Mary, Mary

going to be a while. And if anyone wants anything, make it a
decaf
.”
    She gave him a wink and a grin that she didn’t feel, but it seemed to calm the poor guy down some.
    “And ask Officer Hatfield over there to come see me.” She had met Officer Bobby Hatfield briefly once before, and she always remembered his name because it was the same as one of the Righteous Brothers.
    She sat at the computer and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “What do you know so far?” she asked when Hatfield came over.
    “Same kind of message, written to the same guy at the
Times
. Arnold Griner. It’s possible someone got hold of those other e-mails, but this feels like her to me. You’ve heard of Carmen D’Abruzzi, right?”
    “The chef? Of course. She’s got her own show. I watch it occasionally; I just don’t cook.”
    Trattoria D’Abruzzi was a flavor-of-the-month restaurant in Hollywood, an A-list dinner and after-hours place. More important, Galletta knew, Carmen D’Abruzzi had a very popular syndicated show in which she cooked for her beautiful husband and her two perfect children. Everything was a little
too
perfect for Galletta’s taste, but she did watch the show sometimes.
    Galletta shook her head. “Goddammit. D’Abruzzi’s just this killer’s type. Have you found her yet?”
    “That’s the kicker,” Hatfield told her. “She’s fine, no problem. A little freaked out maybe, but okay. Same with her family. We’ve got a unit at her house already. Check it out—whoever wrote that e-mail never sent it or even finished it.”
    Jeanne Galletta’s head bobbed again. “What the hell? She didn’t send it?”
    “Maybe she got spooked for whatever reason, wasn’t thinking clearly, and just left. Maybe she didn’t like the coffee here. I sure don’t.”
    Galletta stood up and looked over the assembled customers and staff again. “Or maybe she’s still here.”
    “You really think so?”
    “Actually, no fucking way. She’s not dumb. Still, I want to talk to every one of these dinks. This place is a closed box until further notice. Do some initial screening, but no one leaves without going through me personally. Understand? No one. Not for any reason. Not even if they have a note from their mom.”
    “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Hatfield answered. “I got it.”
    As Hatfield walked away, Jeanne Galletta heard him mutter something like “calm down” under his breath. Typical. Male cops tended to respond one way to a man’s orders and another to a woman’s. She shrugged it off and turned her attention to the half-finished e-mail on the screen.
    Half-finished? What the hell was that all about?

Chapter 39
    To: [email protected]
    From: Mary Smith
    To: Carmen D’Abruzzi:
    You worked at your restaurant until three in the morning last night, didn’t you? Busy, busy girl! Then you walked two long blocks by yourself to your car. That’s what you thought, isn’t it? That you were all alone?
    But you weren’t, Carmen. I was right there on the sidewalk with you. I didn’t even try to be careful. You made it easy for me. Not too bright. So into yourself.
Me, me, me, me.
    Maybe you don’t watch the news. Or maybe you just ignore it. Maybe you don’t care that someone is out there looking for people just like you. It was almost like you wanted me to kill you. Which is good, I guess. Because that’s what I wanted, too.
    Watching you, trying to
be
you, I had to wonder if you ever told your two darling children to look both ways when they cross the street. You sure didn’t set a good example for Anthony and Martina last night. You never looked around, not once.
    Which is too bad for all of you, the whole damn pretty-as-a-picture family as seen on your cooking show.
    There’s no telling when your children might end up alone on the curb without you, is there? Now they’ll have to learn that important safety lesson from someone else.
    After you got

Chapter 40
    IT ENDED JUST LIKE THAT —in midsentence.
    Even if it hadn’t, this was a whole new wrinkle in the case. Carmen D’Abruzzi wasn’t dead, and they had the death-threat note. That was something positive, right?
    Jeanne Galletta squeezed her eyes shut, trying to process the new information quickly and correctly. Maybe Mary Smith drafted her messages ahead of time and then finalized them posthomicide.
    But why leave this one here? Would she do it on purpose? Was this even her at all? Might not be.
    Jesus Christ, the questions never ended on this one.