Roses Are Red

Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen

The rest of the night flew by and I think both of us hated to see it go. I kept thinking about what Betsey had said that she was going to miss me. She and I were back inside the FBI surveillance van by nine the following morning. The van already smelled badly. Dry ice sat in twin buckets in the corner, throwing off a vapor and making the cramped space almost livable.

"What's happening, gentlemen?" she asked the agents crowded into the van. "Did I miss any fun? Is the Masterprick up yet?"

We were told that Francis was up, and that he hadn't called Kathleen McGuigan yet. I had an idea and made a suggestion. Betsey liked it a lot. We called Kyle Craig and got him at home. Kyle liked the idea too.

Agents in Arlington, Virginia, arrested Nurse McGuigan at a little past ten that morning. She was questioned, and denied knowing anything about a relationship between Dr. Bernard Francis and Frederic Szabo. She also denied any involvement in the scheme herself. She said that the allegations against her were ridiculous. She hadn't called Francis the night before and we were welcome to check her phone records.

Agents, meanwhile, were searching McGuigan's house and yard. Around noon, they found one of the diamonds from the Metro-Hartford job. McGuigan panicked and she changed her story. She told the FBI what she knew about Dr. Francis, Frederic Szabo, and the robbery-murders.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, "Betsey Cavalierre said and jumped around the back of the surveillance van when she heard the news. She bumped her head on the van roof. "That hurts. I don't care. We've got him! Dr. Francis is going down."

At a little past two that afternoon, she and I walked across the manicured front lawn and up the brick stairway into Francis's building. My heart was thudding in my chest. This was it. It had to be. We took the elevator up to the fifth floor the penthouse, the Mastermind's lair.

"We've earned the right to do this," I told her.

"I can't wait to see his face," Betsey said as she rang the bell. "Cold-blooded piece of shit. Ding-dong, guess who's at the front door? This is for Walsh and Doud."

"And the little Buccieri boy all the others he had killed."

Dr. Francis answered the door. He was tan, dressed in Florida Gators sweatpants, a Miami Dolphins T-shirt, no socks or shoes. He didn't look like a cold-blooded and heartless monster. So often, they don't.

Betsey identified who we were. She then told Dr. Francis we were part of the team investigating the Metro Hartford kidnapping and several bank robberies back East.

Francis seemed momentarily confused. "I don't think I understand. Why are you here? I haven't been in Washington, well, in nearly a year. I don't see how I can help you with any robberies up north. Are you sure you have the right address?"

I spoke up. "May we come in, Dr. Francis? This is the right address. Trust me on that. We want to talk to you about a former patient of yours named Frederic Szabo."

Francis managed to look even more confused. He was playing his part well and I guess I wasn't surprised.

"Frederic Szabo? You're kidding me, right?"

"We kid you not," Betsey said emphatically.

Francis became petulant. His face and neck flushed. "I'll be in my office at the hospital in West Falm tomorrow. The hospital is on Blue Heron. We can talk about my former patients there. Frederic Szabo? Jesus! That was almost a year ago. What has he done? Is this about his crank letters to the Fortune 500? You people are incredible. Please leave my home now."

Dr. Francis tried to slam the door in my face. I stopped it with the heel of my hand. My heart continued to beat hard. This was so good -we had him.

"This can't wait until Monday, Doctor,” I told him," It can't wait at all."

He sighed, but continued to look incredibly pissed off. "Oh, all right, I was just making myself coffee. Come in, if you must."

"We must," I told the Mastermind.