Mary, Mary

Chapter 87

“HEY! TRUSCOTT! Stop right there! I said stop.” I got out of the car as I saw the writer and his photographer approaching Mary Wagner's house, What in hell were they doing here?

We were about the same distance from the bungalow, and suddenly Truscott started to run for it.

So did I, and I was a lot faster than the reporter, and maybe faster than he thought I might be. He gave me no other choice - so I tackled him before he got to the front door. I hit him at the waist, and Truscott went down hard, grunting in pain.

That was the good part, hitting him. What a mess, though, a complete disaster! Mary Wagner was sure to hear us and come out to look, and then we'd be blown. Everything was going to unravel in a hurry now. There wasn't much I could do about it.

I dragged the reporter by his feet until we were out of sight from the Wagner house, and hopefully out of sound.

“I have every right to be here. I'll sue you for everything you have, Cross.”

“Fine, sue me.”

Because Truscott had started to scream at me, and his photographer was still snapping pictures, I put him in a hammerlock, and I ran him even farther up the street.

“You can't do this! You have no right!”

“Get her! Take that camera away!” I called to the other agents coming up from the rear.

“I'm gonna sue your ass! I'll sue you and the Bureau back to the Dark Ages, Cross!”

Truscott was still shouting as three of us finally carried him around the fist corner we reached. Then I cuffed James Truscott and shoved the writer into one of our sedans.

“Get him out of here!” I told an agent. “The camerawoman, too.”

I took one last look into the backseat before Truscott was hauled away. “Sue me, Sue the FBI. You're still under arrest for obstruction. Take this lunatic the hell out of here!”

A few minutes later, the narrow side street was quiet again, thank God.

Frankly, I was amazed - stunned - Mary Wagner, this supposedly careful and clever murderess, seemed not to have noticed.