Just in case. I figured that she was capable of something nasty and vengeful like that -- her last dirty trick!
After two and a half days, we didn't find anything in the house.
If there had been a clue, then someone had gotten into the house first. I didn't discount that possibility Kyle Craig and I talked out in the kitchen late the afternoon of the third day We were both pretty well worn to the bone. We opened a couple of Brett Sterling's microbrewery ales and had a chat about life, death, and infinity.
"You ever hear of the notion -- too many logical suspects?" I asked Kyle as we sipped our beers in the quiet of the Sterling kitchen.
"Not that specific language, but I can see how it applies here.
We have scenarios that could implicate the CIA, the military, maybe big business, maybe even President Mahoney History rarely moves in straight lines."
I nodded at Kyle's answer. As usual, he was a quick study "Thirty-five years after the Kennedy assassination the only thing that's certain is that there was some kind of conspiracy," I said to him.
"No way to reconcile the physical evidence- ballistic and medical -- with one shooter in Dallas," Kyle said.
"So there's the same goddamn problem -- too many logical suspects. To this day, nobody can rule out the possible involvement of Lyndon Johnson, the Army, a CIA 'black op,' the Mafia, your outfit's old boss. There are such obvious parallels to what's happened here, Kyle. A possible coup d'etat to eliminate a troublemaker in office -- with a much friendlier replacement -- LB J, and now Mahoney --
waiting in the wings. The CIA and the military were extremely angry at both JFK and Thomas Byrnes.
The system fiercely resists change."
"Keep that in mind, Alex," Kyle said to me. "The system fiercely resists change, and also troublemakers."
I frowned, but nodded my head. "I have it in mind. Thanks for all your help."
Kyle reached out his hand and we shook. "Too many logical suspects," I said. "Is that part of the nasty, badass plot, too? Is that their idea for cover in daylight?
"It wouldn't surprise me if it was. Nothing surprises me anymore.
I'm going home to see my kids," I finally said.
"I can't think of anything better to do," Kyle said and smiled and waved for me to go on and get out of there.
I CAME HOME and played with the kids -- tried to be there for them. I kept flashing on the face of Thomas Byrnes, though.
Occasionally, I saw beautiful little Shanelle Green or Vernon Wheatley or even poor George Johnson, Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/ab*.html
Christine's husband. I saw the corpses of Jeanne and Brett Sterling on those stainless steel gurneys at Lorton Prison.
I worked some hours at the soup kitchen at St. As over the next few days. I'm "Mr. Peanut Butter Man"
there. I ration out the PB&J, and occasionally a little pro bono advice for those more or less unfortunate than myself. I really enjoy the work. I get back even more than I give.
I couldn't concentrate on much of anything, though. I was there, but I wasn't really there. The concept of no rules was stuck like a fish bone in my throat. I was choking on it. There really were too many suspects to chase down and ultimately solve the murder of Thomas Byrnes. And there were limitations to how much a D.C. cop could do on such a case. It over now, I tried to tell myself, except the parts you will always carry with you.
One night that week -- late -- I was out on the sun porch. I was scratching Rosie the cat's back and she was purring sweetly.
I was thinking about playing the piano, but I didn't do it. No Billie Smith, no Gershwin, no Oscar Peterson. The monsters, the furies, the demons were loose in my mind. They came in all shapes and sizes, all genders, but they were human monsters.
This was Dante's Divine Comedy, all nine circles, and we were all living here together.
Finally, I began to play my piano. I played "Star Dust" and then "Body and Soul," and I was soon lost in the glorious sounds. I didn't think about a call I'd had earlier in the week. I had been suspended from the D.C. police force. It was a disciplinary action. !
I had struck out at my superior, Chief George Pittman.
Yes, I had. I was guilty as charged. So what? And now what?
I heard a knock at the porch door. Then a second rap.
I wasn't expecting company and didn't want any. I hoped it wasn't Sampson. It was too late for any visitors I needed to see that night.
I grabbed my gun. Reflex action. Force of habit. Terrifying habit when you stop to think about it -- which I did.
I rose from the piano bench and went to see who was there.
After all the bad things that had happened, I almost expected to see the killer Gary Soneji, come to finally get even or at least, to try his luck.
I opened the back door -- and I found myself smiling. No, I actually glowed. A light went on, or went back on, inside my head. What a nice surprise. I felt much, much better in an instant.
It just happened that way. Pack up all my cares and woes.
"I couldn't sleep," Christine Johnson said to me. I recognized the line I had used once at her house.
I remembered Damon's line, She's even tougher than you are, Daddy.
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"Hello, Christine. How are you? God, I'm glad it's you," I whispered.
"As opposed to?" she asked.
"Everyone else," I said.
I took Christine's hand in mine, and we went inside the house on Fifth Street.
Home.
Where there are still rules, and everybody is safe, and the dragonslayer is alive and well.
IT REALLY DOESN'T END -- the cruel, relentless nightmare, the roller-coaster ride from hell.
It was Christmas Eve and the stockings were hung from the chimney with care. Damon, Jannie, and I had almost finished decorating the tree -- the final touch being long strings of popcorn and shiny red cranberries.
The damn telephone rang and I picked it up. Nat King Cole sang carols in the background. A fresh layer of snow glistened on the tiny patch of lawn outside.
"Hello," I said.
"Why hello. If it isn't Doctor/Detective Cross himself. What a neat treat."
I didn't have to ask who the caller was -- I recognized the voice. The sound of it had been in my nightmares for a while -- years.
"Long time, no talk," Gary Soneji said. "I've missed you, Doctor Cross. Have you missed me?"
Gary Soneji had kidnapped two young children in Washington a few years back, then he'd led us on an incredible search that lasted for months. Of all the murderers I'd known, Soneji was the brightest. He had even fooled some of us into believing that he was a split personality He'd escaped from prison twice.
"I've thought of you," I finally told him the truth, "often."
"Well, I just called to wish you and yours a happy and holy holiday season. I've been born again, you see."
I didn't say anything to Soneji. I waited. The kids had picked up that something was wrong about the phone call. They watched me, until I waved for them to finish up with the Christmas tree.
"Oh, there's one other thing, Doctor Cross," Soneji whispered after a long pause.
I knew there was something. "What is it, Gary? What's the one other thing?"
"Are you enjoying her? I just had to ask. I have to know. Do you like her?"
I held my breath. He knew about Christine, goddamn him!
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"You see, I was the one who left little Rosie the cat for your family Nice touch, don't you think? So whenever you see the little cutie, you just think- Gary in the house! Gary real close! I am, you know.
Have a joyous and safe New Year. I'll be seeing you soon."
Gary Soneji hung up the phone with a gentle click.
And then so did I. I went back to the beautiful tree andJannie and Damon and Nat King Cole.
Until next time.
The End
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