Jack & Jill
wrinkle. They
phoned
it in to the
Post.
Told the newspaper where to pick up the trash this morning.”
“Is that a quote?” I asked Kyle.
“I don’t have the exact quote they used, but pick up the trash was definitely part of it,” Kyle said.
I was interested in any irreverence or cynicism Jack and Jill might use in describing the killings. They were obviously into wordplay. They were
artistes.
I also wondered if they might be out there on Pennsylvania Avenue, watching us again. Filming us as we bumbled and stumbled over one another inside the Willard. I wondered if they were preparing a second film, with their usual wide-release distribution method in mind. Surveillance had been posted outside, so if they were there, we had them.
I entered the living room of the suite, and I was relieved to see that Chief of Detectives Pittman was nowhere on the scene. The film actor Michael Robinson was there, however. As they say, he had been born to play the role—perhaps his greatest.
His naked body was in a sitting position on the floor, the head against the couch. It seemed as if the actor had been propped up to see anyone entering the room, and maybe that was the killers’ idea. His eyes stared out at me.
To see, or to be seen?
I wondered. He was not a pretty sight. I took note of the lividity. The blood had already pooled in the lowermost parts of his body, which now had an ugly purplish red color.
Another celebrity had been
exposed. Brought down to earth. Punished for some real or imagined sin? What connection was there with Fitzpatrick and Sheehan? Why a senator, a newswoman, and an actor?
Three murders in such a short time. Celebrities are supposed to be safer than the rest of us, more protected at least, and above all this. It got to me, seeing Michael Robinson dead and violated. There was something visceral and system-shocking about what the killers were doing.
What was the bizarre, complex message from Jack and Jill? That nobody was safe anymore? I rolled the outrageous thought around in my head. It was a good starting point, a concept to work with.
Nobody is safe?
Jack and Jill were telling us they could come for anyone, at any time. They knew how to get
inside.
There was another note with the body. Another Jack and Jill rhyme. It was on the night table, where the weird and ghoulish killers, or killer, had left it for us to find.
Jack and Jill came to The Hill
To do some deadly deeds.
They weren’t far wrong
To judge how long
A bleeding liberal bleeds.
One of Michael Robinson’s agents was in the room. He’d flown down from New York. He was a good-looking man, with silver-blond hair. He wore a long cashmere coat over an Armani suit. I noticed his eyes were red and swollen. He seemed to have been crying.
Two
medical examiners were working on the film actor’s body. I suppose you could call all that attention going out in style. Only the best for Michael Robinson.
There were some other obvious connections to the Fitzpatrick and Sheehan murders. There was a tawdry, kinky side to all three killings. Each had been an execution. And maybe most important so far, they were all “bleeding liberals,” weren’t they? They had all been
exposed
for what they were.
“Dr. Alex Cross? Excuse me, you’re Dr. Alex Cross, aren’t you?”
I turned to a tall, rangy man who had spoken my name. He was clean-cut and his bearing was almost military. About forty, I guessed. He wore a black raincoat over a dark gray suit A buttoned-down look. Definitely senior law enforcement of some kind, I figured.
“Yes, I’m Alex Cross,” I said to him.
“I’m Jay Grayer from the Secret Service,” he introduced himself formally. There was something about the very erect way that he held himself. Extreme confidence. Or was it moral certitude? A stiff pole up his behind?
“I’m senior agent of the First Family detail.”
“What can I do for you?” I asked Agent Grayer. Alarms were already sounding in my head. I felt I was about to get a much fuller understanding of why I had been put on the Jack and Jill investigation. By whom, and for exactly what reason.
“You’re wanted at the White House,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s a command performance, Dr. Cross. It’s about the Jack and Jill investigation. There’s a problem we have to let you know about.”
“I’ll bet it’s a big problem, too,” I said to Agent Grayer.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is. It’s a very big problem, Dr. Cross. We have something
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