Part 11 (2/2)

Robert checked to see if his mother lurked in the shadows. The heart-tugging scene had Barbara Veil written all over it. ”Now why would such a pretty, special girl be worried about her mother?” He picked her up and placed her on his knee. ”Your mother seems like a very strong lady.”

”She is,” said Jessica, a.s.surance in her voice. ”But she's worried, I can tell. I hear her on the phone sometimes. She thinks we're really in danger.” Jessica tried not to cry, but couldn't.

Robert wiped away her tears. ”Thanks mother,” he mumbled under his breath. ”Your mom's going to be just fine, and so are you. There're a lot of people watching out for both of you. n.o.body's going to get close. I promise.”

She rewarded him with a big smile. ”Aunt Barbara says you're going to take good care of us so we shouldn't worry. That makes me feel better.”

Mother, my patience is wearing thin. ”You'll be safe Jessica, but I'm not the one who'll be watching you.”

A curious look fell over Jessica's round little face. ”Why not?” She folded her arms across her chest.

”Well, I'm, really busy right now,” he said, reading her irritation.

”It's a bad time.”

”Why can't you help my mommy?”

”It's a little complicated,” he tried to explain. ”I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises.”

Jessica hopped off his knee, tears streaming down her cheeks. ”You don't care if my mommy dies!” She cupped her face in her hands. ”It's not fair!”

Robert reached out but she s.n.a.t.c.hed away. ”I want my daddy,” she said sobbing.

He was dumbstruck. Where the h.e.l.l is her father anyway?

”Now, now, little one. Come with Auntie Barbara,” his mother said entering the room, Judge Patrick right behind her. ”I have fresh baked cookies. That'll cheer you up.”

Robert gave a ”you don't play fair” look, as Barbara led Jessica from the room, ignoring him. Judge Patrick sulked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames.

”I'm sorry,” she said, not facing him. ”Normally I wouldn't be so worried.”

”What about her father?” Robert asked, trying not to sound too blunt.

”He died almost three years ago, cancer.” Robert remembered. ”I'm sorry,” he said. ”I'd forgotten.”

”Three years is a long time. I've managed to move on.” Robert and Fiona both looked down at their feet, s.h.i.+fting back and forth in uncomfortable silence.

”When the Bear makes a try I want Jessica as safe as possible,” Fiona finally said.

”With all due respect, there are a number of federal judges in the area.

No one knows when or where this guy will strike next. He may not even come for you. So far, he hasn't targeted female judges. Mrs. Weiss got it by accident.”

Fiona pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to him. ”This came to the courthouse in the mail today.” Robert looked at the note, written in Russian.

”I had a colleague at Georgetown University translate,” she said. ”It says ”Congratulations. Soon.”

Robert stared at the note, then at her. ”Why haven't I heard anything about this from the police, or on the news?”

”Because I haven't told them. I decided to take another route and called Barbara. She called you, and now you know.” Fiona walked over to the couch and sat down. ”To know that monster is so close,” she said, her voice cracking. ”It's more than I can take.” Robert cursed under his breath. How can I walk away? It would be just like chasing the Bear, which we're doing anyway. At least that's how he'd sell it to Thorne.

Barbara came back into the room. ”There's just too much crying going on in this house,” she said, sitting down next to Fiona. ”It's going to be alright.” She threw her arm around Fiona's shoulders. ”You just wait and see.”

”Okay,” said Robert. ”I'll do it, but it won't be full time. I have another case that's important, so Thorne and I will want to set up at Judge Patrick's house and coordinate with the authorities involved.

We'll have to clear it with the Secret Service and Justice Department.

We'll be in and out, but we'll be there.”

”Good enough,” Barbara cried, slapping her knee.

Fiona ran over to Robert. ”Thank you,” she said. ”It means a lot to me.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and for the first time he noticed how good she smelled.

”You're welcome,” he said. ”Now go tell Jessica.” Fiona left the room. Robert glared at Barbara. ”Mother.”

”I don't want to hear it Robert,” she snapped. ”I don't know what you're working on, but whatever it is can wait.” Barbara walked over and stroked his cheek. ”Thanks son, this means a lot to me. You're doing the right thing.”

”You should've given me more warning than this. Next time...”

”You're always Lord knows where, doing G.o.d knows what. Just do this for me. Take good care of her, please.” Robert kissed the palm of his mother's hand, then her cheek, and headed toward the door. He caught a glimpse of his father in a photo hanging next to the door, and stopped. After all the years, it still bothered him.

”If he were alive he'd be proud of you son. You're just like him.

Tough as nails outside. Good heart inside.” Robert ran his fingers across his father's face. He remembered what it was like growing up without a father, and thought of Jessica.

The front door closed behind him, the night still and quiet, he heard Thorne cursing in his ears.

13.

Robert parked in front of Crossroads and called Thorne. He tried the office, then her cell. No answer. She wouldn't like it at first, but watching over Judge Patrick gave them an edge. They knew the next victim. A break.

He examined the note Fiona gave him. White copier paper and a red felt pen. Different from the typewritten letter left at the Weiss murder scene. Could be a hoax. I'll have Thorne run it against the prints in our files.

Robert decided to keep the note between him and Thorne, at least for the time being. The boys at Quantico can get their two cents in later. He didn't want some over-anxious federal flunky in their way f.u.c.king things up.

He stepped out of the car, his eyes fixed on a distinguished bronze plaque next to the mission's front entrance. The plaque read: In Memory of Patrick Orlando Miller 1949-2002.

”I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.”

Umberto Eco We'll miss you Patrick. From those who call the streets home. A large, impressive carving of Patrick Miller's smiling face hung just above it. Robert remembered the quote. The same Charlie mumbled when they videotaped him. Too obscure to be coincidence, it said Patrick Miller knew more than he told. I have a hunch Popeye knows more too.

It took thirty minutes to find the old vet. At liquor store number three, Robert watched the tarnished wheelchair glide out onto the sidewalk. Popeye spotted him and almost lost control of the brown paper sack balanced on his lap. He tossed his stringy wet hair back out of his face, gave a rueful sneer, and rolled away.

Robert jogged after him. The wheelchair sped up and disappeared around a corner. When Robert caught sight of him again, Popeye was nearly a block away. He quickened his steps, maneuvering in and out of tattered men, women, and children, some pus.h.i.+ng grocery carts, others lugging garbage bag suitcases filled with all they owned.

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