A knowing chuckle went around the room. Heads turned my way. “Uh, no comment,” I said, to more laughter.

Van Allsburg raised his voice to quiet everyone. “As far as I’m concerned, we keep our lines of communication open, and that means full and timely disclosure to LAPD on anything we know. If I hear about anyone doing any petty withholding, they’ll find themselves back in fingerprints on their next case. Fielding can run his end of things how he likes. I’m not going to let that compromise our own professionalism. Is that clear to everybody?”

I was pleasantly surprised by Van Allsburg’s response to the situation. Apparently, he had allegiances of his own, even if it meant sticking by me.

We then moved on to Mary Smith’s new e-mail. He used the conference room’s projection system to put the message up on the big screen where we could all see it.

As I read it through, I was struck not by what she had written, but by what she seemed to be saying to us. It was the same thing I’d noticed before, in her earlier messages, but much plainer now, like a steady drumbeat that had gotten louder over time.

Come and get me, she was telling us.

Here I am. Just come and get me. What’s taking you so long?

And she’d sent the e-mail to the late Arnold Griner, the dead letter office, so to speak.

Chapter 81

Chapter 81

To: [email protected]

From: Mary Smith

To: The one who will be next:

We’ve already met, you and I, so how about that?

Do you remember? I do.

You gave me an autograph the other day, and you were so full of your perky, charming mannerisms. You seemed so approachable, so down-to-earth. I don’t want to say where we met, but you wouldn’t remember anyway. I told you how much I liked your movies, and you smiled as though I hadn’t said anything at all. It reminded me of how invisible I can be to you people.

It wasn’t the first time you looked right through me, either. You didn’t see me at the day care yesterday, or at the gym today. Not that I’d really expect you to.

It’s like I’m the opposite of you in every way. Is that a clue I smell burning?

Everyone knows who you are, and no one knows who I am. I’m not famous or movie-star beautiful or any of the things you are. I don’t have flawless skin or a trademark grin. By all reports, you are a better mother than Patsy Bennett was, a better actress than Antonia Schifman, a better wife than Marti Lowenstein-Bell, and surely more famous than that up-and-comer Suzie Cartoulis.