Hampton nodded gently. 'I heard your fianc‚e disappeared in Bermuda. Word gets around.'
'There were photographs of Christine too.' I said.
Her blue eyes softened. I got a quick look behind her tough facade. I'm really sorry about your loss.'
'I haven't given up yet.' I told her. 'Listen, I don't want any credit for solving these cases, just let me help. He called me at home last night. Somebody did. Told me to back off. I assume that he meant this investigation, but I'm not supposed to be on it. If Pittman hears about us--'
Detective Hampton interrupted me. 'Let me think about everything you've said. You know that Pittman will totally crucify me if he finds out. You have no idea. Trouble is, I don't trust him.' Hampton's gaze was intense and direct. 'Don't mention any of this to your buddies, or Sampson. You never know. Just let me sleep on it. I'll try to do the right thing. I'm not such a hardass really. Just a little weird, you know.'
'Aren't we all.' I said, and smiled. Hampton was a tough detective, but I felt okay about her. I took something out of my pocket. A beeper.
'Keep this. If you get in trouble or get another lead, you can beep me anytime. If you find something out, please let me know. I'll do the same. If Shafer's the one, I want to talk to him before we bring him in. This is personal for me. You can't imagine how personal.'
Hampton continued to make eye contact, studying me. She reminded me of someone I'd known a while back, another complicated woman cop named Jezzie Flanagan. 'I'll think about it. I'll let you know.'
'All right. Thanks for calling me in on this.'
She stood. 'You're not in on it yet. Like I said, I'll let you know.' Then she touched my hand. 'I really am sorry about your friend.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty-Eight
We both knew I was in, though. We'd made some kind of a deal in the City Limits diner. I just hoped I wasn't being set up by Hampton and Pittman or God knows who else.
During the next two days we talked four times. I still wasn't sure that I could trust her, but I didn't have a choice. I had to keep moving forward. She had already visited the landlady who'd rented out the apartment and garage in Eckington. The landlady hadn't recognized the pictures of Shafer. Possibly he'd worn some kind of disguise when he met with her.
If Patsy Hampton was setting me up, she was one of the best liars I'd met, and I've known some good ones. During one of the calls, she confessed that Chuck Hufstedler had been her source, and that she'd gotten him to keep the information from me. I shrugged it off. I didn't have the time or energy to be angry at either of them.
In the meantime, I spent a lot of time at home. I didn't believe the killer would come after my family, not when he already had Christine, but I couldn't tell that for sure. When I wasn't there, I made sure Sampson or somebody else was checking on the house.
On the third night after I met her, Patsy Hampton and I had a breakthrough of sorts. She actually invited me to join her on the stakeout at Shafer's town house in Kalorama Heights.
He had arrived home from work before six and remained there until past nine. He had a nice-looking ex-pat family, three children, a wife, a nanny. He lived very well. Nothing about his life or surroundings suggested he might be a killer.
'He seems to go out every night around this time,' Hampton told me as we watched him walk to a shiny black Jag parked in a graveled driveway on the side of the house.
'Creature of habit,' I said. A weasel.
'Creature anyway,' she said. We both smiled. The ice was breaking up a little between us. She admitted that she had checked me out thoroughly. She'd decided that Chief Pittman was the bad guy in all of this, not me.
The Jaguar pulled out of the drive and we followed Shafer to a night spot in Georgetown. He didn't seem to be aware of us. The problem was that we had to catch him doing something; we had no concrete evidence that he was our killer.
Shafer sat by himself at the bar and we watched him from the street. Did he perch by the window on purpose? I wondered. Did he know we were watching? Was he playing with us?
I had a bad feeling that he was. This was all some kind of bizarre game to him. He left the bar around a quarter to twelve and returned home just past midnight.
'Bastard.' Patsy grimaced, and shook her head. Her blonde hair was soft and had a nice bounce to it. She definitely reminded me of Jezzie Flanagan, a Secret Service agent I'd worked with on the kidnapping of two children in Georgetown.
'He's in for the night?' I asked. 'What was that all about? He leaves the house to watch the Orioles baseball game at a bar in Georgetown?'
'That's how it's been the last few nights. I think he knows we're out here.'
'He's an intelligence officer. He knows surveillance. We also know he likes to play fantasy games. At any rate, he's home for the night, so I'm going home too, Patsy. I don't like leaving my family alone too long.'
'Goodnight, Alex. Thanks for the help. We'll get him. And maybe we'll find your friend soon.'
'I hope so.'
On the drive home, I thought a little about Detective Patsy Hampton. She struck me as a lonely person, and I wondered why. She was thoughtful and interesting once you got past her tough facade. I wondered if anyone could really get through the facade though.
