James Patterson Alex Cross 06 Roses Are Red

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Ms Green. He could smell coffee brewing. A broom was leaning against one wall,
which meant they had cleaned up a little before he arrived. Next to the broom
was a Heckler and Koch Marksman's rifle.
"Hello, everybody," he said and waved shyly, his way. He smiled, but knew that
they considered him a geek. So be it. Ms Green was looking at him like he was
a geek with the hots for her.
"Hey, mon professor," Blue said and gave him a light-hearted grin that was so
insincere it hurt. The Mastermind wasn't fooled. Mr. Blue was a stone-cold
killer. That was why he had been chosen for the First Union and Chase
robberies. They were all killers, even the three girls. "Pizza," he held up
two boxes and a paper bag," I brought pizza. And some excellent Chianti,"
Chapter Forty-Five
Killjoy, he was thinking to himself. Killing machine.
Killing time.
Killer idea.
Killing fields.
The Mastermind smiled thinly at his own obsessive word play. It was the kind
of half-smile that didn't feel good on his face, though. It felt false and a
little forced. It was just past four o'clock, and it was still brightly sunny
outside. He'd gone for a nice walk in the fields. He'd thought everything
through. Now he was returning to the farmhouse.
He entered through the front screen door and let his eyes crawl over the
bodies. The inhabitants of the farmhouse were dead, all six of them. Their
bodies were strangely twisted and contorted, the way metal can get in a
firestorm. He had seen that phenomenon once, after a fire that raged through
the hillsides outside Berkeley in California. He'd loved that: The sheer
beauty of a natural disaster.
He stopped and studied the dead. They were murderers, and they'd suffered for
it. He'd used Marplan as the poison this time. Interestingly, the
antidepressant was most potent when ingested with cheese or red wine,
especially Chianti. The odd chemical combination induced a sharp increase in
blood pressure followed by cerebral hemorrhage, and finally circulatory
collapse. Voila.
He looked more closely at the dead and it was extraordinarily fascinating.
Their pupils were dilated. The mouths were open in horribly twisted screams.
Bloated bluish tongues hung out of the sides of the mouths. Now he had to get
them out of here. He had to make the bodies disappear, almost as if they had
never existed.
A girl named Gersh Adamson was sprawled on the floor near the front door.
She'd tried to run outside, hadn't she? Good for her. She was Ms Green, a tiny
blonde lady who said she was twenty-one, but who looked no more than fifteen.
Her mouth was frozen in an anguished scream that he simply loved. He almost
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couldn't tear his eyes away from Gersh Adamson's lips.
He figured that she was the lightest to carry; she probably weighed no more
than a hundred pounds.
"Hello, Ms Green. I've always liked you, you know. I'm a little diffident,
though. I should say that I used to be shy. I'm getting over it."
He reached out and touched her small breasts. He was surprised to find that Ms
Green wore a push-up bra under her blouse. Not quite the little dip pie-hippie
she seemed to be. He unbuttoned her blouse, then pulled it off, and stared at
her breasts.
He unbuttoned the dead girl's jeans. Then he inserted a finger inside her
panties. The flesh was a little cool. She had a silver ring in her belly
button. He touched it. Pulled on it like a pop-top.
She was wearing satiny-gray platforms with high heels and he carefully took
those off her feet. He pulled the tight jeans down and then wriggled them off
too. Ms Green's toenails were painted bright blue.
The Mastermind unclasped the lacy push-up bra and kneaded her smallish
breasts. He rubbed them together with his palms. Then he pinched the tiny,
perfect nipples hard. He'd wanted to do that, from the first time he saw her.
He'd wanted to hurt her a little, or maybe a lot.
He looked out the farmhouse window, then around at the dead bodies again. "I'm
not grossing any of you out, am I?" he asked.
He dragged Ms Green by her bare feet to the faded rug at the center of the
room. Then he took off his own trousers. He was getting hard. He never got
this way anymore. Maybe the FBI was right: He might be a pattern killer, after
all. Maybe he was just beginning to understand who he really was.
"I'm a ghoul," the Mastermind said, then he pulled aside her panties and
thrust himself inside the dead woman's vagina. "I'm crazy, Ms Green, and
that's the biggest joke of all. I'm the one who's crazy. If the police only
knew. What a great clue."
Book Three
Hanging With The Big Dogs
Chapter Forty-Six
Three days had passed without another robbery. One of them was a Saturday, and
I got to spend the afternoon with the boy. At around six, I finally brought
him back to Christine's.
Before we went inside, I carried little Alex around the flower garden behind [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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