Mary, Mary

was dark blue, and I know it was a Suburban ’cause my mom used to have one. I’ve ridden in it a million times. I remember thinking it was kind of funny, ’cause it was like my mom was driving crazy like that.”
    She paused. “The Suburban took a sharp left out of the parking lot. That’s all I know. Can I fucking go now?”
    That was about as much as Jeanne Galletta had gotten out of her, but I pressed on with a few more questions of my own.
    “Any markings on the car?” I asked. “Bumper stickers, dents, anything at all?”
    She shrugged. “I mostly just saw it from the side, and like I said—it flew by super fast. For a Suburban. I didn’t see the license plate or anything.”
    “How about the driver? Anything you noticed? Was there anyone else in the car? More than one person?”
    She fiddled absently with one of the thick silver rings in her eyebrow while she thought about that. Her makeup was heavy and mostly black, except for the pale white cast of her face powder. I didn’t know too much about Bettina, but she put me in mind of the urban vampire culture I’d investigated a few years back on a case. One thing I’d learned then was how sharp some of these people were despite the goth-slacker stereotype.
    Finally, Bettina shook her head. “I want to say it was a woman, ’cause that would make sense, right? I mean,
Jesus shit,
we’re talking about that fucked-up Hollywood Stalker wench, aren’t we? Don’t bother to lie, I
know
it’s her. One of the other cops told me already.”
    I didn’t respond, letting her think some more until she shrugged again. “Blue Suburban goin’ like a bat out of hell, left turn, that’s all I really know for sure. That’s my final answer.”
    The fact that she wasn’t inclined to fill in details actually boosted my confidence in her. It’s incredible how many people do the opposite, sometimes just to please the interviewer. A few minutes later, I thanked Bettina for her time and help, and let her go.
    Then I found Jeanne Galletta to tell her my thoughts. We met in an unused guest room on the second floor. Jeanne told me that another hotel patron had corroborated the story.
    “Around two o’clock, he saw a large, dark-blue SUV tearing out of the parking lot from his room on the third floor. He couldn’t see too much, but he said it might have been a woman driver.”
    “That doesn’t mean it was Mary Smith,” I said. “But if it was, this would be huge for us. At least two people saw the same vehicle leaving in a hurry.”
    Jeanne nodded silently, weighing the idea. “So then the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question remains: How big do we go with this?”
    There were risks either way, and I puzzled it out loud, partly for her and partly for myself.
    “Time’s not on our side. Mary Smith hasn’t shown any signs of slowing down. Just the opposite, in fact. She seems to be evolving. This is a chance to use the press to our advantage and speed up the search—if that’s what you want.
    “On the other hand, people are already scared, and they’re going to react to every blue Suburban they see, probably to every blue SUV. If this blows up in your face, then it’s one more reason for the public not to trust the Department. But if it gets you Mary Smith, then everything’s okay and you’re a hero.”
    “Russian roulette,” she said dryly.
    “Name of the game,” I said.
    “By the way, I don’t want to be a hero.”
    “Goes with the territory.”
    She finally smiled. “America’s Sherlock Holmes. Didn’t I read that somewhere about you?”
    “Don’t believe everything you read.”
    I could almost hear the clock ticking inside Jeanne’s head, but maybe it was her heartbeat.
    “All right,” she said, looking at her watch. “Let’s do it up. I’m going to have to clear this with the Department, but if I go now, we can get in a press conference before the early news.”
    She paused at the door. “Jesus, I hope this isn’t a mistake I’m making.”
    “Just go,” I said.
    “Come with me, Alex. Okay?”
    “Okay,” I said. “In spite of the Sherlock Holmes remark.”

Chapter 66
    THIS WAS BIG, no doubt about that, anyway. Even James Truscott was on hand. The news conference on the blue Suburban got covered by everybody and their big brother, and was sure to be the lead item on every report until something else even more dramatic turned up on the L.A. murder case. Hopefully, it would be the capture of the Suburban, and then Mary