Patterson, James: Alex Cross 11 - Mary, Mary

She didn't hide her displeasure. “I just shut down the computer, and I have to pick up my daughter. I suppose I can get you the hard copy if you want.”

Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into another room and came back with a small stack of three-ring binders.

“Youcan only stay as long as Beadsie's here.” She waved to a woman in a goldfish-bowl office at the back. Then she left, without another word - to me, or to Beadsie.

The pages of the visitor's log were divided into columns. I worked from the back of the most recent book, looking for Mary's name under Who Are You Here to See?

For two years' worth of entries, there was nothing at all. It was obvious how alone Mary Constantine had been in this place.

Then, suddenly, a rash of names cropped up on the log. Here was the flurry of interest that Dr. Shapiro mentioned. It lasted over the course of about a month and a half.

I slowed down and perused the visitors' names. Most were unfamiliar to me.

One of them, I recognized.

Mary, Mary

Chapter 115

MY CELL PHONE and Vermont seemed to hate each other. Apparently, this was the Land of No Signal.

I found a pay phone instead, called Agent Page in Los Angeles, and had him patch in LAPD. A minute later we had Maddux Fielding's office on the line, but no Fielding.

What a surprise.

“You know what?” I said to the nameless lieutenant on the line. “Screw it. Transfer us over to Detective Jeanne Galletta.”

“What's going on?” Page asked me again, while we were on hold with LAPD.

Then I heard another voice on the line. “Jeanne Galletta. Is this Alex?”

“Jeanne, it's Alex all right. Karl Page from the L.A. Bureau office is on the line, too. I'm in Vermont. I think I have important news on the Mary Smith case.”

“I think I may have another connection for you - a murder in Vancouver,” Jeanne said.

“What are you doing all the way up in Vermont?”

“Hold that thought about Vancouver. Please find Fielding. Or do whatever you have to do, but someone needs to pick up Michael Bell for questioning. Michael Bell. Marti LowensteinBell's husband.”

“What?” Jeanne sounded incredulous. Then Page swore, obviously muffling the receiver.

I gave them a very quick rundown of my last two days up here, then finally the names on the visitor log at the state hospital.

“He knows Mary Constantine. He's visited her here in Vermont before. Several times, actually”

“And what? He's been setting her up? How would he even know she was in L.A.?”

“I don't know everything yet. Maybe she looked him up when she got there; maybe they corresponded. If he wanted her story it would have been worth something. I think he did want it, just not for a movie.”

“You think it was a cover, maybe to kill his own wife? That's a big-ass coverup, Alex.”

“Sure is. It's an incredible story too. Page, are you getting this?”

“Got it. And I like it. Finally something makes some sense to me.”

“Good. Then do a direct cross-reference - Michael Bell and anyone else connected to this case. I wonder if he had a bigger agenda than just his wife. Find out anything you can, surfer boy All we need for now is enough to justify holding him once LAPD gets him into custody. ”Jeanne, listen, please. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I say figure it out later and get a cruiser over to Michael Bell's house. Now And,Jeanne."

“What?”

“Don't go over there by yourself. I'm pretty sure that Bell is our killer.”

Mary, Mary

Chapter 116

SUDDENLY THE WHOLE CASE was on fire again.

About ten miles from the hospital, I pulled over at the first gas station I saw an ancient Texaco with a flying A over the roof. A Ford F-150 pulled in after me, but the only other building in sight was a darkened sugarhouse in a field directly across the road. I could see a couple of Holsteins grazing in the field.

I called Karl Page again from another pay phone. I needed to hear what he'd found out about Michael Bell.

At this late hour, catching a flight out of Burlington seemed unlikely; I wanted to stay updated all the same, and was concerned for Page and Jeanne Galletta. 'Who knew what Bell was up to in L.A.

“What have you got so far?” I asked him.

“Amazing what you find when you look in the right place,” he said. “Before she died, Marti Lowenstein-Bell had just sold her own show to HBO. She was hotter than a fifty- dollar pistol. On the other hand, Michael Bell's last three solo projects went nowhere. His only big successes had been with her, and it looked like she was checking out. She was divorcing him, Alex. They hadn't yet filed, but a friend of hers knew it was coming.”

“What did you say to me once? Cha-ching?”

“Yeah, and the hits keep coming. LAPD checked Bell's alibis all right, but they all revolved around his being seen at work, or occasionally at home. Alex, the alibis aren't going to hold up. And listen to this, Arnold Griner seriously trashed more than one of Bell's movies when he wrote for Variety. Griner actually called him 'Michael Bomb' in one column, that kind of thing. Of course, in Griner's case it might be justifiable homicide. Antonia Schifman? She backed out of a project that Bell was financing himself last year. Apparently after she gave him a verbal promise, which seems to mean next to nothing out here. The whole thing fell apart, and he lost a half million in development.”

I could hear the adrenaline in Page's voice. He was like a greyhound at the gate. “I'll bet anything there's more,“ he said. ”Belts career was headed down the crapper, and he was going to bring everyone down with him.”

“Keep digging,” I said. “Great work, too. Any more word from LAPD? Jeanne?”

“A cruiser went by the Bell house. No answer.”

“Did they go inside?”

“No. But they were pretty sure nobody was home. The house is under surveillance.”

“All right. I'll call when I stop again. Probably out near the airport. Unfortunately, I think I'm stuck here for the night.”

I didn't want to spend the night in Vermont, especially now, but it didn't look as though I had much of a choice. I thought about stopping into the small store at the gas station, buying something awful like chocolate cupcakes, or M&M's with peanuts, but I mustered all of my willpower against it. God, I am impressive occasionally I turned toward the rented car and started to walk with my head down against the wind. It was getting nippy up here. A few feet away from the car, I looked up and stopped dead in my tracks.

I had company James Iruscott was sitting in the car's passenger seat.

not at first anyway What Obviously, he'd followed

Mary, Mary

Chapter 117

THIS MADE NO SENSE TO ME, the hell was Truscott doing here? me again. But why?

I was seeing red as I yanked open the car door on his side. My mouth was open to start to yell, but nothing came out, not a word.

Truscott wasn't here to cause me any trouble - at least not now The writer was dead, propped up in the front seat like a statue.

“Just get in the car,” said a voice from behind me.

“Don't cause a scene out here. Because then I'll have to go in and shoot the nice old biddy who runs the country store, too. I really wouldn't mind, y'know.”

I turned and saw Michael Bell.

Bell appeared haggard and disturbed, and he'd lost a lot of weight since I'd last seen him at his house. He looked like hell, actually His light-blue eyes were badly bloodshot; with his ragged, bushy beard, he looked like a local woodsman.

“How long have you been following me?” I asked, trying to engage him if I could, feel him out, gain some kind of leverage.