JA/SAES PATTERSON
eyelids. She couldn't believe what was happening. 'We're going to hang you and drink every last drop. And the most amazing thing - you're going to enjoy it when you die. It's ecstasy, Jamilla.'
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Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue
Chapter Eighty-Three
I had returned to Washington, and was taking a much needed day off. Why not? I hadn't seen enough of the kids lately, and it was Saturday after all. Damon, Jannie and I went to the Corcoran Gallery of Art that afternoon. The little creeps fiercely resisted the museum at first, but once they were inside the Palace of Gold and Light they were completely entranced. Then they didn't want to leave. Typical of them. When we eventually got home at around four, Nana told me I was to call Tim Bradley at the San Francisco Examiner. Give me a break. This case wouldn't stop. Now I was supposed to call Jamilla's buddy? 'It's important that you call. That's the message,' Nana said. She was baking two cherry pies. Reminding me how good it was to be home. It was one o'clock in California. I called Tim Bradley at his office. He picked up right away.'Bradley.' 'It's Detective Alex Cross.' 'Hi. I hoped you'd call. I'm a friend of Jamilla Hughes.' I knew that much already. I interrupted. 'Is she okay?' 'Why do you ask that. Detective? She went to Santa Cruz yesterday. Did you know about that?' 'She mentioned she might go. Did somebody go with her?' I asked. 'I suggested she take company.' His answer was curt and defensive. 'No. Like Jamilla always says, she's a big girl. And she carries a big gun.'
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I frowned and shook my head. 'So what's going on? Has something happened? Is something the matter?' 'No, not necessarily. She's usually careful, precise. I just haven't heard from her, and she promised to call. Last night. It's been another four hours since I first called you. I'm a little concerned. It's probably nothing. But I thought you would know best. . . about this particular case.' 'Does she do things like this often?' I asked. 'Investigate a case on her day off? Yes. That's Jam. But she would definitely call me if she promised to.' I was worried now. I thought of my last two partners. Both Patsy Hampton and Betsey Cavalierre had died, and neither of the victims had had justice. The Mastermind claimed to have killed Betsey. And also detective Maureen Cooke in New Orleans. So what about Inspector Jamilla Hughes? 'I'm going to call the local police in Santa Cruz. She gave me a name and a number. I think it was Conover. I have it written down in my notes. I'm going to call him right now.' 'All right, thank you. Detective. Will you let me know?' Tim the reporter asked. 'I'd appreciate it.' I said that I would, then tried to reach Lieutenant Harry Conover at police headquarters in Santa Cruz. He wasn't working, but I made a fuss, and dropped Kyle Craig's name. The sergeant reluctantly gave me Conover's home number. Someone picked up at the number, and I heard loud music that I vaguely recognized as U2. 'We're having a party at the pool. C'mon over. Or call back on Monday,' said a male voice. 'Bye, bye for now.' The line went dead. I redialed and said,'Lieutenant Conover, please. It's an emergency. This is Detective Alex Cross. It's about Inspector Jamilla Hughes of the San Francisco PD/ 'Awhh shit,' I heard, then, 'this is Conover. Who is this again?' I explained who I was and my involvement in the case in as few words as possible. I had the feeling that Harry Conover was drunk, or close to it. It was his day off, but Jesus - it wasn't even two in the afternoon his time.
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'She went up in the hills, looking for new-wave vampires,' he said and laughed derisively. 'There are no vampires in Santa Cruz, Detective. Trust me on that. I'm sure she's just fine. She probably headed back to San Francisco.' 'There have been at least two dozen vampire-style murders so far.'I tried to sober Conover up, at least to get through to him. 'They hang their victims, and then drain the blood.' 'I told you what I know. Detective,'he said.'I guess I could call out some patrol cars,' he added. 'You do that. And while you do, I'm going to call the FBI. They believe in vampire murders. When was the last time you saw Inspector Hughes?' He hesitated. 'Who knows. Let me see, must be close to twenty-four hours.' I hung up on Conover. I didn't like him at all. I sat and thought about everything that had happened since I'd first met Jamilla Hughes. The case made my head spin. Everything about it was over the edge, completely new territory. Having the Mastermind around made it even worse. I phoned Kyle Craig, and then American Airlines. I called Tim Bradley back and told him I was on my way to California. Santa Cruz. The vampire capital. Jamilla was in trouble out there. I could feel it in my blood.
227
Alex Cross 7 - Violets Are Blue
Chapter Eighty-Four
On the long flight out to California, I realized that I hadn't been tormented by the Mastermind in two days. That was unusual, and I wondered if he was traveling too. Que pasa, Mastermind? Maybe he was on the plane to San Francisco with me? I remembered a tired old joke about paranoia. A man tells his psychiatrist that everybody hates him. The psychiatrist says he's being ridiculous - everybody hasn't met him yet. It got worse. At one point, I actually took a walk down the aisle and checked out the other passengers. No one looked even vaguely familiar. No Mastermind on board. No one seemed to be wearing fangs, either. I was losing it. I arrived at San Francisco International Airport and was met by agents from the FBI. They told me that Kyle was on his way from New Orleans. Lately, Kyle had been pressuring me more than ever about making the switch to the FBI. The change certainly made financial sense. Agents earned a lot more than detectives. The hours were usually better, too. Maybe I would talk to Nana and the kids after this was over. Hopefully soon, but why should I think that? I left the airport with three agents in a dark blue off-road vehicle. I sat in back with the senior agent from San Francisco. His name was Robert Hatfield and he told me some of what they had so far. 'We found where some of the so-called vampires are staying. It's a ranch in the foothills south of Santa Cruz, not too far from the ocean. At this juncture, we don't know if Inspector Hughes is being held there. She hasn't been spotted.'
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'What's out there in the hills?' I asked Hatfield. He could have been anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. He looked fit. His hair in a short brush cut. Appearances obviously meant a lot to him. 'Not a hell of a lot. It's rural. A couple of fairly large ranches. Rocks, desert birds of prey, a few mountain cats.' 'Not tigers?'I asked. 'Funny you should mention tigers. The ranch out there used to be a preserve for wild animals. Bears, wolves, tigers, even an elephant or two. The owners trained animals, mostly for use in feature films and commercials. They were basically hippies left over from the Sixties. The ranch was actually licensed by the Department of the Interior. It did business with Tippi Hedren, Siegfried and Roy.' 'The animals aren't still on the property?' 'Not for the past four or five years. The original owners disappeared. No one's been interested in buying the land. It's about fifty-five acres. Not good for much. You'll see.' 'What about the animals that were there? You know what happened to them?' 'Some were bought by other preserves that supply specialty animals to movies. Brigitte Bardot supposedly took some. So did the San Diego Zoo.' I sat back in my seat and thought everything through while we drove. I didn't want to get my hopes up again. I wondered if the past owners of the ranch might have left a tiger behind. I spun a wild scenario out in my head. Actually, it was kind of interesting. Vampires in Africa and Asia supposedly changed shape into big cats rather than bats or wolves. The tiger imagery was certainly scarier than bats, and so were the ravaged bodies I had seen. Also, Santa Cruz had a reputation to uphold: the vampire capital. We passed a farmhouse along the highway and then a small winery. Not much else to see, though. Agent Hatfield told me that in summer the hills turned brown and gold, much like the African veldt. This time of year there was lots of rain, and the terrain was a rich green, reminiscent of parts of Ireland. I had been trying not to think about Jamilla and the danger she might be in. Why did she have to come up here alone? What drove her?