The Tower

Travers watched Jade as he spoke. Her anger faded as she realized where he was going.

"You want to know who killed her?" Jade continued. "It was someone who knew her, someone who wanted to look at her face-to-face when she died. Someone who knew the boy was out, someone who has to sob nonstop so he can stall for time when he's being questioned."

He turned to leave.

The burly cop shouted after him, "What are you implying?"

"Oh please. Don't pretend this is news to you. You know you're gonna head right back to the station, meet with your captain, and discuss exactly the same shit," Jade said. He had very little patience for a bad murder.

The burly cop was quiet, still glaring at Jade, but with doubt starting to show on his angry face. He ran his hand across his bull neck.

"Look, we don't have time for this shit," Jade said. "Brand-new glove downstairs." He looked over at Royce. "At least you could have come up with something a touch more original. Give me a break."

"The robber had time to separate this from the stack of bills just to leave it for us?" Travers asked, assuming Jade's aggressive tone. She picked up the deposit slip, careful to hold it only by its corner. "No way. The only people who have to try this hard to point at someone else are the most obvious suspects." She waved the deposit slip in front of the husband. "Like the glove. Bullshit."

Jade looked at her and grinned. He was beginning to like her.

Another cop cleared his throat, then spoke softly to the burly cop. "Look, Ed, we might have enough to move on this now. Some pretty glaring discrepancies. I mean, if the robber knew people were home, he would've gone after the man first. Why go after the little woman?"

Jade nodded. "Exactly. Always neutralize the biggest threat right away. Then take your time with the valuables and the woman."

Everyone stared, first at Jade, then at the husband, his face still buried in the comforter.

"What about the money?" the burly cop asked.

"Probably buried somewhere with the other glove," Jade replied. "Check for a shovel with fresh dirt on it. Might even find dirt in the trunk of his car. See if they match."

Travers nodded. She was beginning to understand how Jade operated, how he cast himself as the killer in order to understand how the murder was carried out. She realized that even as they had walked up the driveway, he had been thinking about how he was going to break into the house, how he was going to get upstairs, how he was going to kill the woman if he had to. She glanced at the husband; he was a murderer, but he wasn't a predator. Not the way Jade was. Travers felt a cold shiver run across her back, and she realized that she was sweating.

The burly cop turned to his partner. "All right. We'll run a few more questions on him while the crime scene's fresh."

"Whatever," Jade said. He turned to Travers. "Let's go."

The husband was suddenly on his feet, facing Jade. The tears were gone. His eyes were alive now. "You don't know. You don't know anything about this."

"Look, pal," Jade said. "I'm sure you're right. But I also really don't care. I'm just in a rush here." He tapped Travers on the shoulder and she followed him out of the room.

They heard one of the cops reading Royce his rights as they stepped into the hallway.

"Nice, Marlow," Travers said out of the side of her mouth as they descended the stairs.

"Glad you finally spoke up there, Travers."

"Anything turn up?" one of the cops downstairs asked as they headed for the door.

"Nothing important," Jade answered as he swept by.

Chapter 30

W E L L rested after a comfortable night's sleep in the Mercedes, Allander whistled the first motif of the Jupiter symphony as he emerged from the alley and walked past the broken-down machinery that littered the grounds. The blue of his shirt was resplendent against the dreary colors of the deserted lot.

A DANGER DO NOT ENTER sign lay in a patch of weeds by the side of the gate, and Allander picked it up, admiring it in the waning sunlight. He wedged its corners between the links of the fence, then smacked his hands together to rid them of dust.

Having whistled his way well into the recapitulation, he turned and headed toward the bus station.

Jade began the next morning by carefully studying the photographs from the first crime scene. He sat on his couch in the middle of his living room, chewing ice from a cup that he rested against his crotch.

The room was becoming cluttered as Jade collected more background information. He had stacked books on the glass table in front of him, and the files he had gotten from the FBI were piled up everywhere. It seemed as if the first one had reproduced, spawning an extended family. Now files littered the floor and the couch, many of them opened to important pages.