[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

her to slap on another fake nose, wig, thirty pounds, and you're good to go,"
replied the DJ. "Or maybe Meryl Streep. Emma Thompson? Kate Winslet would be
strong."
My check-in at the station house took almost forty-five minutes. I had to
speak with four different personnel and show my ID half a dozen times just to
reach the small interrogation room where they were going to bring Mary Wagner
to me. Eventually  in their own sweet time.
When I finally saw her, my first reaction, surprisingly, was pity.
Mary looked as though she hadn't slept, with bruise-colored half-moons under
her eyes and a drooping, shuffling walk. The pink hotel uniform was gone. She
now wore shapeless gray sweatpants and an old UCLA sweatshirt flecked with
pale yellow paint the same color as her kitchen.
Vague recognition flickered in her eyes when she saw me.
I was reminded of some of the Alzheimer's patients I regularly visited at St.
Anthony's in D.C.
I told the guard to remove her cuffs and wait outside.
Page 133
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"I'll be okay with her. We're friends."
"Friends," Mary repeated as she stared deeply into my eyes.
Chapter 95
"MARY, DO YOU REMEMBER ME from yesterday?"I asked as soon as the guard was
back out in the hallway. I had pulled up a chair and sat across from her. The
plain four-by-eight table between us was bolted to the floor. It was chilly in
the small room, with a draft from somewhere.
"You're Mister Cross," she said dully. "FBI Agent Cross. Excuse me, I'm
sorry."
"Good memory. Do you know why you're here?"
She tensed, though it was barely discernible from her otherwise flat affect.
"They think I'm that woman. They're accusing me of murder." Her gaze fell to
the floor. "Murders. More than one. All those Hollywood people. They think I
did it."
I was actually glad she said "they." It meant I could still be a potential
ally in her mind. Maybe she'd tell me some of her secrets after all, and maybe
not.
"We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to," I said.
She blinked once, and seemed to focus a little. She squinted her eyes at me,
then looked down at the floor.
"Would you like anything? Are you thirsty?" I asked. I wanted her to feel as
comfortable as possible with me, but I was also feeling an urge to help this
woman. She looked and sounded so terrible, possibly impaired.
Now she looked up, her eyes searching mine. "Could I have a cup of coffee?
Would it be too much trouble?"
The coffee arrived, and Mary held the paper cup with her fingertips and
sipped at it with an unexpected kind of delicacy. The coffee seemed to revive
her a little, too.
She kept sneaking glances at me, and she absently smoothed her hair against
her head. "Thanks." Her eyes were a little brighter, and I saw a shade of the
friendly woman from the day before.
"Mary, do you have any questions about what's going on? I'm sure you must."
Immediately, a pall came over her. Her emotions were palpably fragile.
Suddenly, tears welled up in her eyes, and she nodded without speaking.
"What is it, Mary?"
She looked up to the corner of the ceiling, where a camera was watching us. I
knew that at least a half-dozen law enforcement personnel and psychiatric
specialists were tucked away less than ten feet from where we sat.
Mary seemed to guess as much. When she did speak, it was in a whisper.
Page 134
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"They won't tell me anything about mychildren ." Her face contorted as she
fought back more tears.
Chapter 96
"YOURCHILDREN?" I asked, somewhat confused, but going along with what she'd
said.
"Do you know where they are?" Her voice was wavery, but her energy had
increased quite a bit already.
"No, I don't," I answered truthfully. "I can look into it. I'll need some
more information from you."
"Go ahead. I'll tell you what you need to know. They're too young to be on
their own."
"How many children do you have?" I asked her.
She seemed dumbfounded by the question. "Three. Don't you already know?"
I took out my pad. "How old are they, Mary?"
"Brendan's eight, Ashley's five, and Adam's eleven months." She spoke
haltingly while I wrote it all down.
Eleven months?
It was certainly possible she had given birth a year ago, but somehow, I
doubted it very much.
I checked the ages to be sure about what she'd said. "Eight, five, eleven
months?"
Mary nodded. "That's right."
"And how old are you, Mary?"
For the first time, I saw anger show on her face. She balled her hands into
hard fists, closed her eyes, and struggled to compose herself. What was this
all about?
"I'm twenty-six, for God's sake. What difference does that make? Can we get
back to my kids now?"
Twenty-six? Not even close. Wow. There it was. The first opening.
I looked at my notes; then I decided to take a little leap with her. "So
Brendan, Ashley, and Adam live at home with you. Is that right?"
She nodded again. When I got something right, it seemed to calm her down
tremendously. Relief spread over her face, then seemed to continue down into
her body.
"And were they home yesterday when I was there?"
She looked confused now, and the anger that had ebbed away edged back. "You
Page 135 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]