Cat & Mouse

I raised my hands defensively, “Can’t help. Won’t do it, Kyle. First, because I’m already overloaded with Soneji. Second, because I’m losing my family on account of my work habits.”

Kyle nodded. “All right, all right. I hear you. I see the larger picture. I even understand and sympathize, to a degree. But since you’re here, with a little time on your hands, I do need to talk to you about Mr. Smith. Believe me, Alex, you’ve never seen anything like this. You’ve got to be a little curious.”

“I’m not. In fact, I’m going to leave now. Walk right out that door I came in.”

“We’ve got an unbelievably ugly problem on our hands, Alex. Just let me talk, and you listen. Just listen,” Kyle pleaded.

I relented, but just a litte. “I’ll listen. That’s all. I’m not getting involved with this.”

Kyle made a small, ceremonial bow in my direction. “Just listen,” Kyle said. “Listen and keep an open mind, Alex. This is going to blow your mind, I guarantee it. It’s blown mine.”

Then Kyle proceeded to tell me about an agent named Thomas Pierce. Pierce was in charge of the Mr. Smith case. What was intriguing was that Smith had brutally murdered Pierce’s fiancée some years back.

“Thomas Pierce is the most thorough investigator and the most brilliant person I’ve ever met,” Kyle told me. “At first, we wouldn’t let him anywhere near the Smith case, for obvious reasons. He worked it on his own. He made progress where we hadn’t. Finally, he made it clear that if he couldn’t work on Smith, he’d leave the Bureau. He even threatened to try and solve the case on his own.”

“You put him on the case?” I asked Kyle.

“He’s very persuasive. In the end, he made in case to the Director. He sold Burns. Pierce is logical, and he’s creative. He can analyze a problem like nobody I’ve ever seen. He’s been fanatical on Mr. Smith. Works eighteen-and twenty-hour days.”

“But even Pierce can’t crack this case,” I said and pointed at the Big Board.

Kyle nodded. “We’re finally getting close, Alex. I desperately need your input. And I want you to meet Thomas Pierce. You have to meet Pierce.”

“I said I’d listen,” I told Kyle. “But I don’t have to meet anyone.”

Nearly four hours later, Kyle finally let me out of his clutches. He had blown my mind, all right-about Mr. Smith and about Thomas Pierce-but I wasn’t getting involved. I couldn’t.

I finally made my way back to SAS to check on Rosie. Chet Elliott was able to see me right away. He was still wearing his lab coat, gloves, and the gold-tinted goggles. His slow-gaited walk toward me said bad news. I didn’t want to hear it.

Then he surprised me and grinned. “We don’t see anything wrong with her. Alex. I don’t think Soneji did anything to her. He was just mind-humping you. We checked her for volatile compounds-nada. Then for nonvolatile organic compounds that would be unusual in her system-also negative. Forensic serology took some blood. You ought to leave Red with us for a couple of days, but I doubt we’ll find anything. You can leave her here, period, if you like. She’s really cool cat.”

“I know.” I nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “Can I see her?” I asked Chet.

“Sure can. She’s been asking for you all morning. I don’t know why, but she seems to like you.”

“She knows I’m a cool cat, too.” I smiled.

He took me back to see Rosie. She was being kept in a small cage, and she looked pissed as hell. I’d brought her here, hadn’t I? I might as well have administered the lab tests myself.

“Not my fault,” I explained as best I could. “Blame that nutcase Gary Soneji, not me. Don’t look at me like that.”

She finally let me pick her up and she even nuzzled my cheek. “You’re being a very brave good girl,” I whispered. “I owe you one, and I always pay my debts.”

She purred and finally licked my cheek with her sandpaper tongue. Sweet lady, Rosie O’Grady.

Chapter 32

London, England

MR. SMITH was dressed like an anonymous street person in a ripped and soiled black anorak. The killer was walking quickly along Lower Regent Street in the direction of Piccadilly Circus.

Going to the Circus, oh boy, oh boy! he was thinking. His cynicism was as thick and heavy as the air in London.

No one seemed to notice him in the late-afternoon crowds. No one paid much attention to the poor in any of the large, “civilized” capitals. Mr. Smith had noticed that, and used it to his advantage.

He hurried along with his duffel bag until he finally reached Piccadilly, where the crowds were even denser.

His attentive eyes took in the usual traffic snarl, which could be expected at the hub of five major streets. He also saw Tower Records, McDonald’s, the Trocadero, far too many neon ads. Backpackers and camera hounds were everywhere on the street and sidewalks.

And a single alien creature-himself.

One being who didn’t fit in any way with the others.

Mr. Smith suddenly felt so alone, incredibly lonely in the middle of all these people in London town.