The Tower Read online

  He reached out his hand and touched the mirror. “What have they done to you?” he said aloud, his query bouncing off the white walls of the bathroom.

  Allander sat on the love seat in the living room wearing a royal-blue silk shirt and a loose pair of pants with a drawstring. He had showered, shaved carefully, and re-dressed his finger. He had decided on the exotic outfit after trying on several; he felt it looked somehow princely on him.

  He swirled some milk around in his highball glass and leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. After a few minutes, his head lolled back, and in his mind he caught a glimpse of an overweight man pulling a clown mask over his unruly hair. Images of heads with the eyes gouged out and a hand wiping a white mask from a woman’s face flashed rapidly through his mind. He awoke with a start, the glass of milk sliding from his grasp. He watched the milk spread across the carpet, sinking into the soft fibers. It reminded him of semen.

  He was instantly alert, his eyes darting around until he realized where he was. “Ah, there’s the rub,” he said, and walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

  The boy and girl lay next to each other, the sound of their breathing all that interrupted the perfect silence of the room.

  “Leah?” the boy said.

  “Ssssshhhh, Robbie. Don’t talk. We don’t know what the man will do.”

  “Is he gonna—” Robbie’s breath caught in his throat and he started gasping, sucking air in and out through his wavering lips. Leah pressed his hand tightly.

  Robbie finally regained control of his breathing and continued. “Is the man gonna hurt us?”

  Leah didn’t respond right away, but squeezed Robbie’s hand again. Their palms were both sweating profusely and the moisture mingled to make a slick seal.

  “I think he already has,” she replied.

  18

  JADE awoke as sunlight filtered through the curtains and fell across his eyes. He threw back the thick black comforter and rolled out of bed. Stretching his arms over his head, he cracked his back from its base to just below the line of his shoulders. Then he rolled his arms back over his head to pop his shoulder sockets. He let his head go limp and swung it back and forth, groaning with pleasure as he felt the little snaps running up the sides of his neck.

  He enjoyed waking up alone now. He had had any number of girlfriends in the past, but stayed with them only until they got in the way. Eventually, of course, they all got in the way.

  His last relationship had reached the point where she stayed over several times a week. But then she began to get annoyed when he got called out at night. He could hear her sighing and rolling under the covers as he spoke on the phone.

  She had been there the night he got the call on the Black Ribbon Strangler. Three o’clock in the morning, he was out of bed and dressed in seconds. She looked over at him, eyes and jaw set firmly. “It’s just not normal, Jade. You’re not even with me when you’re with me. You’re consumed with your job. Consumed with it. I can’t stand it anymore. Not like this.”

  His back was to her as he pulled on his shoes.

  “Guess that doesn’t leave me with much of a choice, does it?” he answered, and she started to smile. “Door locks behind you on your way out.” He got up and left without even turning around to look at her.

  “Without even turning around,” she had sobbed to her friends later.

  That was the last time he had spoken to her. And the next night seemed like the best night of sleep of his life.

  He especially appreciated his solitude in the morning, like now, as he walked over and opened the blinds, letting in full sunlight. His bedroom, like the rest of the house, was sparsely furnished. Bookcases, filled with psychology and forensic pathology texts, faced his bed from the left side. A few pictures were arrayed on top of the shelves: Jade and Tony at a baseball game, Jade running the hundred for the UCLA track-and-field team, Jade at the batting cages. Next to them was a picture of a young boy with drooping features. It was an old snapshot with creased corners, and the small metal frame around it was greatly worn.

  Jade walked over to his bookshelf and picked up the framed picture of the boy. He held it tenderly for a moment, then ran his thumb across his lip and set it back down. The normal scowl returned to his face.

  After jumping into his Nike cross-trainers and a pair of running shorts, Jade mixed himself a fruit drink and swallowed it in a few gulps. The screen door banged twice behind him as he took off down the street, enjoying the fresh morning air.

