Roses Are Red

Chapter Twenty-Four

The message from Kyle was loud and clear: The FBI was in charge of the robbery-murders bank investigation. I was welcome to join up, or leave. For the moment, I went along. It was Cavalierre and Kyle's case and their huge headache, their time in the pressure cooker.

No one spoke as we rode through Rosslyn in one of the FBI sedans. One pattern of the robberies had been clear so far: Somebody died when a robbery took place. It almost seemed that a serial killer was robbing banks.

The bank alarm went directly to the FBI?" I finally spoke up about something that had bothered me since I got Kyle's call at St. Anthony's.

Betsey Cavalierre turned toward me from the front seat. "First Union, Chase, First Virginia, and Citibank are all connected to us for the time being. It was their decision we didn't pressure them. We moved several dozen extra agents into the DC area, so we'd be ready when and if another bank was hit. We arrived at the branch in Rosslyn in less than ten minutes. They got out anyway."

"You call the Rosslyn PD yet?" I asked.

Kyle nodded. "We called, Alex. We don't want to step on anybody's toes if we don't have to. They're on their way to the bank branch." I shook my head and rolled my eyes. "Not to the bank manager's house, though."

"We want to check the house ourselves first." Agent Cavalierre answered for Kyle. "The killers aren't making any mistakes. Neither can we." She was brusque and impatient with me. I didn't much like her tone, and she didn't seem to care what I thought.

"Rosslyn has a very good police force," I told her. "I've worked with them before. Have you?" I felt I had to defend some of the people I knew and respected.

Kyle sighed. "You know it depends on who responds first. That's the problem. Betsey's right we can't make mistakes on this one. They don't."

We turned on to High Street in Rosslyn. The neighborhood looked peaceful, serene, thriving: Nicely groomed lawns, two-car garages, large homes, both new and old.

They always kill somebody, I couldn't help thinking. They've done it to a family before.

We parked in front of a large Colonial house with a big red number 315 on a pale yellow mailbox. A second dark sedan edged into the curb behind us more agents. The more the scarier.

"The crew is probably gone." Kyle spoke into his walkie-talkie. "But remember, you never know. These guys are killers. They seem to like it too."