'I see,' Busby said. He was such a precise, neat man, with his thin pencil mustache. He looked more like a fussy schoolteacher than a cop, more like a psychologist than I did. 'Are there any other surprises I should know about, Detective Cross?' he asked.
'No, that's it. But you see why I'm worried, and why I called you. I'm working on a series of nasty murders in Washington right now.'
'Yes, I see a reason for your concern now. I will put out a missing persons report forthwith.'
I sighed heavily, then went upstairs and talked to the kids and Nana, I tried my best not to alarm them, but Damon and Jannie started to cry. And then Nana did, too.
We had learned nothing more about Christine or her whereabouts by midnight. Inspector Busby finally left the hotel at quarter past twelve. He was kind actually, and considerate enough to give me his home number; he asked me to call right away if I heard from Christine. Then he said my family and I would be in his prayers.
At three, I was still up and pacing my hotel room on the third floor, and doing some praying myself. I had just gotten off the phone with Quantico. The FBI was cross checking all of my homicide cases to see if anyone I'd investigated had connections with Bermuda. They were concentrating on the current series of unsolved murders in Southeast. I'd faxed them my profile on the Weasel.
I didn't have any logical reason to suspect the killer might be here in Bermuda, and yet I feared that he might be. It was just the kind of feeling that the Jefe had been rejecting about the murders in Southeast.
I understood that the Bureau probably wouldn't get back to me until later in the morning. I was tempted to call friends at Interpol, but I held off... And then I called Interpol too.
The hotel room was filled with mahogany Queen Anne furniture and wicker, and had dusty-pink carpets. It felt empty, and lonely. I stood like a ghost before tall, water-stained dormer windows and stared out at shifting black shapes against the moonlit sky and remembered how Christine felt in my arms. I felt incredibly helpless and alone without her. I also couldn't believe this had happened.
I hugged myself tightly and became aware of an incredible pain all around my heart. The tightening pain was like a solid column that went from my chest all the way up into my head. I could see her face, her beautiful smile. I remembered dancing with her one night at the Rainbow Room in New York, and dinners at Kinkead's in Washington, and one special night at her place when we'd laughed and thought maybe we'd made a baby. Was Christine out there somewhere on the island? She had to be. I prayed again that she was safe. She had to be safe. I refused to have any other thought for more than a couple of seconds.
The telephone in the room rang, a short burst, at a little past four in the morning.
My heart was stuck in my throat. My skin crawled, felt as if it were shrinking and no longer fit my body. I rushed across the room and grabbed the phone before the second ring. My hand was trembling.
The strange, muffled voice scared me: 'You have e-mail.'
I couldn't think straight. I couldn't think at all.
I'd brought my laptop with me on vacation.
Who knew that I had my computer here? Who knew a small detail like that about me? Who had been watching me? Watching us?
I yanked open the closet door. I grabbed the computer, hooked it up, and logged on. I scrolled down the e-mail to the last message.
It was short and very concise.
SHE'S SAFE FOR NOW. WE HAVE HER.
The curt, cold message was worse than anything I could imagine. Each word was branded into my brain, repeating over and over.
She's safe for now.
We have her.
Book Three
Eulogy
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Forty-Six
Sampson arrived at the Belmont Hotel the day after Christine disappeared. I hurried down to the small front lobby to meet him. He threw his large arms around me, clasping me tightly, but gently, as if he were holding a child in his arms.
'You okay? You holding up?' he asked.
'Not even close.' I told him. 'I spent half a day checking the e-mail address I got last night. It came from [email protected]. The address was falsified. Nothing is going right.'
'We'll get Christine back. We'll find her.' He muttered what he knew I wanted to hear, but I was sure that he truly believed it in his heart. Sampson is the most positive human being I've ever met. He won't be denied.
Thanks for coming. It means a lot to all of us. I can't think straight about anything. I'm really rattled, John. I can't even begin to imagine who could have done this. Maybe the Weasel. I don't know.'
'If you could think straight now,' John said, 'I'd be more worried about you than usual. That's why I'm here.'
