Violets are Blue

Chapter 98

The Mastermind had already made his next move, though he knew it was only a half step in the greater scheme of things. He had pulled back. He was six blocks away from Jamilla Hughes's apartment, standing on a hill past the Jackson Playground. It allowed him to watch her building, the bay window, the small terrace on one side.

He enjoyed this — the intractable imposition of his will, his ego on the world. It had been this way for more than a dozen years. No one had come close to capturing him, or even suspecting who he really was.

Cross was inside now, and that made everything either very hard or perhaps easier. There was another decision to be made soon. Should he risk everything at this point? Change everything? For years he had been living a complicated double life. He'd done whatever he wanted, wherever, whenever. He had enjoyed his freedom, and how many others had even tasted that forbidden fruit? He had been the cop and the criminal. But maybe it was time for a change. Maybe his life had become too safe, too predictable. Kyle loved the hunt — and in that way he was like Casanova and the Gentleman Caller, two very talented killers he had known well, one working in North Carolina, the other in southern California. He found that he agreed with Casanova that men needed to be hunters by nature. And so he hunted — men and women — and he enjoyed killing both sexes; but he went an important step further.

He hunted their killers as well. He eliminated his competition. He beat them at their own games.

He had known Casanova years before the meticulous and very nasty killer was caught by himself and Dr. Cross. He had played murder games with Casanova and with the Gentleman Caller. Kiss the girls and make them cry. Kyle had even fallen in love with one of the victims — young Kate McTiernan. He still had a soft spot for dear, sweet Kate. He had been so many things to so many people, played so many roles, and he had only just begun.

He had been the Mastermind— but he also helped capture the man believed to be the Mastermind. How could you beat that for puzzle making and puzzle solving?

He'd been an elusive killer in Baltimore; in Cinci

Now the game with Alex Cross had to end. He'd felt the need to taunt and torture Cross, to prove he was the homicide detective's master. And then he had gone over the edge a little himself. It had happened when he killed Betsey Cavalierre, one of his own agents. Actually, the killing couldn't be helped. Cavalierre had become suspicious of him while she was chasing the Mastermind with Cross. She had to go, had to die.

And so did Cross. Cross was loyal to his friends, trusting, and it had become his greatest flaw, his singular weakness. But Cross would have caught onto him, even if he hadn't yet. And, of course, Cross's instincts had brought him here to watch over Inspector Hughes. Cross neededto be a good man, an ethical cop, a protector. What a waste of intellect. What a pity that Cross couldn't have been an even better adversary.

Cross had seen him on the street — so what came next? Whatever it was, it certainly had his adrenaline flowing. This was so good. Kyle knew he had a little time to figure it out. What to do? They were inside Hughes's apartment. He had the edge on them.

He wouldn't lose his edge, his advantage.

He made his next move.

Chapter 99

"You know, I never liked him, Alex," Jamilla said as we waited in the semidarkness of her apartment. "He seemed so cold, almost mechanical to me. And I'm telling you, he doesn't like women. I felt it instantly."

"Well, unfortunately, I did like Kyle. He's clever as hell. He even rigged calls from the Mastermind when he and I were together. Now I need to figure out who he really was. There's no psychosis involved, at least I don't think so. He's organized. He can obviously work out elaborate plans. For once, I wish he would call."

"Be careful what you wish for," Jamilla said.

She and I were sitting beside a shelving unit on the hardwood floor in her living room. There was also a workout bench; nothing too fancy, an older model. Five— and ten-pound free weights were scattered on the floor. So were magazines and sections of the Chronicle.

I hoped that Kyle couldn't see into the apartment, that he didn't have binoculars. Or possibly a nightscope attached to a rifle. I knew he could shoot from the way he'd taken down Michael Alexander. He was good at a lot of things.

Just in case, Jamilla and I tried to keep away from the windows.

"It makes me dizzy to think about what he's done so far. I wonder if we'll ever know the extent of it," she said.

"If we catch him, he'll want to talk. Kyle will want to show off what he's done. If he comes after us tonight, maybe we'll find everything out."

"You think he knows you're here?"

I sighed, shrugged. "He probably knows I'm here. Maybe tonight is his coming-out party. I know one thing: He won't do what we expect. The Mastermind never does. That's the only real pattern he has."

We talked about calling in reinforcements, but Jamilla thought it would probably scare Kyle off. He wanted the two of us, right? That's what he would get. Do you want to taunt me anymore, you bastard? Go for it. Bring it, Kyle.

So the two of us sat there in the dark, and it was almost cozy. Jamilla finally reached out and touched my hand. Then we moved together, leaned against each other. We waited.

"At least it's comfortable," Jamilla whispered. "As stakeouts go."

"No place like home, right?"

It was a little before four when we heard noises outside. Jamilla turned and looked at me. We raised our guns.

For the first time, I confronted the idea of shooting Kyle, a man I had thought was my friend. I didn't like the feeling. I wasn't sure how I would react, and that scared me.

There were soft footsteps outside on the terrace. In a way, I was relieved. This was the showdown Kyle wanted. He was coming. I figured that the story he'd been telling for so long, his fantasy life, had finally taken over. Maybe he was psychotic now. That would give us an advantage.

"Real careful," I whispered, and touched the back of Jamilla's hand. "Try to look at it the way he does. Kyle thinks he has us where he wants us."

He picked the lock quickly and expertly. A minimum of effort. I realized that he had been watching her place. He knew enough to come up the back stairs, and then he'd climbed a metal ladder onto the terrace.

The lock on the door to the terrace of the apartment made a soft click. Then nothing happened.

"We're good, everything's cool," Jamilla whispered. "This time we win."

We waited in the dark near the door. It finally opened, oh so slowly. Kyle came inside. He moved toward us in a low crouch. Obviously, he couldn't see where we were, but we could see him.

I hit Kyle with all my weight, full force, every ounce of strength that I had. I slammed him hard against the living room wall. The whole apartment shook. Books and glasses fell to the floor from open shelves. I was surprised that we didn't go right through the wall.

I clipped his chin with an elbow, as hard as I could. Felt good. Kyle was wiry and strong, but I was pumped to take him. I hit him with a hard, short right hand. It snapped into his jaw. I hit him in the solar plexus. A real gut-wrencher.