Chapter Ninety-Six
Sampson promised to stay with Nana and the kids until I could get home. There was no one that I trusted more, no one in the world they would be safer with. Still, I couldn't be sure, and that was a terrible weight to carry. I didn't feel I could leave California until I had at least located Jamilla, and knew she was safe. Finally I called Tim Bradley at The Examiner. He didn't know where she was, or even that she'd taken a day off work. Maybe she had needed to get away from town - to get away from being a homicide detective. I was beginning to feel that maybe I had made a mistake by stopping in San Francisco. The longer I sat on the street, outside her house, the more convinced I was of it. Maybe the job was finally getting to me. The instincts go first. But every time I considered leaving, I remembered the night I arrived at Betsey Cavalierre's house, seeing her dead body. And instincts had gotten me here in my career. Feelings, gut reactions, experiences from the past. Maybe just plain stubbornness. I stayed on surveillance, stayed at my post. I got out of the car a couple of times, walked up and down the block a little. Climbed back in the car. Waited some more. I felt more than a little ridiculous, but I wouldn't give in to it. I checked in with Sampson again. Everything was okay at home. Another homicide detective I knew, Jerome Thurman, had arrived at the house, too. Double duty against the Mastermind. Was that enough protection?
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JAMES PATTERS01M
Then I saw Jamilla coming up the street in her Saab. I actually clapped my hands together. I smacked the dashboard with my palm. Yes. Thank God she was safe. There she was She parked about half a block from her house on Texas Street, got out, pulling a University of San Francisco gym bag behind her. I wanted to run up and hug her, but I stayed in my car. Her hair was up in a ponytail. She was wearing a dark blue tee and loose gray workout pants. She was all right; she hadn't been hurt Jamilla hadn't been murdered by the Mastermind. I stared through the car windshield, waiting to see if anyone was watching her, stalking her. fart of me wanted to leave well enough alone now, to go home to Washington. But I kept remembering what had happened to Betsey Cavalierre after we finished our case together. Why then? Why my partner? I almost didn't want to go there. I gave Jamilla time to get inside - then I called her on my cell. 'This is Jamilla Hughes. Your message is important to me. Please leave it at the beep.' Damn it! I hated those machines. 'Jamilla, this is Alex Cross. Call me. It's important. Please--' 'Hi, Alex. Where are you? How are you?' I could hear the smile in her voice, and it sounded inappropriate because of the emotional state I was in. 'Please be careful.' I continued with what I was going to leave her as a message. I told her why I was concerned. Finally, I had to admit the worst: that I was on the street outside her apartment. 'Well, come inside for God's sake,' she said. There were no recriminations, not even any surprise in her voice. 'I think you're over-reacting. Maybe. Let's talk about it, though. Let's talk this thing through.' 'No, let me stay out here for a while. I hope you don't think I'm being too crazy. Whoever killed Betsey has been contacting me ever since her death. The Mastermind could be here in San Francisco. He killed her right after we finished our case. Detective Cooke was murdered after the magicians were killed in New Orleans.' That gave her pause.'Maybe I think you're a little crazy, Alex. But I
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VIOLETS ARE BLUE
understand why you would be. I see where you're going with this. I'm also touched that you came here to watch over me. And what happened to your last partner does scare me.' It helped that I knew where Jam was, and that I had actually talked to her. After we spoke, I continued watching her street. I don't know how many times I had thought about Betsey Cavalierre's murder and wondered who the killer was, but I did it again as I sat in the car. I stayed there for several hours. Jamilla and I talked a couple of times. She urged me to come up to her apartment. I said no.'Let me do it my way. Jam.' It was getting late, though, and I was beginning to fade. I saw the lights in her apartment go off. Good for her. At least one of us was acting sane. I continued to wait. Something powerful, dramatic, haunting was nagging at me. Something I almost didn't want to face. The clues had been there, but I hadn't wanted to see them for what they were. I'd wanted to follow my'famous instincts'. Look where it had gotten me. I had blown it for so long. Then I saw him, and everything made sense. Suddenly the puzzle was clear; all the pieces fit. Not just Betsey's murder - the Casanova murder, the stalking of Kate McTiernan, the fact that he'd been able to keep a step ahead of me. The killer was here on Jamilla's street. The Mastermind was here in San Francisco. I was sure, and it made me dizzy with fear. But also with incredible disappointment, sadness, confusion. I felt like I might throw up. It was Kyle Craig. He was watching Jamilla's place, stalking her like the madman that he was. The goddamn Mastermind had come here to kill her. How could I stop him?
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