Four Blind Mice

at me? “Well, since you didn’t ask. . . . It’s better here in prison than I could have hoped. Believe it or not, I’m a minor celebrity. And not just among my peers. Even the kick-ass guards cater to my wishes. I have lots of visitors. I’m writing a book, Alex. And, of course, I’m figuring out some way to get out of here. Trust me, I will someday. It’s just a matter of time. It almost happened a month ago.
This
close. I would have come to visit, of course. You and Nana and those sweet children.”
    “Does Luu know
anything?
” I asked.
    “Oh, absolutely. He’s very well read. Speaks three languages fluently. I like Luu very much. We’re dear friends. I also like Ted Kaczynski; Yu Kikimura, the Japanese terrorist; and Ramon Matta, formerly with the Medellín cartel. Interesting inmates, fascinating lives, though more conservative than I would have expected. Not Ted, but the others.”
    I’d had enough. Of Kyle Craig. Luu. Florence.
    “I’m going,” I said. I started to walk away.
    “You’ll be back,” Kyle whispered. “Or maybe I’ll come and visit you next time. At any rate, best of luck with your fascinating murder case.”
    I turned back. “You’ll be in here for the rest of your life. Not too long, I hope.”
    Kyle Craig laughed heartily in his cell. More than ever, he gave me the creeps.

Chapter 74
    AS JOHN SAMPSON drove into Bay Head, New Jersey, he felt his spirits rise dramatically, and the very pleasant sensation inside made him smile to himself. He was doing a lot of that lately. Hell, he was going to ruin his tough-guy image if he kept this shit up much longer.
    He drove along Route 35, past sprawling beach houses, Central Market, and a couple of picturesque, whitewashed churches. This part of the Jersey Shore was quiet and undeniably pretty. He couldn’t help but appreciate the serenity and the well-preserved beauty. A slight breeze from the ocean blew through the open windows of his Cougar. Geraniums and rose hips bloomed along the side of the road, obviously planted by the village itself.
    What was not to like? He was glad to be here again.
    Long ways from D.C.,
he found himself thinking.
And it’s not all bad. For a change of pace anyway. For a break from all the murders.
    During the drive up from D.C., Sampson had tried to convince himself that this excursion to the Jersey Shore was all about Ellis Cooper and the other murders, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Coop was definitely a big part of it, but this was also about Billie Houston.
    He thought about her all the time. What was it about that wisp of a woman?
    Actually, he knew at least part of the answer. From the moment he’d met her, he was completely comfortable. She was the female friend he’d been hoping to meet for a long time. It was hard to describe the feeling, but he knew he’d never had it before. He felt that he could tell Billie things about himself that he’d held inside for a long time. He trusted her already. When he was with her, he could come outside of himself, leave the castle he had constructed to guard the person he really was from being hurt.
    On the other hand, John Sampson had never had a successful long-term relationship with any woman. Never been married, not even seriously tempted. So he wasn’t going to delude himself or get too soppy and sentimental about Billie either. He had good reasons to be here in Jersey. A few more questions had to be asked about her husband’s time in Vietnam. He and Alex had learned things from Owen Handler that needed filling in. He
was
going to solve this murder case. Somehow, someway.
    Well, hell, that cynical little introspection had sure dampened his spirits and any burgeoning romance in his soul.
    Then he happened to see her up ahead on East Avenue.
    Yep, it was her!
    Billie was climbing out of her light green convertible with an armful of groceries. He’d called ahead and said he might be coming.
    Now who had she been shopping for? Did she expect him to stay for dinner? Oh brother, he needed to calm himself down.
Slow down. You’re on the job, that’s all. This is just police business.
    Then Billie saw his car and waved her free arm, and he found himself leaning out of the window of the Cougar, calling up the street, “Hey there, little one.”
Hey there, little one?
    What the hell had happened to smooth and cool and detached John Sampson? What was happening to him?
    And why did he feel good about it?

Chapter 75
    BILLIE UNDERSTOOD THAT she and