Mary, Mary

Chapter 98

I COULD ONLY WONDER about the causes and the full extent of Mary Wagner's mental illness and the obvious torment and stress it was putting on her. There certainly hadn't been any time for a meaningful psych evaluation, and my part in the investigation was coming to an end now, whether I liked it or not. And, to be honest, I had mixed feelings.

By early that afternoon, Mary's state of mind was a moot point. LAPD's search of her house had turned up a holy trinity of evidence.

A Walther PPK, discovered under a blanket in her attic crawl space, had already shown a preliminary ballistic match to the weapon used in the murders.

CSI had also found half-a-dozen sheets of children's stickers and, most significant, stolen family photographs from Marti Lowenstein-Bell's office and Suzie Cartoulis's purse.

Both Michael Bell and Giovanni Cartoulis had positively identified the photos as having belonged to their murdered wives.

“And best of all, most important anyway,” Fred Van All5- burg told the small group of agents assembled in his office, "twelve o'clock came and went today without incident.

No new victim, no new e-mail. It's over. I think I can safely say that."

The mood was grimly congratulatory Just about everyone was glad to leave this one behind, but the details of the case would haunt most of the team for some time, just as the D.C. sniper case still lingered in theJ. Edgar Hoover Building back East. It's an unsatisfying and unpleasant feeling, but also part of what drives us to do better.

“Alex, we owe you one on this.” Van Allsburg finally came over to me. “Your work on the case was invaluable. I have to say that. I see why Ron Burns likes you close to home.”

A few uneasy laughs went through the room. Agent Page reached from behind and patted my shoulder. He would go far in the Bureau, if he could keep his passion for solving crimes.

“I'd still like to take a peek at that final evidence LAPD found. And maybe get a real interview with Mary Wagner,” I said, diverting back to what I thought was most important.

Van Allsburg shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“There's no reason for me not to stick around another day -” I started to say "Don't worry about it. Page and Fujishiro are good for the details; I can back them up.

And if we really need you again, there's always frequent-flier miles, right?“ His tone was artificially bright. ”Fred, Mary Wagner wouldn't talk to anyone before I came. She trusts me."

“At least, she did,” he said. “Probably not anymore.” It was a blunt statement, but not aggressive.

“I'm still the only person she's opened up to. I hear LAPD is getting nowhere with her.”

“Like I said, you're just a plane ride away if we need you back. I spoke about it with Director Burns and he agrees. Go home to your family You have kids, right?”

“Yes, I have kids.”

Hours later, packing my bag at the hotel, I was struck hard with another kind of realization: Actually, I couldn't wait to get home. It was a huge relief that I'd be back in D.C. again, with no immediate travel plans.

But - and the but was important - why had that fact been so far from my mind in Van Allsburg's office? What were these blinders I wore, and how did I keep forgetting I had them on? What kind of dramatic wake-up call did I need before I got the message?

On the way to the airport I figured out another piece. It just hit me. The A's and B's on the children's stickers at the crime scenes. I knew what the letters meant. Mary's imaginary children's names - Ashley, Adam, Brendan. Two A's and a B.

I phoned it in on my way out of L.A.