The Mark of the Assassin
of crystal. Astrid liked to be on top. Astrid liked to be in
control. Astrid trusted no one, especially her lovers. For a long time,
she lay pressed against his body, kissing his mouth, staring into his
eyes. Then she rose onto her knees, legs straddling his body, and it was
as if Delaroche was no longer there. She toyed with her hair, she
stroked the nipples of her small, upturned breasts. Then her eyes
closed, and her head rolled back. She pleaded with him to come inside
her. When he did she convulsed several times, then fell forward onto his
chest, her body damp with sweat. After a moment, she rolled onto her
back and watched rain running over the skylight. "Promise me one thing,
Jean-Paul Delaroche," she said. "Promise me you won't kill me when
you're finished with me."
"I promise I won't kill you."
She rose onto her elbow, looked into his eyes, and kissed his mouth.
"Have you seen Arbatov lately?"
"Yes, in Roscoff a few days ago."
"How is he?" she asked. "Same as ever," Delaroche said.
CHAPTER 18.
Washington, D.C.
ELIZABETH OSBOURNE WAITED on the corner of 34th and M streets, jogging
in place, blowing on her hands against the cold morning air. She looked
at her watch. Susanna was five minutes late. She had many faults, but
tardiness was not one of them. She walked across the street to a pay
phone and punched in Susanna's home number. The answering machine picked
up. "Susanna, it's Elizabeth. Pick up if you're there. I'm waiting for
you on the corner. I'll give you a few more minutes, then I have to get
going. I'll try you at work."
She dialed Susanna's desk at the Post. Her voice mail picked up.
Elizabeth hung up without leaving a message. She looked up 34th Street
but saw no sign of Susanna or Carson. She called home and checked her
machine to see if Susanna had left a message there. The answering
machine told her she had one message. She punched the access code, but
it was only Max telling her a lunch meeting had been canceled. She hung
up, thinking, Dammit, where the hell is she? She thought of the phone
call from Susanna last night. She was about to break a big story about
Mitchell Elliott and Samuel Braxton. Maybe she was on the phone, working
the story. Maybe she was talking to her editors. She turned and jogged
up 34th Street. At Volta Place she turned right and then made another
right into Pomander Walk. She bounded up the steps to Susanna's house
and rang the bell. There was no answer. She hammered on the wooden door
with the side of her fist. Again, there was no answer and no sound from
within the house. Carson was ever vigilant; he usually started barking
before Elizabeth knocked on the door. If the dog were inside he'd be
barking his head off. She turned around and saw lights burning inside
Harry Scanlon's house. She crossed the walkway and knocked on the door.
Scanlon answered in his bathrobe. "I'm sorry to bother you, Harry, but
Susanna and I were supposed to go for a run, and she stood me up. It's
just not like her. I'm worried. Do you still have her key?"
"Sure, hang on a sec."
Scanlon disappeared into the house and came back a moment later with a
single key. "I'll give you a hand," he said. They went back to Susanna's
front door. Scanlon shoved the key into the lock and pushed open the
door. Elizabeth called out, "Susanna!" There was no answer. She looked
around the living room and the kitchen. Everything seemed normal. She
started up the stairs, calling Susanna's name, Scanlon behind her. When
she reached the landing she saw the dog. "Oh, God! Susanna! Susanna!"
She stepped over the body of the dog and looked in the bathroom. The
white tile floor was covered with glass where a beer bottle had fallen
and shattered. Elizabeth walked a few more steps down the hall and
looked into the study. She turned away and screamed.
ELIZABETH SAT on the front steps of Harry Scanlon's house, a woolen
blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A half-dozen Metropolitan Police
cruisers, red and blue lights flashing, choked Volta Place. The crime
scene truck had arrived, and the technicians were poring over the inside
of Susanna's house. She tried to call Michael, but he had not answered
his phone. She left an emergency message with the operator and Harry
Scanlon's number. She thought, Dammit, Michael, I need you. Elizabeth
pulled the blanket about her tightly, but the shaking wouldn't stop. She
closed her eyes, but she saw Susanna's shattered body
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