He couldn't have been long out of the Academy at Quantico from the look of him. The California tan and nearly white blond flattop suggested that he was a local boy Probably in his midtwenties. An eager beaver for sure.
“Thank you,” I said. “Exactly where are we headed, Agent Page?” Page shut his mouth abruptly and nodded his head. Maybe he was embarrassed that he hadn't thought to answer my question before I asked it. Then he started up again. “Yes, of course. We're headed to Beverly Hills, Dr. Cross. The scene of the homicide, where the victim lived.”
“Antonia Schifman,” I said with a sigh of regret.
“That's right. Oh, uh, have you already been briefed?”
“Actually, no. Not very well, anyway How about you tell me what you know on the way over to the house? I want to hear everything.”
He turned toward the car as if to open the door for me, thought better of it, and got in on the driver's side. I climbed in the back, and once we were on our way, Page loosened up a little as he told me about the case.
“They're coding this one 'Mary Smith.' That's because there was an e-mail from a so- called Mary Smith, sent to an entertainment editor at the L.A. Times last week, taking responsibility fot the first homicide.”
I think my eyes might have crossed. “Wait. This case has been coded already?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So this isn't an isolated incident?” I could hear the tension in my own voice. Had Burns withheld that information from me, or hadn't he known himself?
“No. This is at least the second murder, Dr. Cross. Too early to classify it as anything, but there's an indication of solo activity, an organized approach, possibly psychosis. And maybe some level of ritual by the same person at each of the two murder sites. We also believe the killer is a woman, which makes this very unusual.” So Page did know a thing or two. Meanwhile, I couldn't help feeling duped by Burns. Why couldn't he have just told me the truth? We were scarcely off of the Disneyland property, and already this murder case was a whole lot more complicated than he'd made it seem.
“Son of a bitch,” I said between gritted teeth. I was getting tired of being played, and maybe tired of the Bureau, too. But maybe I was just in a bad mood because I'd been pulled away from my vacation.
Page stiffened. “Is there a problem?”
It would have been easy to blow off a little steam with him, but I wasn't ready to start bonding with Agent Page yet.
The whole idea was to float through this case as unattached as possible.
“No big problem. Nothing to do with you, anyway. Let's get over to the murder scene. I'm only supposed to take a quick look.”
“Yes, sir.”
I caught Page's blue eyes in the rearview mirror. “You don't have to call me sir. I'm not your dad,” I said. Then I grinned, just in case he couldn't tell it was a joke.
Mary, Mary
Chapter 1 2
___________________ HERE WE GO AGAIN The president has asked for our help. . . I want to hear your take on what happened. My take? That was a laugh. My take was that I was being used and I didn't like it. Also, I hated it when I whined like this.
We took the Santa Ana Freeway into downtown Los An- geles and then the Hollywood Freeway back out again. Agent Page drove with a kind of automatic aggressiveness, passing cars closely and frequently One cell-phone-using business man took his other hand off the wheel long enough to give us the finger.
Page seemed oblivious to all of this as he sped north ward and told me what else he knew about the grisly double murder.
Both Antonia Schifman and her driver, Bruno Capaletti, had been shot somewhere between 4:00 and 5:30 in the morning. A gardener had discovered the bodies around 7:15.
Schifman's beautiful face had also been slashed with a sharp blade of some kind.
Apparently no money or other valuables had been taken. Bruno Capaletti was found with almost two hundred dollars in his pocket, and Schifman's handbag was still in the limo next to her body. It held credit cards, diamond earrings, and more cash.
“Any prior connection between the two of them?” I asked. “Schifman and the limo
