He looked at the two pictures on the counter that had been removed from his bedroom. In the photograph of Jade sprinting the hundred for UCLA, two circles to the sides of his head had been cut out. Next to this photo was the small picture of the boy with drooping features. It had not been altered.
Hurwitz, Gregg
The Tower (1999)
A chill ran down Jade's spine and he felt the cold moistness of his sweat under his arms and on his back and shoulders.
He ran through his schedule of the past few days. He had not been outside on the patio since early yesterday, before he'd left for the meeting. He'd gotten in so late last night that he hadn't even turned on the light in his bedroom. He had simply undressed and gone straight to sleep, so he hadn't noticed the missing pictures. That meant he had slept in a room last night that Allander had stood in, had walked around. The note could have been there waiting even while he met with Travers this afternoon.
He cursed himself for not checking the house thoroughly. He just hadn't expected Allander to come so quickly. By arranging the TV news story, he had practically dared him to come to his house. It had paid off. The hoped-for opportunity had come, and he had missed it.
Jade's rage rose suddenly and uncontrollably, and he yelled. He brought the edge of his hand down to strike the counter, breaking it from the wall. The top of the crumpled note protruded from Jade's clenched fist as he walked in tight circles around the patio.
Chapter 34
Jade checked his watch as he stepped briskly across the campus of the University of the Gate at San Francisco, heading toward the building that housed the English department. Eight-thirty A.M. Bright and early, and he had already completed his run.
He hadn't been able to sleep last night, and he had lifted weights in the garage between one and three-thirty in the morning. When he was tracking, he was usually fine on three to four hours of sleep, but two was a little light, even for him.
After the workout, he'd touched up the paint on the bookshelves in the study. Painting always soothed him, like ironing wrinkles out of a shirt.
He had examined Allander's note under a loupe just to double-check the handwriting. He hardly needed to cast his mind back to the few scattered handwriting lectures he'd sat in on at Quantico to conclude that it wasn't a fake. The handwriting was very neat, spread in clean lines across the sheet. Allander was obviously very organized now that he'd had a little time to settle down.
A stone building loomed at the head of the campus quad, the large lettering carved above the door announcing the department of English and American literature. A few college students readjusted their backpacks over their shoulders as they left the building, and Jade's eyes followed two brunettes making their way across the lawn. Distracted for the moment, he almost walked into a tree, but was given a heads-up by a branch that knocked his sunglasses crooked. After putting them back in place, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.
Jade couldn't stand coffee, but knowing he needed caffeine this morning, he had drunk three Dr. Peppers in the car on the way over. Already, he could feel them widening his eyes and quickening his step.
He had been excited last night, too excited to sleep. This note was important. Often, killers make a subconscious cry for help. Or they send out a dare. Allander's note seemed to qualify as both. At the very least, it was an attempt to broadcast intent. 'Welcome,' the note had said. Welcome to my mind. Here's what I'm thinking, catch me if you can.
I can, Jade thought. I will.
By the time he reached the building, he felt energy running through him like a current. He ran his fingers compulsively through his hair. A female student exited through the door as he entered, and turned to admire him as he passed.
The signs on the corridor doors indicated the professors and their fields of study: 'Sacks-Romantic'; 'Vendleman-Restoration'; 'Caston-Medieval'; 'Lithemeir-Elizabethan.' The lines from Allander's poem sounded older, but they were still modern English, so Jade headed for Lithemeir's office.
The secretary almost dropped her cup of coffee as Jade entered, flinging the door open.
'FBI. I need to see him. Now,' he said, flashing his badge quickly.
The secretary was not an attractive woman, nor did she do much with what she had. She also looked nervous; her eyes darted about the room as though she were looking for a means of escape. Jade almost smiled as she struggled to respond to this unusual situation.
'Dr. Lithemeir is an exceptionally busy man. You'll know from his latest book that he-'
'Lady,' Jade cut in, 'I didn't read his book and I don't care about his book. I just need a few minutes of Dr. Lithenhaur's time.'
Her hand darted up to push a strand of hair off her forehead. 'It's… Lithemeir,' she said cautiously.
'Right. And as I said, I'm with the FBI and I need to talk to him about a murder case-right now. So please don't give me a hard time about it. Now, I'm sure he's a pretty impressive guy or he wouldn't have a secretary, but-'
Her eyes widened, outraged. 'I'm an academic assistant,' she said. She appeared extraordinarily offended.
'Look, honey. I don't care what you are to him, but I gotta get in to see him right now or else I'll-'
'Please. Come in. There is no need to berate my assistant. And in fact, Ms. Jennings is an academic assistant.' Dr. Lithemeir had emerged quietly from his office, and stood leaning against the door frame. A good, solid lean. He looked amused at Ms. Jennings's inability to handle the situation. Jade got the sense that most things amused him.
He was a large man, more rotund than fat and more ruddy than flushed. He carried a large cane with a duck's head on the end. It was apparently more useful for affectation than support, as he waved it about to punctuate his words. A thick gray beard and mustache sprouted from his face, giving him a pleasant appearance.
Jade would have bet that he had moonlighted as Santa Claus to work his way through his Ph. D. program.
Dr. Lithemeir smiled and beckoned Jade into his office with a grand bow and a long, sweeping gesture of his arm. Jade ignored him as he entered his office and pulled up a chair.
Dr. Lithemeir seemed pleased to have a guest different from the students and professors he usually saw. He closed the door and hobbled excitedly over to his desk.
'Now, before we begin and you devour some of my most valuable time
…' He chuckled lightly to let Jade know his assumption of importance was feigned. 'You must allow me the pleasure of knowing your name.'
'Jade. Jade Marlow.'
'Wonderful, wonderful. Does your namesake hail from the wonderful legacy of Joseph Conrad…' He stopped and clicked his tongue several times. 'Or is your 'Marlowe' more Faustian in orientation?' He smiled broadly, evidently pleased with his question.
'Actually, it just happened to be my father's last name.'
Lithemeir chortled. 'Well, of course. I was merely inquiring from whom you drew your intellectual heritage. But let us move on. I believe I heard you bellow that you are an FBI agent?' He seemed to take great pleasure in everything Jade said and did, no matter how banal, trivial, or offensive.
Jade considered cutting straight to his own questions, but then he decided to give Dr. Lithemeir some play. That way, he might be more helpful when it came time for Jade to get some answers. Besides, Jade enjoyed sparring with him, especially since he was still wired from the caffeine.
'I'm a cross between an agent and I guess what you would call a private eye,' Jade said slowly, wondering how to explain his occupation to a sixty-year-old professor.
'Splendid, splendid,' Lithemeir said, rising and twirling his cane overhead until it caught the fan on the ceiling with a mighty clang. 'A private eye.' He ran his hand excitedly up his chin and scratched his gray beard. 'Do you
