Mary, Mary - James Patterson [22]
“Holy shit!” Campbell grimaced and looked away, then back again. He held his breath to keep everything down. Who the hell could do something like this? The poor woman was practically erased from the neck up. Her face was a tangle of cut flesh. The pool’s water was tinted bright pink all around the body.
Beneke walked over to get a closer look. “Same killer. I’ll bet you anything. Same crazy killer did this.” He leaned over to help pull the woman out.
“Wait,” Campbell barked. He pointed to the paramedic who was still in the water. “You. Get out of the pool. Get out of the pool right now.”
Stone-faced, they all looked at Campbell, but they knew he was right. Even Beneke didn’t say a word. There was no sense putting any more of their stamp on the murder scene until an investigative team got there. They would have to leave the victim where she was.
“Hey! Hey, guys!”
Campbell looked up to see another officer, Jerry Tounley, calling down from an open window upstairs. “Office is completely trashed up here. There’s broken pictures, stuff everywhere, glass. And get this—the computer’s still on and open to a mail program! Looks like someone was sending an e-mail before they left.”
Chapter 26
To: agriner@latimes.com
From: Mary Smith
To: Marti Lowenstein-Bell:
I watched you having dinner last night. You and your fine family of five. Very cozy and nice. “Mother Knows Best.” With those immaculately clean glass walls of yours, it couldn’t have been easier to watch. I enjoyed seeing you with your kids at your last supper.
I could actually see the delicious-looking food on your plates, prepared by your cook and nanny, of course. You were having a swell time, and that’s fine with me. I wanted you to enjoy yourself on your last night. I especially wanted your kids to have a lasting memory. Now I have a memory of them, too.
I’ll never forget their sweet faces. Never, ever forget your kids, Marti. Trust me on it.
What a beautiful, beautiful house you have, Marti, as befits such an important writer and film director. Is that the right order, by the way? I think so.
I didn’t come inside until later, when you were putting the girls to bed. You left the patio doors open again, and this time I used them.
I couldn’t resist. I wanted to see things just the way you see them, from the inside looking out.
But I still don’t understand why all you rich people feel so safe in your houses. Those big castles can’t protect you if you aren’t paying close attention. And you weren’t. You weren’t paying attention at all. Too busy being a mom—or too busy being a star?
I listened to you upstairs, doing bedtime with the girls. It was kind of touching, and I mean that. You probably thought you would be the last one to tuck them in, but you weren’t.
Later, when everyone was asleep, I watched each of those girls in her bed, breathing so peacefully. They were like little angels with no cares in the world.
I didn’t have to tell them they had nothing to worry about, because they already knew. It was just the opposite for you. I decided to wait until the morning, so that I could be with you alone, Madam Director.
I’m really glad I waited, too. Your husband, Michael, took the girls to school today. His turn, I guess. That was lucky for everyone, but especially for him. He got to live, and you didn’t have to watch him die. And I got you the way I wanted, just the way I had imagined it for such a long time.
Here’s what happened next, Marti.
Your last morning started like any other. You did your precious Pilates and then went for laps in the pool. Fifty laps, just like always. It must be nice to have such a big swimming pool. Heated, too. I stood and watched you gliding back and forth in the sparkling blue water. Even there, so close, it took you forever to see me.
When you finally looked up, you must have been good and tired. Too tired to scream I suppose. All you did was turn away, but it didn’t stop me from shooting you. Or then cutting your pretty face to ribbons and shreds.
Tell you what, Marti, that was