  His knees rose with his hands at the apex of his stride. His arms swung, relaxed, his elbows bent to perfect right angles, betraying his background in track and field. The sound of his breathing echoed in his head as he made his way through a network of streets, and he timed his step by it. He barely saw the trees and mailboxes as they whistled by; he kept his eyes focused on the ground, about ten feet in front of him.

  Beginning to speed up his pace, Jade legged his way up a steep incline, driving himself against the slope. He reached a near sprint and the veins stood out against his thighs and calves. A silver chain danced against his neck as he ran.

  He swept the back of his arm across his forehead and the diver’s dial on his watch cut into his flesh. He didn’t even notice the blood seeping out as his feet jarred on the pavement.

  Turning the corner, Jade eased into a slower jog as he entered La Vista de los Árboles, a community park. Although it was in a bad part of San Jose, Jade stopped to stretch. He was accustomed to far worse places. The park was located on the edge of a gang zone, but Jade wasn’t easily intimidated. Even gang members wouldn’t want to tangle with someone like him.

  He leaned forward against the fence to stretch his calves. He liked to stretch once he was well into a run. The park was a little under the halfway point of his workout, so it was a good place to break and loosen up.

  A kid leaned back against the fence about twenty feet down from Jade, talking to a friend. He wore low-slung jeans and a sideways baseball cap, and he had a beeper latched to his front pocket. A cigarette was stuck awkwardly in the corner of his mouth underneath a bad teenage mustache. The smoke carried all the way up to Jade. He hated smoke.

  The park was usually quiet this early in the morning, but as Jade glanced around, he noticed a group of boys gathered in the jungle-gym area, past the kid with the cigarette and his friend. The boys wore buttoned-up shirts, sweaters tied around their waists, and blue corduroys. They weren’t quite in their teens, yet their faces had the early trappings of apathy. They looked very out of place.

  Jade started to walk over to them. As he passed the smoker, Jade reached out nonchalantly and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. He broke it in half with a flick of his thumb and dropped it, never turning his head.

  “Hey, fuck you, Homes!” he heard from behind him. “Yeah, that’s right. You’d better keep walking.” He heard the kid’s hands slap to his thighs after he finished each sentence.

  Jade approached the group of boys slowly. There were five of them, four sitting with their shoulders angled toward the fifth, who stood with one foot in the bucket of a swing. If you check the body posture, you can always find the ringleader, he thought.

  The boy’s thickly freckled face squinted up at Jade. He had reddish-brown hair flipped defiantly to one side. “Yeah? Whaddya want?” he sneered.

  Jade sighed and shifted his jaw forward. “You kids from around here?”

  “No,” the boy replied. “Are you?” His friends guffawed, sinking their mouths into their hands to cover their giggles. Definitely private-school material, Jade thought.

  “Look, you self-righteous little cocksucker,” Jade said. The smirk on the boy’s face vanished. “I don’t really care where you’re from. This is a dangerous park and you’re gonna get hurt if you hang around here. What are you doing here?”

  The boys all looked at each other. Finally, a pudgy kid who was sitting cross-legged spoke. “We have a debate today at St. Bellarmine’s,”
he said, digging at his sneaker with a stick. “It doesn’t start till eight, though. Our parents dropped us off early.”

  St. Bellarmine’s was the all-boys private school across the street. A junior high school in downtown San Jose, it was in a league with some of the top schools in the Bay Area. These kids were probably from San Francisco or across town, Jade decided. They didn’t know what a dangerous neighborhood was yet. They’d probably never seen one before.

  Jade checked his watch: 7:50. “You’d better wait over at the school,” he said.

  The ringleader let his breath out through his teeth. “Yeah. Whatever. I don’t think we have to listen to you.” The other kids looked scared, but they wouldn’t move against their leader’s will. “Just keep running,” the boy said. “You’re not in charge of us.”

  Jade scowled. “You’re right. You’re not my responsibility. Get yourself knifed. I don’t give a shit.”

