Chapter Thirty-Six
The murders of the two actors exploded media awareness of the case. Suddenly, we had hundreds of tips to check and way too many bogus leads to follow. According to the tips, Dara Grey and Andrew Cotton had been spotted in nearly every club and hotel in Vegas. It was just what we didn't need to deal with. We had decided not to release the information that there might be more than one set of killers. California and Nevada weren't ready for it. Kyle Craig had decided to stay out west for the next couple of days. So did I, of course. I didn't have much of a choice. The case was too hot, and seemed to be revving up even more. Over a thousand local police and FBI agents were involved on some level. Then the killings simply stopped. The pattern that had seemed to be escalating and building ended/the killers, who had seemed to be getting bolder, just vanished. Or maybe we weren't finding the bodies anymore. I was talking daily to profilers in Quantico, but none of them could discern a pattern that made sense to any of us. Jamilla Hughes couldn't come up with interesting leads and theories either. Everyone was completely stumped. The killers just stopped killing. Why? What was going on? Had the publicity scared them off? Or was it something else? What? Where had the killers disappeared to? How many were there? It was time for me to go home. That was the good news, and I took
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it for what it was. Kyle agreed, and I headed back to Washington with the uncomfortable feeling that I had failed, and that maybe the murderers would get away with what they had done.
I got to the house on Fifth Street at four on a Friday afternoon. The home front looked a little worn, but also comfortable. I made a mental note to paint the outside this coming spring. The gutters needed work. Actually, I looked forward to it. Nobody was home. Nobody was there. I'd been away for twelve days. I had wanted to surprise the kids, but I guess that was another bad idea. They seemed to be coming in clusters lately. I wandered around the house, taking it all in, noting little things that were different. The kids'all-the-rage Razor scooter had a broken back wheel. Damon's white choral robe, sheathed in a plastic dry- cleaning bag, hung over the banister. I was feeling guilty as it was, and the quiet, empty house didn't help. I looked at a few framed photos on the walls. My wedding photo with Maria. School portraits of Damon and Jannie. Snapshots of little Alex. A formal picture of the Boys Choir taken by me at the National Cathedral. 'Daddy's home. Daddy's home.' I sang an old fifties tune as I peeked into the upstairs bedrooms. 'Shep and the Limelights,' I muttered. Nobody was around to care that I was singing old rock-and-roll tunes and trying to lighten the mood. The Capitol and the Library of Congress were within walking distance, and I knew Nana liked to take the kids there sometimes. Maybe that's where they were. I sighed and wondered once again whether it was time for me to get the hell out of police work. There was always one catch: I was still passionate about it. Even though I'd failed on the West Coast, I usually got some kind of result. I had saved some lives in the past few years. The FBI brought me in on some of their toughest cases. I figured this was my bruised ego talking, so I stopped the internal bullshit, cut it right off. I took a hot shower then changed into a Men's March T-shirt and jeans, flip-flops. I felt a lot more comfortable, like I was back in my
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own skin. I could almost make myself believe that the lurid vampire killers were gone from my life for good. I think that's what I wanted to happen. Just let them crawl back into their hole. I went down to the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. Nana had taped a couple of the kids' masterpieces to the door. 'Inner Galactic Encounter' by Damon, and 'Marina Scurry Saves the Day Again' by Janelle. A book was laid out on the kitchen table: 10 Bad Choices That Ruin Black Women's Lives. Nana was doing a little light reading again. I peeked inside to see if I was one of the ten bad choices. I wandered out to the sun porch. Rosie the cat was asleep on Nana's rocker. She yawned when she saw me, but didn't get up to rub against my leg. I had been away too long. 'Traitor/I said to Rosie. I went over and scratched her neck and she was okay with it. I heard footsteps. I walked to the foyer and opened the front door. Lights of my life. Jannie and Damon looked at me and screeched, 'Who are you? What are you doing in our house?' 'Very funny/I said.'Come give your daddy a big hug. Hurry hurry.' They ran into my arms and it felt so good. I was home, and there was no place like it. And then I had a thought I didn't want to have: did the Mastermind know that I was here? Was our house safe anymore?
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