task force up and running. That much we know for sure. They’re working on a database of potential targets. But you take every name-above-the-title actress in this town, even just sticking to the ones with families, and you’ve got a long list on your hands.
“Plus, LAPD’s going to be a little trigger shy about the panic factor. Outside of increased patrols and some awareness-raising, there’s not a hell of a lot they can do for all of these women and their families—except keep after Mary Smith. Someone has to catch her. And you know what? I want it to be us, not LAPD.”
Chapter 83
DISNEYLAND WAS CHOCK-FULL of ironies for any good mother. “The Happiest Place on Earth,” the brochures called it, and maybe it could be, but with the large, electric crowds, it also had to be one of the easiest places to lose a child.
Mary tried not to give in to her worry. Worrying just makes bad things happen. Worrywarts are the saddest people in the world. I should know.
Besides, this day was supposed to be about fun and family. Brendan and Ashley had been looking forward to it—for like forever and a day. Even little Adam was bucking up and down in his stroller, squealing with a wordless excitement.
Mary kept close watch on her older two as they led the way along Main Street USA, with its candy-colored shops and other attractions. Each of them held one side of a park map. This was adorable, since neither of them knew what they were looking at. Ever since Adam was born, they liked to play at being older.
“What do you want to do first, my three little pumpkins?” she asked them. “We’re here. We’re finally at Disney, just like I promised.”
“Everything,” Ashley said breathlessly. She watched slack-jawed as Goofy, the real Goofy, went ambling past on Main Street.
Brendan pointed to a little boy about his own age wearing Mickey Mouse ears with Matthew embroidered across the brim.