that he be let up immediately. She certainly knew he was coming - they'd talked during the car ride from his house.
'You can go up now, sir,' the doorman finally said.
'I'm fucking her brains out, Mal,' Shafer said. He waltzed to the elevators with a grin. 'You watch that door now. Don't let anyone take it.'
Boo was in the hallway to meet him when the elevator cruised to a stop on ten. She was wearing at least five thousand dollars worth of clothes from Escada. She had a great body, but she looked like a bullfighter or a marching band leader in the gaudy outfit. No wonder her first two husbands had divorced her. The second husband had been a therapist and treating MD. Still, she was a good, steady mistress who gave much better than she got. More importantly, she was able to get him Thorazine, Librium, Ativan, Xanax. Most of the drugs were samples from drug company representatives. Her husband had left them behind when they'd split. The amount of samples left by the drug reps amazed Shafer, but she assured him it was common. She had other friends who were doctors and she hinted to Shafer that they helped her out for an occasional fuck. She could get all the drugs he needed.
Shafer wanted to take her right there in the hall and knew Boo would like the spontaneity and the passion that was so clearly missing from her life. Not tonight, though. He had more basic needs: the drugs.
'You don't look too happy to see me, Geoff,' she complained. She took his face in her manicured hands. Christ, her long, varnished red nails scared him. 'What happened, darling? Something's happened. Tell Boo what it is.'
Shafer took her in his arms and held her tightly against his chest. She had large soft breasts, great legs, too. He stroked her frosted-blonde hair and nuzzled her with his chin. He loved the power he had over her - his goddamned shrink.
'I don't want to talk about it just yet. I'm here with you. I feel much better already.'
'What happened, darling? What's wrong? You have to share these things with me.'
So he made up a story on the spot, acted it out. Nothing to it. 'Lucy claims she knows about us. God, she was paranoid before I started to see you. Lucy always threatens to ruin my life. She says she'll leave me. Sue for what fucking little I have. Her father will have me fired, then blackball me with the government and the private sector, which he's perfectly capable of doing. The worst thing is she's poisoning the children, turning them against me. They use the same belittling phrases that she does: “colossal failure”, “under-achiever”, “get a real job, Daddy”. Some days I wonder whether it isn't true.'
Boo kissed him lightly on the forehead. 'No, no, darling. You're well thought of at the embassy. I know you're a loving dad. You just have a bitchy, mean-spirited, spoiled-rotten wife who gets you down on yourself. Don't let her do it.'
He knew what she wanted to hear next, so he told her. 'Well, I won't have a bitchy wife for much longer. I swear to God I won't, Boo. I love you dearly, and I'm going to leave Lucy soon.'
He looked at her heavily made-up face and watched as tears formed and ruined her look. 'I love you, Geoff,' she whispered, and Shafer smiled as if he were pleased to hear it.
God, he was so good at this.
Lies.
Fantasies.
Role-playing games.
He unbuttoned the front of her mauve silk blouse, fondled her, then carried her inside to the sofa.
'This is my idea of therapy,' he whispered hotly in Boo's ear.' This is all the therapy I need.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty
I had been up since before five that morning. Finally, I called Inspector Patrick Busby in Bermuda. I wanted to call every day, sometimes more than once, but I stopped myself.
It would only make things worse, strain my relations with the local police, and signal that I didn't trust them to handle the investigation properly.
'Patrick, it's Alex Cross calling from Washington. Did I catch you at a good time? Can you talk for a moment now?' I asked. I always tried to sound as upbeat as possible.
I wasn't, of course. I had been pacing the house, and already had breakfast with Nana. Then I'd waited impatiently until eight thirty to call Busby at the station house in Hamilton. He was an efficient man, and I knew he was there every morning by eight.
I could picture the thin, wiry policeman as we talked on the phone. I could see the tidy cubicle office where he worked. And superimposed over everything, I could still see Christine on her moped waving goodbye to me on that perfectly sunny afternoon.
'I have a few things for you from my contact at Interpol.' I said. I told him about an abduction of a woman in Jamaica earlier in the summer, and another in Barbados; both were similar, though not identical, to Christine's disappearance. I didn't think they were connected really, but I wanted to give him something, anything.
Patrick Busby was a thoughtful and patient man; he remained silent until I had finished talking before asking his usual quota of logical questions. I had observed that he was flawed as an interrogator because he was so polite. But at least he hadn't given up.
'I assume that neither abduction was ever solved, Alex. How about the women who were taken? Were they found?'
'No, neither woman was seen again. Not a sign of them. They're still missing.'
