Violets Are Blue

goddamn hard,” the FBI techie complained.
    Because he’s the Mastermind,
I wanted to yell at him.
    I saw the Washington Convention Center on the right. The van was really clipping along, doing sixty or seventy on the city streets.
    We passed the Renaissance Hotel. Where the hell was the Mastermind calling from?
    “I think we have a fix on him. We’re real close,” one of the young agents said in an excited voice.
    The FBI van stopped, and suddenly it was chaos inside. Sampson and I pulled out our guns. We had him. I couldn’t believe we had him.
    Then everyone inside the van groaned and cursed. I looked outside and saw why. I shook my head in disgust.
    “Jesus Christ, do you believe this shit!” Sampson yelled, and pounded the wall of the van. We were at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue, the J. Edgar Hoover Building, which is FBI headquarters.
    “What’s happening now?” I asked the agent in charge. “Where the hell is he?”
    “Shit, the signal is
roaming
again. It’s moving outside Washington. Okay, now it’s back in the city. Christ, the signal just skipped out of the country.”
    “Good bye, Alex. For now, anyway. As I told you before, you’re next,”
the Mastermind said, and then he hung up on me.

Chapter 5

    THE REST of my day was long, hard, and depressing. More than anything, I needed a break from the Mastermind.
    I’m not exactly sure when or where or how I had gotten up the nerve, but I had a date that night. It was with a lawyer for the D.A.’s office here in Washington. Elizabeth Moore was wickedly funny and nicely irreverent. She was a large woman with a really sweet smile that made
me
smile. We were having dinner at Marcel’s in Foggy Bottom, which is a good spot for this kind of thing. The food is French, with a Flemish flair. The night couldn’t have been going any better. I thought so, and I was pretty sure that Elizabeth would agree.
    After the waiter left with our orders for dessert and coffee, Elizabeth put her hand lightly on top of mine. Our table was lit by a simple votive candle in a crystal holder.
    “All right, Alex. We’ve gone through all the preliminaries. I
enjoyed
the preliminaries,” she said. “Now what’s the catch? There has to be a catch. Has to be. All the good ones
are
taken. I know that from experience. So why are you still playing the dating game?”
    I understood exactly what Elizabeth meant, but I pretended to look slightly puzzled.
    “Catch?” I shrugged, then I finally started to smile.
    She laughed out loud. “You’re what — thirty-nine, forty?”
    “Forty-two, but thanks,” I said.
    “You passed every test I could possibly throw at you. . . .”
    “Such as?”
    “Such as picking a great spot for dinner. Romantic, but not too romantic. Such as being right on time when you arrived to pick me up. Such as
listening
to some of the things that actually interest me. Such as being very handsome — not that it matters to me. Yeah, right.”
    “I also like children, wouldn’t mind having more,” I added. “I’ve read all of Toni Morrison’s novels. I’m a decent plumber. I can cook if I have to.”
    “The
catch
?” she asked again. “Let’s leave it.”
    Our waiter returned with the coffee and desserts, and right as he was pouring a steaming cup for Elizabeth, the beeper on my belt went off.
    Oh, Jesus.
    Busted!
    I looked across the table at her — and I blinked. I was definitely the first one to blink.
    “You mind if I take this? It’s important. I recognize the number — the FBI in Quantico. I won’t be long. I’ll be right back.”
    I went to the rest-room area and used my cell phone. I called Kyle Craig in Virginia. Kyle had been a solid friend for many years, but ever since I had become liaison between the Bureau and the D.C. police, I’d seen way too much of him. He kept dragging me into the nastiest murder cases on the FBI’s docket. I hated to take his calls anymore. Now what had happened?
    Kyle knew who was calling. He didn’t even bother to say hello. “Alex, do you remember a case you and I worked about fourteen months ago? A runaway girl was found hung from a lighting fixture in her hotel room. Patricia Cameron? There have been two murders in San Francisco that match up. Happened last night in Golden Gate Park. This is a very bad scene — the worst I’ve heard about in a while.”
    “Kyle, I’m having dinner with an attractive, very nice, interesting woman. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.
I’ll call you
. I’m off