  He walked off, a nervous silence lingering behind him, and started jogging when he passed the front gate of the park. He ran for a few blocks, then stopped, cursing. He turned around and ran back to the park, stopping on a side street.

  He watched the kids through a chain-link fence, keeping an eye out for gang members. No signs of trouble. After a few minutes, the kids got up and went across the street to St. Bellarmine’s. Jade watched them until they’d safely entered the school, then turned to finish his run, cursing himself for stopping mid workout.

  He felt the sun warming his shoulders as he made his way home. Jade always ran without a shirt, and as he passed, women watched his chest and stomach muscles flex with each step. They would stop walking and stare until their dogs pulled their leashes; they’d gaze through their kitchen windows and turn around in their cars.

  But Jade didn’t notice. He didn’t think about anything except where his next seven steps were landing, and he didn’t hear anything except the rush of his breath as he inhaled and exhaled.

  As he came up on his house, Jade saw a shadow behind the front curtain. He kept jogging with his head forward, straining his eyes to the side to watch the figure in his house. He noticed a black Oldsmobile parked well up the street.

  After passing his house, Jade circled back around to his driveway, carefully lifting the latch on the gate. His backyard was spacious, a lawn stretching from one fence to the other, broken only by a small cement path. A rectangular patio stood out from the back of the house, edging the lawn. Running along part of the back wall of the house, underneath the kitchen window, was a thin, tiled counter.

  He tiptoed across the back patio and peeked through the glass sliding door. He could see over the kitchen’s countertops and into the dining room at the front of the house.

  A figure stood in his dining room, facing the window.

  Jade reached under the tiled counter and removed a Glock, which he had kept from his training days in the FBI. Access to a pistol, he thought. First and foremost.

  After checking through the other windows in the house, Jade carefully approached the glass sliding door, holding his breath as he eased it open. He slipped inside and moved cautiously to the doorway directly behind the stranger, who stood gazing out the window through the blinds. Because the room was unlit, Jade couldn’t clearly make out much more than a figure, but he did see the blond hair spilling over the back of the man’s collar.

  Keeping his eyes trained on the stranger, Jade let his right hand wander over to the desk by the doorway. He brushed a glass paperweight that sat next to the phone, and his muscles tensed as it started to slip. His fingers closed over it swiftly as it balanced on the edge, just about to fall.

  He allowed himself a deep exhale, pacing the rush of air through his mouth as his shoulders dropped. The calmness returned to him after he waited for a few seconds, and he felt his vision narrow to the target. Then, he threw the paperweight to the left side of the stranger and stepped silently up behind his right shoulder.

  It hit the floor and the stranger jerked to the left, his hand expertly diving inside his jacket. He was good, Jade thought. Gun motion—like reflex.

  Jade wrapped an arm around the stranger’s neck and picked him up off the ground, twirling him 180 degrees to slam his head against the dining room table. He pressed the metal tip of his pistol firmly to the stranger’s temple.

  “Relax. Let’s see your hands.”

  The stranger put his hands next to his face, which was pressed flat against the table. From the muffled voice, Jade realized that the stranger was a woman. She wore slacks and a loose-fitting jacket over a white shirt.

  “Jesus Christ, Marlow. Calm down. I’m FBI.” She turned her head and Jade saw the delicate line of her cheek.

  Although Jade believed her (who the fuck else but an FBI agent dressed up to break into your house?), his hand went to her pocket and fished out a badge. He flipped it open and held it up to read, “Agent Jennifer Travers. Top Clearance.” He snickered. “Evidently. Boy, I really had my hands full with you.”

  He realized he still held Travers’s face pressed against the dining room table and he let go of her, flaring his hand apologetically. Travers stood up and straightened her slacks, running her palms over her hips to smooth the wrinkles.

  He tossed the badge on the table and walked back into the kitchen. “You people need to learn how to use a doorbell,” he called over his shoulder. “Now what, exactly, can I help you with?”

