Cat and Mouse

for a little refresher course.
B
is for
B
eautiful
B
eginnings,
B
abies.”
    The class laughed, and she felt
connected
with them, thank God. It was at times like this when she dearly wished she had kids of her own. She loved the first graders, loved kids, and, at thirty-two, it was definitely time.
    Then, out of nowhere, an image flashed from the terrible scene a few days earlier. Alex being moved from his house on Fifth Street to one of the ambulances! She had been called to the scene by neighbors, friends of hers. Alex was conscious. He said, “Christine, you look so beautiful. Always.” And then they took him away from her.
    The image from that morning and his final words made her shiver to remember. The Chinese had a saying that had been in her mind for a while, troubling her:
Society prepares the crime; the criminal only commits it.
    “Are you all right?” Laura Dixon was at her side, had seen Christine falter at the door.
    “Excuse us, ladies and gentlemen,” she said to her class. “Ms. Johnson and I have to chat for a minute right outside the door. You may chat as well. Quietly. Like the ladies and gentlemen that you are, I trust.”
    Then Laura took Christine’s arm and walked her out into the deserted hallway.
    “Do I look
that
bad?” Christine asked. “Does it show all over my face, Laura?”
    Laura hugged her tightly and the heat from her friend’s ample body felt good. Laura
was
good.
    “Don’t you try to be so
goddamn
strong, don’t try to be so brave,” Laura said. “Have you heard anything more, sweetheart? Tell Laura. Talk to me.”
    Christine mumbled into Laura’s hair. It felt so good to hold her, to hold on to someone. “Still listed as critical. Still no visitors. Unless you happen to be high up in the Metro police or the FBI.”
    “Christine, Christine,” Laura whispered softly. “What am I going to do with you?”
    “What, Laura? I’m okay now. I really am.”
    “You are so strong, girl. You are about the best person I have ever met. I love you dearly. That’s all I’ll say for right now.”
    “That’s enough. Thank you,” Christine said. She felt a little better, not quite so hollowed out and empty, but the feeling didn’t last very long.
    She started to walk back to her office.
    As she turned down the east corridor, she spotted the FBI’s Kyle Craig waiting for her near her office. She hurried down the hallway toward him.
This is not good
, she told herself.
Oh dear God, no. Why is Kyle here? What does he have to tell me?
    “Kyle, what is it?” Her voice trembled and nearly went out of control.
    “I have to talk to you,” he said, taking her hand. “Please, just listen. Come inside your office, Christine.”

Chapter 89

    T HAT NIGHT, back in my room at the Marriott in Princeton, I couldn’t sleep again. It was two cases, both running concurrently in my mind. I skimmed several chapters from a rather pedestrian book about trains, just to gather
data.
    I was starting to familiarize myself with the vocabulary of trains: vestibules, step boxes, roomettes, annunciators, the deadman control. I knew that trains were a key part to the mystery I had been asked to solve.
    What part had Gary Soneji played in the attack at Alex Cross’s house?
    Who was his partner?
    I went to work at my PowerBook, which I’d had set up on the hotel room desk. As I would later relate to Kyle Craig, I no sooner sat down than the specially designed alarm in the computer started to
beep
. A fax was waiting for me.
    I knew instantly what it was — Smith was calling. He had been contacting me for over a year, on a regular basis. Who was tracking whom? I sometimes asked myself.
    The fax message was classic Smith. I read it line by line.

Paris — Wednesday
.

In Foucault’s Discipline & Punish, the philosopher suggests that in the modern age we are moving from individual punishment to a paradigm of generalized punishment. I, for one, believe that is an unfortunate happenstance. Do you see where I might be going with this line of thinking, and what my ultimate mission might be?

I’m missing you over here on the Continent, missing you terribly. Alex Cross isn’t worth your valuable time and energy
.

I’ve taken one here in Paris in your honor — a doctor! A doctor, a surgeon, just like you wanted to be once upon a time
.

Always,

Mr. Smith

Chapter 90

    T HIS WAS THE WAY the killer communicated with me for more than a year. E-mail messages arrived on the PowerBook at any time of