President's assassin

Je

"Hypochondriac?" I suggested.

She eyed the supplies a moment. "Aside from the aspirin, Band-Aids, and antibacterial ointments, these are all preventatives and body cleaning aids. Not a hypochondriac. Still, this is a little. .. odd."

"More than a little."

We backed out, and the next door led to the master bedroom, where two agents were busily defacing another temple of neatness. A massive and very ornate carved crucifix hung over the bed. The third door led to another, tinier bedroom that had been transformed into a compact office. Je

A female agent was already pulling books off shelves, and she faced us when Je

"Depends what you mean by interesting." She elaborated, "Mostly horror novels and religious books. Lots of Stephen King and A

I smiled at the agent and said, "Did you see anything called How to Whack a President?"

She smiled back. "Do you recall the author?" She added, "There's some military manuals on weapons and munitions. I don't know if that means anything. Leftovers from his military service, I guess."

I regarded the manuals a moment. Actually, they meant nothing except that Mr. Neatness had one flaw-he was a pack rat. Big deal. I was still carting around a lockerful of manuals issued to me during my basic infantry officer training. But I had a good reason: I could run out of toilet paper someday. You never know.

Je

I said, "Like what?"

She asked me, "What's on your bookshelf at home?"

"Let's see… the collected works of John Do

She rolled her eyes. Why wasn't I being taken seriously?

On the wall across from the bookcase hung the usual vanity assortment-a VMI diploma, an officer commission, a few military awards, all of which were low-grade I-showed-up-for-work-on-time medals. In the middle was a presidential photo with a handwritten inscription that read: "To Jason, thanks for your service." Well, we'll see.

Not present were any items or paraphernalia of a personal nature-photographs of Mom and Dad, photo albums, desk trophies, mementos, or even any old letters or bills. By itself this meant nothing. Collectively I thought it meant a great deal.

Je

"And what do you make of that contradiction?"

"Let me think about it awhile."

I advised the agent, "Be sure to flip the pages on the books."

I walked to Jason's desk, sat down, and began browsing through drawers. Every pen, stamp, and paper clip was in the proper place, no loose change, no stray papers, no trash, no clutter or debris whatsoever. The order and cleanliness was manic and implied something. I mentioned, "The future Mrs. Barnes is one lucky lady."

The agent said, "The future Mrs. Barnes is going to go nuts. I did the kitchen earlier. The inside of his silverware drawers are labeled-you know, di

I glanced at Je

"He displays classic anal compulsive tendencies certainly Clearly he's neurotic. It's even possible he's bacillophobic. Though I-"

"He's what?"

"Fear of germs."

"Why didn't you say so?"

She smiled. I love a woman who appreciates my bad jokes. She said, "I'm talking u

You can never tell about people. It's interesting. I observed, "So here's a guy who wakes up every morning wondering if this is the day when he has to take a bullet for his boss. You wouldn't think he'd sweat the small stuff."

This got a big laugh out of the agent, though Je

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "The crime-does this relate to the crime?"

"Oh… right." She nodded at me, somewhat surprised. "You know your stuff. Obviously, you remember that I classified the Belknap murder as an organized crime. Well, organized crimes are the product of neat, orderly, compulsive minds… and-"

"Like Jason Barnes's mind?"

"Ostensibly He could fit the personality profile." She-added, "So would a million other males in this country."

"And females."

"Not really. Serial and mass killing are forms of aggression peculiarly suited to males."

"Oh please."

"I'm not making this up. It's a statistical fact. Do you know there are only two or three female serial killers in prison today?"

"Well… maybe women don't get caught."

"You mean women are smarter."

"Women are sneakier."

"I think you mean more clever." She smiled.

We returned to the perplexing puzzle of Jason Barnes. Je

I made a mental note to tell my big brother he owed me big-time. What a nit-picking idiot he'd be had not little Sean been around to pin all the raps on.

She continued, "It can be deterministic. They're instinctively neat and orderly, but when they feel guilt about something-tiny things-some revert… become obsessive… insufferably compulsive. They feel they can expunge or make amends by ordering and straightening up their external environment. A lot of these people, later in life, they end up on couches."

Interesting. But she was right, you have to be careful, it was too early to reach conclusions. At that moment, we had a suspicion of an inside leak, and a missing agent. I mean, how stupid would we look if Jason showed up in the morning, explaining he had met some hottie in a bar who invited him over to straighten her pantry and iron her undies? Also, a few impressions scavenged from the surface barely scrape the emotional density of a full-blown person. Still, we were starting to tease out a few characteristics about the increasingly peculiar Mr. Barnes. You never know.

"We should take his Rolodex and address book," I informed Je

She nodded. "They'll work all night, if need be."

"Need be."

She stared at me.

"Am I being too-"

"Are you ever. Back off. Our people know how to handle this."

"Oh… sorry."

"I understand. You want to catch these people. We all do."

Then she thought of something else and turned to the agent leafing through books. "Go to the master bedroom, collect Barnes's shoes, and send them to forensics immediately" She looked at me and said, "We'll compare them to the foot molds from the garden. Yes… no?"

"Good catch."

Je