Roses Are Red

Book Four Hit And Run
Chapter Sixty-Seven

Of course, the case continued to be a full-blown-knock-down-drag-out media event. The press had learned about the existence of a "Mastermind," and it made for sensational headlines. A picture of the Buccieri boy, one of the first victims, was the featured art in story after story. I had begun seeing the little boy's face in my dreams.

I was working twelve-and sixteen-hour days. The Washington bank robber named Mitchell Brand was still high on the list of FBI suspects. He had been up on the wall of suspects for over a week. We hadn't been able to locate Brand, but he fit the profile. Meanwhile, crime-scene investigators covered the money-pickup site, combing it for evidence. FBI technicians went over every square inch of the Browne farmhouse. Traces of theatrical make-up were found in the sink of the farmhouse. I talked to several hostages and they supported the idea that the kidnappers might have worn make-up, wigs, and possibly lifts in their shoes.

Sampson and I worked in Washington the first two days. Metro-Hartford had offered a million-dollar reward for information leading to the capture of the men involved in the crime. The reward was aimed at the general public, but also at anyone involved in the robbery whose stake might be less than the reward being offered.

The search for the bank robber Mitchell Brand was also centered in Washington. Brand was a thirty-year-old black man who was suspected in half a dozen robberies, but who had never been officially charged, and suddenly had gone underground. Once upon a time he had been an army sergeant in Desert Storm. Brand was known to be violent. According to his army records, he had an IQ over one-fifty.

A mountain of evidence was being collected but the notoriety of the case was also working against us. The phone calls and faxes offering tips never stopped at the FBI field office. Suddenly, there were hundreds of leads to follow up. I wondered if the Mastermind was still working against us.

The second night after the Metro Hartford kidnapping, Sampson showed up at the house around eleven. I had just gotten there myself. I grabbed a couple of cold beers and we talked out on the sun porch more or less like civilized adults.

"I was hoping to see the little prince tonight," Sampson said as we sat down.

"He's coming here to live with us." I told John the latest news. Some of it anyway.

He broke into a broad smile, his teeth as large and white as piano keys," That's great news, sugar. I assume Ms Christine is coming as part of the package."

I shook my head. "No, she isn't, John. She's never gotten over what happened with Geoffrey Shafer. She's still afraid for her life, for all of our lives. She doesn't want to see me anymore. It's over between us."

Sampson just stared at me. "You two were so good together. I don't buy it, sugar."

"I didn't either. Not for months. I offered to leave police work and I guess I would have. Christine told me it wouldn't matter."

I stared into my friend's eyes," I've lost her, John. I'm trying to move on. It breaks my heart."