Mary, Mary

on to tell me LAPD had found a human hair under one of the stickers at the movie theater in Westwood. Testing indicated it was Caucasian female, and it was
not
Patrice Bennett’s. The fact that it was trapped on a smooth, vertical surface under the sticker gave it some pretty good weight as evidence, though certainly not ironclad.
    I juggled this new information with what I already knew as I gave Galletta my own take on Mary Smith. It included my gut feeling that we shouldn’t rule out either sex just yet.
    “But you should take everything I tell you with a grain of salt. I’m not an all-science kind of guy.”
    She smirked, though the effect was pleasant enough. “I’ll take that into account, Agent Cross. Now, what else?”
    “Do you have a media plan?”
    I wanted to emphasize it as her plan, completely her show, which it was, of course. This was going to be my first and last day on the Mary Smith case. If I played it right, I wouldn’t even have to say that out loud. I would just walk away.
    “
Here’s
my media plan.”
    Jeanne Galletta reached up and flipped on a wall-mounted television. She punched through several channels, stopping wherever there was coverage of the two murders.
    “The shocking double murder of actress Antonia Schifman and her driver . . .”
    “We’re taking you live now to Beverly Hills . . .”
    “Patrice Bennett’s former assistant on the line . . .”
    Many of them were national broadcasts, everything from CNN to E! Entertainment Television.
    Galletta pushed a button that muted the sound.
    “This is the kind of crap that some reporters live for. I’ve got a twenty-four-hour detail on both crime scenes just to keep these assholes away, plus the damn paparazzi. It’s totally out of control, and it’s going to get much worse. You’ve been through it. You have any suggestions?”
    Did I ever. We had all learned a few painful lessons about the double-edged sword of media coverage with the D.C. sniper case a few years back.
    “Here’s my take on it—for what it’s worth, and I hope it’s something. Don’t try to control the coverage, because you never will,” I told her. “The only thing you can control is what crime-scene information gets out there. Put a gag order on everyone connected to the case. No interviews without specific permission from the department. And this might sound a little crazy, but get a couple of people onto a phone detail. Call every retired officer you can find. Tell them not to make any comments to the press, nothing at all. Retired cops can be one of your biggest problems. Some of them just love making up theories for the camera.”
    She gave me another sly smile. “Not that you have an opinion about all this or anything.”
    I shrugged. “Believe me, most of it was learned the hard way.”
    While I spoke, Detective Galletta paced slowly in front of the big wall board. Absorbing the evidence. That’s the way to do it. Let the details gather in the corners of your mind, where they’ll be when you need them. I could already tell that she had good instincts. Healthy cynicism for sure, but she was also a listener. It was easy to see how she’d come into her position so young. Now, could she survive
this?
    I said, “Just one more thought. Mary Smith is probably going to be watching what you do. My suggestion is, don’t disparage her or her work publicly, at least not yet. She’s already playing it as a media game. Right?”
    “Yeah, that’s true. I think so.”
    Detective Galletta stopped and looked up at the silent TV images. “She’s probably eating this all up with a spoon.”
    My thought, too. And this monster needed to be fed very, very carefully.
    This
lady
monster?

Chapter 20
    IT WAS JUST AFTER MIDNIGHT when I finally got back to the hotel at Disney and received some more bad news. It wasn’t just that Jamilla had flown back to San Francisco. I already knew that much and figured I was in the doghouse again with Jam.
    When I entered the hotel room, I saw that Nana Mama was fast asleep on the sofa. A cluster of pale-blue crocheting was still wrapped around her fingers. She slept peacefully, like a child.
    I didn’t want to disturb the poor girl, but she came awake on her own. It had always been that way with Nana. When I was little, all I had to do was stand next to her bed if I was sick or had a nightmare. She always said that she watched over me, even while she was sleeping. Had she been watching over me tonight?
    I stared