Robert Browne - Kill Her Again

“I assume you know my history.”

“I think the whole world does. But why on earth would you want to be so close to the woman who…” She paused suddenly, looking as if she’d been about to step into something sticky and had just managed to avoid it.

Pope finished the sentence for her. “Killed my kid? That’s another question I ask myself every morning. But the answer isn’t complicated. I just want to make sure she stays right where she is.”

“I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

“Probably not. But her new lawyers are working on the appeal as we speak, claiming diminished capacity and ineffective assistance of counsel. They’re pushing for a new trial.”

“It’ll never happen.”

Pope shrugged. “I almost hope it does.”

McBride’s eyebrows raised. “Why?”

“Because the moment she shows her face outside those gates,” Pope said, nodding toward the view, “she’s a dead woman.”

Anna wasn’t sure if what she’d just heard constituted a genuine threat or were simply the mutterings of a grieving father. Professionally, her inclination was to take Pope seriously, but what did it matter? The chances of his ex-wife winning an appeal were virtually nonexistent.

Still, there was an intensity in those eyes that was hard to ignore. She could imagine Pope standing here every morning, staring out at that prison complex as he quietly plotted, positioning himself in his mind, weapon ready, waiting for those front gates to open…

Pure fantasy, she decided. No matter how wronged this man had been, she didn’t sense the killer instinct in him. Couldn’t see him pulling a trigger.

Of course, she’d made that mistake before, and had a nice little reminder of that fact every time she looked in the mirror.

All she really knew about Pope was what she had seen on CNN and read in the papers. She knew the bureau had had some involvement in the case, but the investigation had been handled by the Vegas field office and seemed a world away from her life in San Francisco.

Her first memories of it were the photos on Headline News. A fragile-looking freckle-faced kid, smiling for the camera. Benjamin Pope, five years old. He had been missing for two days, victim of a carjacking by a large Hispanic man-or so his mother had said. There were daily press conferences and hourly briefings and wild speculation by often-misinformed news media, focusing more and more on the parents, whom police refused to name as possible suspects in the disappearance.

She remembered Pope’s pleas for the kidnappers to return his child and the not-so-quiet rumors that had accompanied those pleas. The talk around the San Francisco Field Division watercoolers was that the press conference was a sham, cover for a man who had murdered his own kid.

The rumors grew into angry accusations when the burnt-out shell of the family station wagon was found in the desert, less than a mile from Ludlow, California.

The charred remains of Benjamin Pope were found inside.

None of the evidence collected pointed to a carjacking, and an autopsy revealed that Ben might well have been dead before the fire. Within a day of the discovery, Susan Leah Pope had broken down and confessed to torching the SUV. It turned out that she had been poisoning Ben for months and it had finally caught up to him.

Those less educated about such things believed that Daniel Pope had somehow used hypnosis to force his wife to do the unspeakable. Both CNN and FOX had devoted entire hours to this harebrained theory, but such accusations were quickly quashed by an FBI psychologist, who patiently explained that hypnosis was not mind control.

If anything, Pope was a casualty. The victim of a severely disturbed woman. Just like his son.

How he had wound up here in this hotel room, or why he had chosen to take to the stage and put himself out there as a target for the crackpots and the rubberneckers, was a mystery Anna doubted she’d ever be able to solve.

And she couldn’t begrudge the man his fantasy, no matter how dark it might be.

There was a knock at the door. Pope crossed to it and pulled it open to reveal a cute but overly perky girl in a hotel uniform holding a tray with two cans of Coke, a small carton of milk, and what looked like two apple muffins.

“How’s this for service?” the girl asked, smiling the kind of smile that, to Anna’s mind, indicated more than friendship. When her gaze fell on Anna, however, the smile momentarily froze, then abruptly vanished-along with her perkiness.

Pope took the tray from her. “Thanks, Kel, I’ll see you later.” Then he closed the door and turned. No good-byes. No explanations. No apologies.

Anna didn’t know what to make of this, but then it wasn’t really any of her business. As Pope carried the tray to the dresser top, she glanced around the room again, surprised to discover that there were no photographs or keepsakes or mementos to be found. Just a generic, run-down hotel room that told the visitor nothing about the man who occupied it.

She was pondering the significance of this when the bathroom door opened and Evan stepped into the room, fumbling with his zipper, having trouble zipping it back up.

He looked so small, framed by the doorway, his face pale and gaunt, reminding Anna, oddly enough, of her mother during those last few days. It was enough to break your heart. And her reluctance to put him through this grew even stronger.

He finally finished zipping, then looked up at her. “Can we go now?”

Pope was the one who answered. “We haven’t had our drinks yet.”

“I’m not thirsty anymore.”

“Okay… but I think Agent McBride is.”

He threw Anna a glance and she immediately caught on-although, if pressed, would have agreed with Evan. She just wanted to leave.

Thinking of the missing girl, however, she said, “I could definitely go for something cold and wet,” then moved to the dresser and grabbed a can of Coke. “Can we hang around for just a few more minutes, kiddo?”

Evan looked at her again and shrugged. “I guess so.”

Pope patted the bed. “Have a seat. I want to show you something.”

As Evan reluctantly climbed back onto the mattress, Pope crossed to his nightstand, opened the drawer, and took out a black velvet drawstring pouch. The boy’s gaze immediately shifted to it and Anna thought she saw a tiny spark of curiosity there.

She was curious herself.

Pope returned and crouched next to Evan, offering him the pouch. He hesitated before taking it.

“Go ahead,” Pope said. “Open it up.”

Evan did as he was told, loosening the drawstring with his small fingers. Reaching inside, he pulled out a black plastic box, about the size of a Rubik’s Cube.

Evan stared at it, looking disappointed.

“Turn it over,” Pope said.

Evan turned the box over to reveal a hole cut into the opposite side, the word Metamorphosis written in gold paint above it. Inside the hole was what looked like a golf ball made of mirrors-a miniature disco ball-surrounded by several LED lightbulbs.

Pope reached over and flicked a switch at the top of the box. The LEDs came on and the ball began to spin, its tiny mirrors reflecting the light across Evan’s face.

Evan stared at it, eyes shining, and Anna thought he might be showing just a hint of a smile.

Pope flicked the switch again, turning it off. “They sell these in the gift shop downstairs,” he said. “Pretty neat, huh? After we’re done here today, you can take it with you.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. But first we’re gonna use it for a little experiment. Is that okay with you?”

Evan shrugged. “I guess.” He paused, working something over in his head. “Are you a doctor?”