Mary, Mary - James Patterson [57]
“That doesn’t mean it was Mary Smith,” I said. “But if it was, this would be huge for us. At least two people saw the same vehicle leaving in a hurry.”
Jeanne nodded silently, weighing the idea. “So then the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question remains: How big do we go with this?”
There were risks either way, and I puzzled it out loud, partly for her and partly for myself.
“Time’s not on our side. Mary Smith hasn’t shown any signs of slowing down. Just the opposite, in fact. She seems to be evolving. This is a chance to use the press to our advantage and speed up the search—if that’s what you want.
“On the other hand, people are already scared, and they’re going to react to every blue Suburban they see, probably to every blue SUV. If this blows up in your face, then it’s one more reason for the public not to trust the Department. But if it gets you Mary Smith, then everything’s okay and you’re a hero.”
“Russian roulette,” she said dryly.
“Name of the game,” I said.
“By the way, I don’t want to be a hero.”
“Goes with the territory.”
She finally smiled. “America’s Sherlock Holmes. Didn’t I read that somewhere about you?”
“Don’t believe everything you read.”
I could almost hear the clock ticking inside Jeanne’s head, but maybe it was her heartbeat.
“All right,” she said, looking at her watch. “Let’s do it up. I’m going to have to clear this with the Department, but if I go now, we can get in a press conference before the early news.”
She paused at the door. “Jesus, I hope this isn’t a mistake I’m making.”
“Just go,” I said.
“Come with me, Alex. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said. “In spite of the Sherlock Holmes remark.”
Chapter 66
THIS WAS BIG, no doubt about that, anyway. Even James Truscott was on hand. The news conference on the blue Suburban got covered by everybody and their big brother, and was sure to be the lead item on every report until something else even more dramatic turned up on the L.A. murder case. Hopefully, it would be the capture of the Suburban, and then Mary Smith, male or female.
I didn’t appear in the small group on camera with Detective Jeanne Galletta, but I met up with her minutes afterward. She was getting attagirls all around, but she broke away to come over and see me.
“Thanks for the help. The wise counsel,” she said. “So did I look like a fricking raccoon on national TV?”
“No, you didn’t. Well, yeah, you did.” Then I smiled. “I remember you saying one time, you have to eat, right? You still interested?”
Jeanne’s worried look returned suddenly. “Oh, Alex, not tonight.” Then she winked and grinned. “Gotcha. Yeah, we could eat, I guess. What are you in the mood for? Actually, I’m starving now. Italian sound good?”
“Italian always sounds good to me.”
Jeanne’s apartment was on the way to the restaurant, and she insisted we stop. “I need to check out my face in my own mirror, with lighting I trust and know,” she explained. “This will only take five minutes, maybe seven minutes tops. Come up. I won’t jump your bones, I promise.”
I laughed and followed her into a redbrick building somewhere off of Santa Monica.
“Maybe I will jump your bones,” she said as we walked up the stairs to her apartment.
Which is exactly what happened as soon as she shut the door behind us. She spun around fast, grabbed me, kissed me, and then let me go again.
“Hmmm. That was kind of nice. But I’m just messing with you, Doctor. Ten minutes, just like I promised.”
“Seven.”
And then Jeanne scooted down the hall to her bedroom and the lighting she could trust. I’d never seen her so loose and lively; it was almost as if she was a different person away from the job.
It took her a little more than seven minutes, but the wait was worth it, the transformation kind of startling, actually. She’d always struck me as attractive, but she looked kind of tough at work, and definitely all-business. Now she wore a silk T-shirt with jeans and sandals, her hair was still wet from a quick shower, and Detective Jeanne Galletta seemed softer, another side of her revealed.
“I know, I know,