James Patterson - Roses Are Red

I couldn't see him very well, but I knew he could see me. Oh, the games we play even us doctors of the mind.

Eventually, he looked up, pretending to be surprised that I was there. "Detective Cross, I'm sorry. I guess the time got away from me."

He shot his cuffs, then rose from his chair and indicated a general sitting area against the far "wall. "Dr. Marcuse and I were talking about you the other night. We realized we were pretty tough the day that you and the other detective arrived. I guess we found the idea of the police wandering around the wards a little troubling. Anyway, I've heard rumors that you're an excellent mental-health counselor."

I refused to rise to the bait. He was a doctor; I was a mental-health counselor. I told Cioffi about the list of suspects I had compiled. He took the list from me. Quickly looked over the names.

"I know all of these patients, of course. I'm sure that some are angry enough to be violent. Anderson and Hale have actually committed

murders in the past. It's still hard to imagine any of these men organizing a series of daring robberies. And then, of course, why would they still be here if they had all that money?" He laughed. "I certainly wouldn't be. "Is that so, Dr. Cioffi? I had to wonder.

Next, I spent nearly an hour with Dr. Marcuse, who had a smaller office right next to Cioffi's. I enjoyed his company and the time flew by. Marcuse was energetic, bright, and trying to be cooperative with the investigation. Or so he made it seem.

"How did you wind up here at Hazelwood?" I eventually asked him.

"Good question, complicated answer. My father was an army pilot. Lost both legs in the Second World War. I spent time around veterans hospitals from the time I was seven. Hated them with a passion, and with good reason. I guess I wanted to make them better places than what my father knew."

"You succeeding?" I asked.

"I've been here less than eight months. I took over from Dr. Francis, who transferred to another vets hospital in Florida. The money just isn't available for these places. It's a national disgrace and nobody seems to care. Sixty Minutes and Dateline should do a story every week on a veterans hospital until somebody does something about them. Alex, I don't know what to tell you about your killer."

"You don't believe he's here, do you?" I asked.

Marcuse shook his head. "If he is, he really is a Mastermind. If he's here, he's got everybody fooled."

I see you, Dr. Cross. I see you, but you don't have a due who I am. I could walk up and touch you.

I'm a lot smarter than you and also a lot smarter than you think I am. It's a simple fact. It's also verifiable. There have been batteries of intelligence tests. Lots and lots of the finest psychological tests. Have you seen my test scores? Were you impressed?

I was sitting exactly one chair away from you in the recreation room the other morning. I studied your face. My eyes rolled over your well-exercised body. I was thinking that maybe I was wrong and that you weren't really Alex Cross. We were so close I could have jumped up and grabbed you by the throat. Would that have surprised you?

I'll admit, your being here certainly surprised me. I'd seen your picture you're well known and then there you were. You made all of my paranoid dreams and fantasies come true.

Why are you here, Dr. Cross? Why, exactly? How the hell could you have found me? Are you that good?

That's the question I ask myself over and over, the litany playing inside my head.

Why is Alex Cross here? How good is he?

I'm going to work on a surprise for you now. I'm making a special plan in your honor.

I'm watching you walk away up the hallway, careful not to jangle your keys, and as I'm watching, I'm making a new plan.

You're a part of it now.

Be extremely careful, Dr. Cross.

You're much more vulnerable than you think. You have no idea.

You know what? I am going to walk up and touch you.

Gotcha.

The hospital seems like a dead end, Betsey. I've looked at everybody – doctors, nurses, patients. I don't know that Sampson or I should go back to Hazelwood after this week. Maybe we got suckered in there by Brian Macdougall. Maybe the Mastermind is playing with us. Do we know anything more about Walsh or Doud?"

She shook her head. I could see the hurt and disappointment in her eyes. "Doud is still missing. There's nothing. He's disappeared off the face of the earth."

I was sitting in her office and we had our feet propped up on her desk. We were drinking iced tea from bottles. Hanging out, commiserating. Betsey could be a good listener when she wanted, or needed, to be.

Tell me what you know so far," she said. "Just let me hear it. I want it to roll over my brain."

"We haven't been able to find anything to connect any patient or any staff member at the hospital to Metro Hartford or the bank robberies. No patient seems capable of the crimes. Even the doctors there aren't terribly impressive. Maybe Marcuse is but I think he's a good guy. A half-dozen of your agents have picked apart everything at Hazelwood. Nothing, Betsey. I'll look over the files again this weekend."

"But you think we've lost him?"

"It's the same old thing no suspects. The Mastermind seems to disappear off the face of the earth when he wants to."

She rubbed her eyes with her fists, then she looked at me again. "The Justice Department is heavily invested in Brian Macdougall's story. They have to keep looking at Hazelwood. Then they'll check every other veterans hospital in the country. That means I'll have to keep looking. But you think Macdougall and his thugs were wrong?"

"Maybe wrong, maybe tricked. Or maybe Macdougall made up the whole story. Macdougall will probably get what he wanted out of this -Camp Fed. As I said, I'll look over the files again. I'm not giving up."

Betsey continued to look out over the cityscape. "So you're planning to work all weekend? That's a shame. You look like you need a break," she said.

I sipped my tea, and watched her. "You have something in mind?"

She laughed, and the look on her face was irresistibly coy. She whistled into the neck of her iced-tea bottle," I think it's time, Alex. We both need some good old-fashioned F-U-N. What do you say I pick you up around noon on Saturday?"

I shook my head some, but I was laughing.

"Does that mean yes?" she asked.

I nodded. "It means yes. I think I need a little old-fashioned F-U-N. I'm sure I do."

I almost couldn't wait for Saturday afternoon to come. I kept busy with the kids grocery-shopping, a stop at the new petting zoo in Southeast. I kept the Mastermind out of my thoughts. Also agents Walsh and Doud, Hazelwood Veterans Hospital, murder and mayhem.

Betsey finally picked me up at exactly twelve in her blue Saab. The car was washed, maybe even polished with Turtle Wax, and it looked shiny and new and the day seemed full of promise.

I knew that Jannie was watching from her bedroom window so I turned, made a funny face, and waved. Jannie waved back, and smiled from ear to ear. She and Rosie the cat were up there; both of them tuned into my ongoing soap opera.

I leaned down into the side window of Betsey's Saab. She was wearing a light leather jacket over a white silk blouse. She could really look great when she wanted to, and I guess she wanted to today.

"You're always right on time. Precise. Just like the Mastermind," I kidded her.

"Masterprize," she corrected. "Wouldn't that be a great ending to this, Alex? I'm him! You catch me because I've made one fatal mistake. It's that I've become infatuated with you."

"You're infatuated?" I asked as I slid into the front seat. "Senior Agent Cavalierre?"