Eric Lustbader - First Daughter

"Did you confirm it on her body?"

"Well, that's the thing," Egon said. "The body wasn't in his morgue. The feds whisked it out of there along with his preliminary findings."

Jack was hardly surprised, since it was clear that Calla Myers was Ian Brady's latest victim. But the very fact that he'd targeted her set Jack's synapses to firing overtime. Another Rubik's Cube was forming in his head, and he didn't like the shape of it one bit. He'd heard the president's address. Direct evidence linked Calla Myers, a member of the FASR, to the murders of the SS agents. That was part of the rationale used to close down the Kansas Avenue office and take its members into custody. What did it mean that Brady-a federally protected person-had murdered Calla Myers? Brady had killed the Secret Service detail. In the initial briefing, Hugh Garner had told him that the detail's cell phones hadn't been found. In an instant, the Rubik's Cube in Jack's mind slid into focus. Of course the phones hadn't been found; Brady had taken them. And now he'd planted one with Calla Myers to implicate her and, by extension, the FASR.

Egon broke into his thoughts. "Jack, are you still with me?"

Jack nodded. "I was just thinking about Calla Myers's murderer. I think I know who it is, but I have no idea what his real name is or where to find him."

"I just might be able to help you there." Egon took out a small pad, flipped it open. "As I said, my friend hadn't finished his autopsy on Calla Myers when the feds took her away, but he did note something interesting. He hadn't yet put it in his prelim, because he needed to check it out, so the feds don't have it."

Schiltz consulted his pad. "As per the MO, there were no fingerprints whatsoever except for the vic's, which leads us to the inescapable conclusion that the perp wore gloves of some sort. My friend found traces of a superfine powder on Calla Myers's coat, in the place under her left arm consistent with where someone who had his arm around her would place his hand.

"It took him some time to figure out what this powder actually was." Egon glanced up. "You'll like this, Jack. What was on Calla Myers's coat was logwood powder. Logwood is a heartwood extract from Haematoxylon campechianum , found in Central America and the West Indies. When mixed with a carrier, such as ethyl alcohol, glycerine, or Listerine, it becomes a black pigment used for tattooing." He snapped the pad closed. "And, by the way, Calla Myers had no tattoos."

Jack's heart leapt. "So the logwood powder came from the perp."

Schiltz nodded. "Whatever else this sonovabitch is, he's also a tattoo artist. But here's the best part. Almost all tattoo artists buy pre-mixed pigments. None of those use logwood as an ingredient. Your man mixes his pigments by hand."

I LIKED the white Continental better," Alli said as she slid into Jack's car.

He laughed as he put the car in gear. A moment later, he picked up the Secret Service detail in his rearview mirror. It was 11:20. The minutes were counting down to when he'd lose his access to her. It was now or never.

"Alli, there's something I've been wondering," he said. "Did the man who abducted you have a tattoo?"

Alli went rigid. She stared straight ahead.

"Alli, honey, it's all right for you to tell me."

"I only saw his arms." Alli slowly shook her head from side to side. "He didn't have any tattoos."

Jack, heading for the Carsons' house in Chevy Chase, did his best to keep to the minimum speed. He didn't want this drive to end yet.

"Alli, I know Ronnie Kray frightened you terribly, but it would be helpful if you could tell me something more about what you saw. Anything at all."

Alli, still sitting rigidly, said nothing.

"I want to catch him, Alli. You want that, don't you?"

She bit her lip, nodded.

"You're the only one who can help me."

Tears began to run down her cheeks. "I wish Emma was here. She could tell you what you want to know."

"You can, too."

Her eyes squeezed shut. "I'm not brave like she was."

Despite his best efforts, they'd entered Chevy Chase. This was it, then. The end. Jack relented. "Alli, your father has agreed to let me pick the detail guarding you."

"I want you," she said at once.

He nodded. "I'll be there, just not the whole time. But you can absolutely trust Nina and Sam. I know them, I've worked with them. They won't let you down."

He turned onto the Carsons' street, a cul-de-sac, saw more Secret Service agents in cars and on the sidewalk. They all watched him as he drove toward the large federal-style brick house at the end of the cul-de-sac.

"Home," he said.

"It doesn't feel like it." Alli shifted in her seat. "Nothing feels right."

"As soon as you get back to your routine, it'll all feel as familiar as it did before."

"But I don't want to get back to my old routine!" She sounded like a spoiled child.

Jack pulled into the driveway where Edward and Lyn Carson were waiting. He shut off the engine, opened his door, but Alli made no move to open hers.

"Alli…"

She turned to him. There was desperation in her eyes. "I don't want to leave you!"

"You have a responsibility to your parents. Tomorrow you'll be the First Daughter. From now on, you have to act like the First Daughter. The whole country will be watching."

"Please don't make me."

"Honey, it's what has to happen."

"But I'm afraid."

Jack frowned. "Afraid of what?"

"To leave you, to be here, I don't know."

By this time, the Carsons, concerned, had come up to the car. Lyn Carson opened the passenger's-side door, leaned in.

"Alli? Baby?"

Alli, still turned toward Jack, silently mouthed, Please help me .

Jack felt torn into a thousand shreds. He had failed Emma, he didn't want to fail Alli as well. But what could he do? The president-elect had given him an order that he was powerless to ignore. Alli wasn't his child. So he did the only thing he could do. He leaned over, whispered in her ear, "I'll see you later, I promise. Okay?"

As he pulled back, he saw her nod. Then she turned, got out of the car and into her mother's arms.

"Jack."

Edward Carson was at his side as he got out of the car. The president-elect pumped his hand then impulsively embraced him.

"There are no words." His voice was clotted with emotion. "You've brought our girl back to us safe and sound, just as you promised."

Jack watched Alli. Her mother, arm around her waist, walked her up the brick steps to the open front door.

"That's right," Lyn Carson said. "Random House wants you to write a memoir about growing up to be the First Daughter."

"She's a special young woman," Jack said. "I want Nina Miller and Sam Scott assigned to her permanent detail. Nina and I were partners in finding Alli. I worked with Sam at ATF until he transferred to the Secret Service three years ago."

Carson nodded. "I'll make the necessary calls right away." He looked at his wife and daughter for a moment, before turning back. "Jack, Lyn and I would like you at the inauguration, up on the dais with us. You're like a member of our family now."

"It would be an honor, sir."

In the doorway, Alli turned, gave him a tentative smile, and with a sweep of her mother's arm, vanished into her world of privilege and power.

WHO WAS Ian Brady? In other, more normal circumstances, Jack would have been preoccupied with finding that out. However, this case was anything but normal. What concerned him now was not who Ian Brady was but why he had chosen that name. Clearly, his other aliases-Ronnie Kray and Charles Whitman-followed on in a straight line from the first.

It was Jack's experience-the experience of any knowledgeable lawman-that criminals, even the highly intelligent ones, chose their aliases for a reason. An FBI profiler who had been brought into the ATF office on a case some years ago had said that giving meaning to an alias was a subconscious urge criminals found irresistible. In other words, they couldn't help themselves. Of one thing Jack was certain: The name Ian Brady held special meaning for this man. The trick was to find out what that meaning was.