The Big Bad Wolf

violent crimes arranged in an eye-catching cubist’s fantasy.
    I rapped my knuckles against her metal nameplate before entering the cube.
    Monnie turned and smiled when she saw me standing there. I noticed glossy photos of her sons, a funny portrait of Monnie and the sons, and also a picture of Pierce Brosnan as a debonair, sexy James Bond. “Hey, look who’s back for more punishment. You can tell by the size of my digs that the Bureau doesn’t realize yet that this is the Information Age, what Bill Clinton used to call the Third Way. You know the joke—the Bureau supports yesterday’s technology tomorrow.”
    “Any information for me?”
    Monnie swiveled back to her computer, an IBM. “Let me print up a few of these choice pieces for your burgeoning collection. I know you like hard copies. Dinosaur.”
    “It’s just the way I work.”
    I had asked around about Monnie and heard the same thing everywhere: She was bright, an incredibly hard worker, woefully underappreciated by the powers at Quantico. I’d also found out that Monnie was a single mother of two and struggling to make ends meet. The only “complaint” against her was that she worked too hard, brought stuff home just about every night and weekend.
    Monnie shuffled together a thick batch of pages for me. I could tell she was obsessive by the way she evened out all the pages. They had to be just so.
    “Anything pop out at you?” I asked.
    She shrugged. “I’m just a researcher, right? More corroboration. Upscale white women who’ve been reported missing in the last year or so. The numbers are out of whack, way too high. A lot of them are attractive blondes. Blondes
do not
have more fun in these instances. No particular regional skew, which I want to look into more. Geographic profiling? Sometimes it can pinpoint the exact locus of criminal activity.”
    “No obvious regional differences so far. That’s too bad. Anything in terms of the victims’ appearances?
Any
patterns at all?”
    Monnie clucked her tongue, shook her head. “Nothing sticks out. There are women missing in New England, the South, out West. I’ll check into it more. The women are described as very attractive, for the most part. And
none
of them have been found. They go missing, they stay missing.”
    She looked at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. There was sadness in her eyes. I sensed that she wanted out of this cubicle.
    I reached down for the pages. “We’re trying. I made a promise to the Connolly family.”
    There was a flicker of humor in her light green eyes. “You keep your promises?”
    “Try,” I said. “Thanks for the pages. Don’t work too hard. Go home and see your kids.”
    “You too, Alex. See your kids. You’re working too hard already.”

Chapter 33
    NANA AND THE KIDS, not to mention Rosie the cat, were lying in wait for me on the front porch when I got home that night. Their cranky body language and the sullen looks on their faces weren’t good signs. I figured I knew why everybody was so happy to see me.
You always keep your promises?
    “Seven-thirty. It’s getting later and later,” Nana said, and shook her head. “You mentioned we might go see
Drumline
at the movies. Damon was excited.”
    “It’s orientation,” I told her.
    “Exactly,” Nana said, and the frown on her face deepened. “Wait until the real stuff starts up. You’ll be coming home at midnight again. If at all. You have no life. You have no love life. All those women who like you, Alex—though God knows why—let one of them
catch
you. Let somebody in. Before it’s too late.”
    “Maybe it’s too late already.”
    “Wouldn’t surprise me.”
    “You’re tough,” I said, and plopped down on the porch steps next to the kids. “Your Nana is tough as nails,” I said to them. “Still light out. Anybody want to play hoops?”
    Damon frowned and shook his head. “Not with Jannie. No way that’s gonna happen.”
    “Not with the big
superstar
Damon.” Jannie smirked. “Even though Diana Taurasi could kick his butt at O-U-T.”
    I got up and headed inside. “I’ll get the ball. We’ll play O-U-T.”
    When we returned from the park, Nana had already put Little Alex to bed. She was back sitting on the porch. I’d brought a pint of pralines and cream and a pint of Oreos and cream. We ate, then the kids wandered up to their rooms to sleep, or study, or mess around on the Internet.
    “You’re becoming hopeless, Alex,” Nana pronounced, as she sucked the