James Patterson - Roses Are Red

"We're getting an awful lot of heat on these robbery-murders. The big banks, Wall Street," Pollett said to Kyle. He nodded in my direction. "Hello, Detective," Then he looked at Betsey. "I'm sorry, we haven't met."

'I'm Senior Agent Cavalierre," she said and rose to shake the secretary's hand," I'm the SAC."

"Ms Cavalierre is the agent in charge of the investigation?" Pollett asked Director Burns.

"Yes, she is." Kyle answered the question. "This is her case."

Secretary Pollett turned his unwavering gaze on her. "All right, you're the SAC. Where are some results, Ms Cavalierre? I walked into this room ready to make heads roll. Tell me why I shouldn't. "Richard Pollett had run a large and successful Wall Street investment house before he came to Washington. He knew nothing about law enforcement but believed he was smart enough to figure out anything once he had some facts.

"Have you ever been part of a national manhunt? "Betsey stared right back into his eyes.

"I don't think that's a relevant question," he answered dryly. "I've run some very important investigations, and I've always gotten results."

"The robberies have been coming fast," I found myself saying to Pollett. "Obviously, we were starting from nowhere. Here's what we know now. A single man planned the Citibank, First Union, First Virginia, and Chase robberies and murders. We know he's selecting crew members that are willing to kill. He's only interested in recruiting killers.

"Our profile tells us he's a white male between thirty-five and fifty. He's probably well educated, with a thorough knowledge of banks and their security systems. He may have worked for a financial institution in the past, or even more than one, and might have a grudge against them. He robs banks for the money, but the murders are probably for revenge. That, we're not sure about yet."

I looked around the room. Everyone was listening instead of bickering. "A few days ago we located and questioned a man named Tony Brophy. He was recruited for one of the jobs but was turned down. He wasn't cold-blooded enough. He wasn't a killer."

Betsey spoke. "We have over two hundred agents in the field. We were only a couple of minutes behind them at the Chase robbery in DC," she said. "We know that he calls himself the Mastermind. There's been a lot of progress in a relatively short time."

Pollett turned to the FBI director and nodded curtly. 'I'm not satisfied, but at least I finally got a few answers. It's your job to get this Mastermind, Ron. Do it. What's happening makes all our financial systems appear vulnerable. The polls say confidence in the banks is down. And that's a disaster for this country. I assume your Mastermind has figured that out already."

Ten minutes later, Betsey Cavalierre and I rode the elevator down to the FBI's underground garage together. Kyle had stayed behind with Director Burns.

When we got to the basement floor, she finally spoke. "I owe you one for upstairs. You saved me. Big time. I was this close to unloading on that pompous Wall Street asshole."

I looked at her and a smile broke on my face. "You definitely have a temper. I hope you don't have a grudge against Big Business or the banking system?"

She finally grinned. "Of course I do. Who doesn't?"

I spent the next couple of hours at the hospital with Jannie. She told me again that she was going to be a doctor and she sounded ready to take her med boards. She took delight in using words like pilocytic astrocytoma (her tumor), prothrombin (a plasma protein used in the clotting of blood), and contrast material (dye used in the CAT scan she'd had just that morning).

"I'm back," Jannie finally announced, 'and the new and improved model is better than ever."

"Maybe you better go into public relations, or the advertising field when you grow up," I teased her. "Work for J Walter Thompson or Young and Rubicam in New York."

She puckered her mouth and looked as if she'd just bitten into a lemon. "Dr. Janelle Cross. Remember where you heard it first."

"Don't worry," I told her, "I won't forget any of this."

Around one o'clock I went over to the Crisis Center at the FBI field office on Fourth. After the meeting with Pollett and Bums, I knew we'd be working late. A conference room had been commandeered on the third floor. More than a hundred agents were working out of there. Also, about sixty detectives from DC and the surrounding areas.

We had a few more suspects up on the walls now. They were all bank robbers with the skills and experience to pull off big jobs. I studied the list and made notes on a few of them.

Mitchell Brand was a suspect in several unsolved robberies in and around DC. Stephen Schnurmacher was the person behind at least two successful bank heists in the Philadelphia area. Jimmy Doud was a bartender in Boston who'd never been caught but who had robbed dozens of banks up in New England. Victor Kenyon had been concentrating his efforts in central Florida. They all did banks, and they hadn't been caught yet. They were smart, and good at what they did. But were they masterminds?

Everything about the long session on Fourth Avenue was intense, and intensely frustrating. I made some calls about the suspects, particularly Mitchell Brand, since he worked out of DC. It was nearly eleven-thirty when I looked at my watch for the first time all night.

Betsey Cavalierre and I hadn't gotten the chance to talk since I'd arrived that afternoon. I drifted her way to say goodnight before I left the building. She was still going at it. She was talking to a couple of agents but gestured for me to wait.

Finally, she walked over. She still managed to look fresh and alert, and I wondered how she did it.

"Metro has a couple of leads on Mitchell Brand," I told her. "He's violent enough to be involved in something like this."

Suddenly, she yawned," Longest day of my life. Whew! How's Jannie doing?" she asked. I was surprised and also pleased by the question.

"Oh, she's doing good, great actually. Hopefully, she'll come home soon. She wants to be a doctor now."

"Alex," she said, 'let's go have a drink. This is a shot in the dark, but I get the feeling that you need to talk to somebody. Why don't you talk to me?"

I must admit, the offer completely caught me off guard. I stammered out a response. "I'd like to, but not tonight. I have to go home. Rain check?"

"Sure, I understand. It's okay. Rain check," she said, but not before a look of hurt had passed over her face.

I never expected that from Agent Betsey Cavalierre. She had shown concern about my family. And she was vulnerable.

This was the place, the time, the opportunity. The Renaissance Mayflower Hotel on Connecticut Avenue near Seventeenth.

It was busy as ever that morning, busy and important-looking. The Mayflower had been the site of every presidential inaugural ball since Calvin Coolidge. The hotel had been completely renovated in 1992, with architects and historians working together to restore it to its earlier grandeur. It was a popular place for corporate conferences and board-of-directors meetings. That was how the Mastermind had come to choose it.

A blue-and-gold chartered tour bus had been waiting in front of the Mayflower since a little before nine. It was scheduled to leave at nine-thirty and would be making scheduled stops at the Kennedy Center, the White House, the Lincoln and Vietnam Memorials, the Smithsonian Institution and other favorite tourist spots around Washington. The bus company was called Washington On Wheels. The corporate group on board was from the Metro Hartford Insurance Company.

Sixteen women and two children were on the bus when the driver, Joseph Denyeau, finally shut the door at nine-forty. "All aboard for various museums, historic sites, and lunch," he announced into his microphone.