Mary, Mary

Chapter 38

DETECTIVE JEANNE GALLETTA floored her two-year-old Thunderbird. She had driven faster than this before but never on L.A. city streets. The storefronts on Van Nuys blurred past while her siren droned a steady rhythm overhead.

Two black-and-whites were parked in front of the café when she got there. An unruly crowd had already begun to clot the sidewalk across the street. She was sure that TV cameras wouldn't be far behind, and news helicopters, too.

“What's the situation?” she barked at the first officer she sa who was halfheartedly doing crowd control.

“All contained,” he said. “We did a silent approach, front and back. There's a few of our guys up on tile roof, too, You've got about two-dozen customers and staff inside. If she was here when we pulled up, then she's still in there.”

That was a big if, but it was something to go on, Galletta thoU&" to herself. Mary Smith might still be inside. This thing could end right here. Please, dear God.

“All right, two more units inside as soon as you can get them here, two more on crowd control, and keep that guard front, back, and top.”

“Ma'am, this isn't my crew “I don't care whose crew it is. Just get it stopped and stared into the officer's eyes. ”Am you follow?”

“Perfectly, ma'am.”

Galletta headed inside. The café was one big rectangle, with a coffee bar in front and rows of computer carrels in the back. Each electronic terminal was its own little booth, with shoulder-high privacy walls.

Everyone in the place had been corralled at the mismatched tables, chairs, and couches.

Galletta quickly surveyed their faces.

Students, Yuppies, senior citizens, and a few Venice Beach hippie-freak types. An officer reported to her that they had all been searched and no weapons were found. Not that it meant anything. For now, they were all suspects by default.

The manager was a very nervous young guy in horn-rims who didn't look old enough to drink, and who had the worst case of acne Galletta had seen since her high school days in the Valley A mini CD-ROM pinned to his chest said BRETT in red Magic Marker. He showed Galletta to one of the computer carrels near the back.

“This is where we found it,” he said.

“Is there an exit that way?” Galletta asked, pointing down a narrow hallway to her left.

done.“ She I clear? Do The manager nodded. ”The police are already back there. They sealed it off."

“And do you keep some record of who uses the machines? ”

He pointed to a credit-card swiping device. “They had to use that. I don't really know how to get the info out, but I can find out for you.”

“We'll take care of it,” Galletta told him. “Here's what I want you to do, though. Keep everyone in here as comfortable as you can. To be honest, it's going to be a while. And if anyone wants anything, make it a decaf.”

She gave him a wink and a grin that she didn't feel, but it seemed to calm the poor guy down some.

“And ask Officer Hatfield over there to come see me.” She had met Officer Bobby Hatfield briefly once before, and she always remembered his name because it was the same as one of the Righteous Brothers.

She sat at the computer and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “What do you know so far?”

she asked when Hatfield came over.

“Same kind of message, written to the same guy at the Times. Arnold Griner. It's possible someone got hold of those other e-mails, but this feels like her to me. You've heard of Carmen D'Abruzzi, right?”

“The chef? Of course. She's got her own show. I watch it occasionally; I just don't cook.”

Trattoria D'Abruzzi was a flavor-of-the-month restaurant in Hollywood, an A-list dinner and after-hours place. More important, Galletta knew, Carmen D'Abruzzi had a very popular syndicated show in which she cooked for her beautiful husband and her two perfect children. Everything was a little too perfect for Galletta's taste, but she did watch the show sometimes.

Galletta shook her head. “Goddammit. D'Abruzzi's just this killer's type. Have you found her yet?”

“That's the kicker,” Hatfield told her. “She's fine, no problem. A little freaked out maybe, but okay Same with her family We've got a unit at her house already Check it out - whoever wrote that e-mail never sent it or even finished it.”

Jeanne Galletta's head bobbed again. “What the hell? She didn't send it?”

"Maybe she got spooked for whatever reason, wasn't thinking clearly, and just left.

Maybe she didn't like the coffee here. I sure don't."

Galletta stood up and looked over the assembled customers and staff again. “Or maybe she's still here.”

“You really think so?”

"Actually, no fucking way She's not dumb. Still, I want to talk to every one of these dinks. This place is a closed box until further notice. Do some initial screening, but no one leaves without going through me personally Understand?

No one. Not for any reason. Not even if they have a note from their mom."

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Hatfield answered. “I got it.” As Hatfield walked away, Jeanne Galletta heard him mutter something like “calm down” under his breath. Typical. Male cops tended to respond one way to a man's orders and another to a woman's. She shrugged it off and turned her attention to the half-finished e-mail on the screen.

Half-finished? What the hell was that all about?