  “We want you on—”

  “Atlasia. I know. I’ve been waiting.”

  Jade took a few gulps of orange juice from the carton. “I hope you brought the file and retainer. You can leave them on the dining room table. Same rules as always. I work alone and have unrestricted access to all privileged information, labs, forensics, all that shit. And I’ll need a badge—one that doesn’t say ‘temporary’ across the front of it. If I need a partner, I want an experienced agent, not a rookie.” He poked his head back around the corner. “It’s been a bad week for rookies,” he said.

  It was the first time he’d really looked at her face, and he was startled by her beauty. Her features were simple, yet stunning. Her high, proud cheeks were still red from the struggle. He turned away before she could read anything in his eyes.

  “Marlow, you understand that this is a larger case than you’ve handled in the past.”

  “So pay me more.”

  “We’ve taken care of that. But we need you to stay in line with the press. Handle them gracefully and we’ll keep all pertinent resources open.”

  Jade smiled sweetly. “I already have been handling the press.”

  Travers reached into her jacket and pulled out a brown envelope. “Here’s fifteen thousand. You’ll get another twenty for locating him, and twenty-five for bringing him in or taking him out.”

  “So if I get him, I cash in forty-five thousand more?”

  “You should’ve been a mathematician.”

  “You should’ve been an FBI agent.”

  He was impressed by how well she ignored him. “The bottom line is, we want you inside Atlasia’s head. We want to know what he likes, what he eats, what he dreams about. As some of our more uncouth agents are prone to say, we want to know how many times he wipes his ass when he shits.

  “You run the background checks and figure out what he’s about and where he’s going. That’s what we’re paying you for. And we’d like to see you at headquarters for a briefing at two o’clock this afternoon.”

  Jade checked his watch. It was just after nine, which gave him a little more than four hours before he’d have to start driving.

  “Fine,” he said, turning back to the refrigerator. “I assume you know how to let yourself out.”

  After Travers left, Jade jumped rope for a while in his garage, then boxed on the speed bag that hung suspended next to his car. He felt his shoulders working and held the burn for a while, stepping lightly with the punches. He toweled off, then went inside to shower.

  The living room held a set of glass tables with black,
metal frames, and a matching desk sat in the study. The bookcases in his bedroom, which he had built himself, were made of wood and painted black. The shelves got shorter as they rose, giving the impression that they were receding into the wall. In the kitchen, the countertops curved in and out, adding a sense of organic disorder.

  Jade could think more clearly in a neat environment. Every last item in his house was in place, from the books lined up in decreasing size to the silverware divided in a black mesh container in the kitchen drawer.

  His study was particularly well ordered. On his desk, a Macintosh computer sat on a swivel, elevated slightly above the keyboard. A blank legal pad was laid in the middle of a desk mat, and a small box held pens and pencils. They were returned to the box after each use.

  When the pencils wore down or the pens got low on ink, Jade threw them out and bought new ones. He found them much easier to work with. You can’t write down a new idea with an old pen, he figured, just like you can’t start a thought on a half-used pad of paper.

  Stepping from the steam of the shower and wrapping himself in a dark gray towel, Jade wiped off the mirror and shaved in short, neat strokes. He ran a comb down the top of his head to find the part and then flicked his hair over to one side. He brushed his teeth, cleaned his ears, blew his nose, and cut his nails. Then he washed his hands again, got dressed, and filled a glass with crushed ice.

  He went into the living room and sat in a black leather chair facing the file on the table before him. He crunched the ice deliberately. Exhaling deeply, he flipped the file open and felt the eyes of Allander Atlasia meet his.

  THREE

  THE SHADOW

  19

  JADE found the preliminary psychology reports from Allander’s first institution to be revealing. When reading them, he could almost hear Allander’s voice rise from the pages of the transcript. The stenographer had noted that Allander laughed a lot during the interviews.