drove from the airport to Jamilla’s apartment at several miles above the posted speed limit. On the way, I used my cell phone. There was still no answer at her place. I was already in a cold sweat. I had never followed a hunch1 quite like this one.
I thought about what I could do right now. One possibility was to call in help from the SFPD, but I didn’t like it. Police officers are logical creatures, and coldly suspicious of gut2 feelings. My track record with psychopaths might buy me some credibility in Washington, but not out here in California.
I could call the FBI - but I chose not to. There were a couple of reasons why. More gut feelings that I wanted to keep to myself for a while longer.
I decided3 to park a block over from Texas Street, where Jamilla lived. But I took a ride up the steep Potrero Hill first. I turned onto the street about half a dozen blocks south of her place, then I toured the connecting streets. There was a mixed style of row houses: the more charming wooden ones from the early 1900s, and the boxier three- and four-story ones with lots of aluminum4 detail. I could see the bay, the loading docks of Pier5 84, and Oakland in the distance. I passed the New Potrero Market, J.J. Mac’s, the North Star restaurant - Jamilla’s home turf. But where was Jamilla?
The traffic was fairly heavy. I hoped my rented sedan wouldn’t be spotted6 easily. And that I’d see Jamilla lugging7 groceries, or jogging home from a nearby park where she’d worked out.
But I didn’t see her. Damn it, where was she? Not that she didn’t have a right to a day off.
I couldn’t imagine anything happening to her, but that was the way I had felt about Patsy Hampton, and then about Betsey Cavalierre.
Two dead partners in two years.
I didn’t believe in coincidences.
Patsy Hampton had been murdered by a British diplomat8 named Shafer. I was almost certain of that. Betsey’s murder remained unsolved, and that was the one that worried me. I kept thinking about the Mastermind. Somehow I had become a part of his story, his fantasy world. How? Why? I had received a late phone call from him one night that summer, just after I’d learnt of Betsey’s murder:
‘I’m the one you call Mastermind. That’s a name I can live with. I am that good.’
The killer10 had used a knife on her, everywhere, even between Betsey’s legs. He hated women. That was clear. I had encountered only one other killer who hated women so much: Casanova in North Carolina. But I was sure Casanova was dead and couldn’t have killed Betsey Cavalierre. Still... I felt some kind of strange link to what had happened in North Carolina. What was the connection? I found a spot and parked about two blocks from Jamilla Hughes’s apartment on the hill near 18th. Her building was older, a remodeled yellow Victorian, with the familiar three-sided bay windows you often see in San Francisco. Very nice, very homey. There were neat little signs on the trees: ‘Friends of the Urban Forest.’ I called her again on the cell. Still no answer. My heart was pumping fast. The cold sweat continued. I had to do something. I went to the front door of the house, rang the bell, but no one answered. Damn it. Where was she?
Safe Neighborhood signs were stuck in bright green patches of grass up and down the street. I hoped the street was very safe. I prayed to God that it was as safe as it looked.
I went back and waited in the car. Fidgeted. Grew even more nervous and impatient. I thought about who the Mastermind might be, then about Betsey’s murder. I thought about Casanova, the Gentleman Caller, about Kate McTiernan, who’d been abducted11 in North Carolina. Why was that on my mind now? What was the connection? I couldn’t get the lurid12 and devastating13 murder scenes out of my head.
Notfamilla. Don’t let this happen again. Don’t let her get hurt.
While I sat there worrying, my phone rang. I answered immediately.
It was him. He was playing his cruel games. He seemed so close. ‘Where are you. Doctor Cross? I thought you were heading home to kith and kin9. Maybe it’s time that you did. Your work is done out here. There’s nothing more you can do. Nothing at all. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to Nana Mama and the kids, would we? That would be the worst thing, wouldn’t it? The absolute worst.’
1 hunch | |
n.预感,直觉 | |
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2 gut | |
n.[pl.]胆量;内脏;adj.本能的;vt.取出内脏 | |
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3 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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4 aluminum | |
n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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5 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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6 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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7 lugging | |
超载运转能力 | |
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8 diplomat | |
n.外交官,外交家;能交际的人,圆滑的人 | |
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9 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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10 killer | |
n.杀人者,杀人犯,杀手,屠杀者 | |
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11 abducted | |
劫持,诱拐( abduct的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(肢体等)外展 | |
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12 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
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13 devastating | |
adj.毁灭性的,令人震惊的,强有力的 | |
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