James PATTERSON - The Big Bad Wolf

It took me a couple of hours to go through less than a quarter of the white-slave-trade files, and those were just cases in the US. One abduction in particular caught my attention. It involved a female D.C. attorney named Ruth Morgenstern. She had last been seen at approximately 9.30 p.m on Saturday, 20 August. A friend had dropped her off near her apartment in Foggy Bottom.

Ms Morgenstern was twenty-six years old, 111 pounds, with blue eyes and shoulder-length blond hair. On 28 August, one of her identification cards was found near the north gate of the Anacostia Naval Station. Two days later, her government access card was found on a city street.

But Ruth Morgenstern was still missing. Her file included the notation: Most likely dead .

I wondered: Was Ruth Morgenstern dead?

How about Mrs Elizabeth Connelly?

Around ten, just as I was starting to do some serious yawning, I came across a second murder case that snapped my mind to attention. I read the report once, then a second time.

It involved the abduction eleven months earlier of a woman named Jilly Lopez in Houston. The kidnapping had occurred at the Houstonian Hotel. A team – two males , had been seen loitering near the victim’s SUV in the parking garage. Mrs Lopez was described as very attractive.

Minutes later, I was speaking to the officer in Houston who had handled the case. Detective Steve Bowen was curious about my interest in the abduction, but he was cooperative. He said that Mrs Lopez hadn’t been found or heard from since she disappeared. No ransom was ever requested. ‘She was a real good lady. Just about everybody I talked to loved her.’ I’d heard the same thing about Elizabeth Connelly when I was in Atlanta.

I already hated this case, but I couldn’t get it out of my skull. White Girl! The women who’d been taken were all lovable , weren’t they? It was the thing they had in common. Maybe it was the killer’s pattern.

Lovable victims .

How awful was that?

When I got home that night it was a quarter past eleven, but there was a surprise waiting for me. A good one. John Sampson was sitting on the front steps. All six foot nine, two hundred and fifty pounds of him. He looked like the Grim Reaper at first – but then he grinned and looked like the Joyful Reaper.

‘Look who it is. Detective Sampson.’ I smiled back.

‘How’s it going, man?’ John asked as I walked across the lawn. ‘You’re working kind of late again. Same old, same old. You never change, man.’

‘This is the first late night I’ve had at Quantico,’ I responded a little defensively. ‘Don’t start.’

‘Did I say anything bad? Did I even cut you with “ the first of many ” line that’s right there on the tip of my tongue? No, I didn’t. I’m being good – for me. But since we’re talking, you can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘Want a cold beer?’ I asked and unlocked the front door of the house. ‘Where’s your bride tonight?’

Sampson followed me inside and we got a couple of Heinekens each; we took them out to the sun porch. I sat on the piano bench and John plopped down in the rocker, which strained under his weight. John is my best friend in the world, and has been since I was ten years old. We were homicide detectives, and partners, until I went over to the FBI. He’s still a little pissed at me for that.

‘Billie’s just fine. She’s working the late shift at St Anthony’s tonight and tomorrow. We’re doing good.’ He drained about half of his beer in a gulp. ‘No complaints, partner. Far from it. You’re looking at a happy camper.’

I had to laugh. ‘You seem surprised.’

Sampson laughed too. ‘Guess I didn’t think I was the marrying kind. Now all I want to do is hang with Billie most of the time. She makes me laugh, and she even gets my jokes. How about you and Jamilla? She good? And how is the new job? How’s it feel to be a Feebie down at Club Fed?’

‘I was just going to call Jam,’ I told him. Sampson had met Jamilla, liked her, and knew our situation. Jam was a homicide detective too, so she understood what the life was like. I really liked to be with her. Unfortunately, she lived in San Francisco – and she loved it out there.

‘She’s on another murder case. They kill people in San Francisco too. Life in the Bureau is good so far.’ I popped open the second of my beers. ‘I need to get used to the Bureau-crats, though.’

‘Uh-oh,’ Sampson said. Then he grinned wickedly. ‘Crack in the walls already? The Bureau-crats. Authority problems? So why you working so late? Aren’t you still in orientation, or whatever they call it?’

I told Sampson about the kidnapping of Elizabeth Connelly – the condensed version – but then we moved back to more pleasant subjects. Billie and Jamilla, the allure of romance, the latest George Pelecanos novel, a detective friend of ours who was dating his partner and didn’t think anybody was on to them. But we all knew ! It was like it always is when Sampson and I get together. I missed working with him. Which led to the next thought: I needed to figure out some way to get him down to Quantico.

The big man cleared his throat. ‘Something else I wanted to tell you, talk to you about. Real reason I came over tonight,’ he said.

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh. What’s that?’

His eyes avoided mine. ‘Kind of difficult for me, Alex.’

I leaned forward. He had me hooked.

Then Sampson grinned, and I knew it was good, whatever he was about to share.

‘Billie’s got herself pregnant,’ he said and laughed his deepest, richest laugh. Then Sampson jumped up and bear-hugged me half to death. ‘ I’m going to be a father! ’

‘Here we go again, my darling Zoya,’ said Slava in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘You look very prosperous, by the way. Just perfect for today.’

The Couple looked like all the other suburban types wandering around the crowded King of Prussia Mall, the ‘second largest in America’, according to promotional signs at all the entrances. There was good reason for the mall’s popularity. Greedy shoppers traveled here from the surrounding states because Pennsylvania had no tax on clothing.

‘These people all look so wealthy. They have their shit together,’ said Slava. ‘Don’t you think? You know the expression I’m using – “having your shit together”? It’s American. Slang.’

Zoya snorted out a nasty laugh. ‘We’ll see how together their shit is in an hour or so. After we’ve done our business here. Their fear lies about a quarter of an inch below the surface. Just like everybody else in this spoiled rotten country. They’re afraid of their own shadows. But especially pain, or even a little discomfort. Can’t you see that on their faces, Slava? They’re afraid of us. They just don’t know it yet.’

Slava looked around the main plaza, which was dominated by Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus. There were signs up everywhere for Teen People magazine’s ‘Rock and Shop Tour.’ Meanwhile, their target had just bought a fifty-dollar box of cookies at Neiman’s. Amazing! Then she bought something equally absurd called a ‘Red, White, and Blue Dog Journal’, which was prohibitively expensive as well.

Stupid, stupid people. Keeping notebooks for a dog , Slava thought. Then he spotted the target again. She was coming out of Skechers with her small children in tow.

Actually, the target looked a little apprehensive to them at the moment. Why was that? Maybe she was afraid that she would be recognized, and have to sign an autograph, or make small talk with her fans. Price of fame, eh? She moved quickly now, guiding the precious little ones into Dick Clark’s American Bandstand Grill, presumably for lunch, but maybe just to escape the crowds.