I was. I watched Betsey sleep in the nude, and I would have been content to do that for a long time. I thought about drawing a warm bath for the two of us. Should I? Yes, I should. Why not?
In the bathroom, I spotted a jar of bright blue bubble bath beads near her things. She was way ahead of me, wasn't she? I wondered if I liked that, and decided that I did.
The tub was filling up slowly when I heard her speak behind me. "Oh, good, I've wanted to have a bubble bath with you."
I looked around at her she still was in the nude.
"You thought about this before, huh?"
"Oh yes. And often. What do you think I'm doing during those endless briefing sessions?"
A few moments later, we were stepping into the rub together. It felt incredibly good; the antidote for the hard work, the tension, the frustration we'd been experiencing over the past weeks.
"I like being with you so much," Betsey whispered as she stared into my eyes. "I don't want to leave this rub, or you. This is heaven."
"They have excellent room service. The best in DC," I reminded her. They'll probably come right to tub side if we ask nicely."
"Let's find out," Betsey said.
Chapter One Hundred and Si
It went like that, dreamily, wonderfully, perfectly, through the rest of Saturday and into Sunday morning. The only problem the time went too fast.
The more I was around her and the more we talked, the more I liked her; and I had liked her before we went to the Four Seasons. What wasn't there to like? Only once Saturday did we talk briefly about the Mastermind case. Betsey asked if I thought we were in any danger. She wondered if he might be stalking us. Neither of us had an answer for that one, but we had both brought our guns.
Around ten Sunday morning, we had breakfast served to us at the pool. We sat on chaise-lounges cushioned with fluffy blue and white towels. We read the Washington Post and the New York Times. We got an occasional curious look, but the Four Seasons is a sophisticated hotel chain and the people who stay here, especially at the hotel in Washington, have seen it all and much, much more. Besides, I'm sure Betsey and I looked content and happy together.
I should have seen it coming. I don't know why but suddenly I was thinking about the person behind the robberies, murders, and kidnappings: The Mastermind. I tried to will the thought away. I couldn't. The Dragonslayer was back; the job was back.
I looked at Betsey. Her eyes were shut and she seemed perfectly relaxed. That morning she'd done her nails a bright shade of red. She'd done her lips the same color. She didn't look like an FBI agent anymore. She was sexy and beautiful and I was loving our time together.
I hated to bother her. She'd earned some time off, and she was lying so peacefully on her chaise-lounge.
"Betsey?"
Her lips slowly formed a smile. She kept her eyes shut tightly. She wriggled her body slightly to get a better position on the chaise-lounge.
"Yes. I'd love to go back to the room with you. I'd even give up this toasry feeling on my neck and back for it. We can leave our towels on the chairs. Maybe they'll still be here when we get back."
I smiled, then I lightly massaged her back. "I hate to do this, Betsey. Can we talk about the case? About him?"
She opened her eyes. They had become narrowed and focused. Just like that, Betsey was all business. I was amazed at the transformation. If anything, she was worse than I was. "What about him?" she asked. "What are you thinking?"
I moved over to the edge of her seat. "We've spent the last weeks digging about Metro Hartford Then questioning Macdougall. During all that time, we've ignored the banks he hit earlier. Betsey, I want to look through all the old files again. Even the personnel files."
She was a little puzzled. "Okay. I guess. Sure. You lost me, though. What are you thinking, Alex? What would we be looking for?"
"Four employees were killed at the First Union Bank. There was no rhyme or reason for it. We always assumed he was making an example of them. Why all these people? It doesn't track for me."
She shut her eyes again. I could see the wheels turning fast; I could almost hear the gears shift. "He wanted revenge against the banks, and he wanted his fifteen million in cash."
"Sounds like him, doesn't it? He's thorough and efficient. Doesn't miss a trick. He'd want it all."
Betsey opened her eyes again. She stared at me. Pursed her shiny red lips. "There's just one thing, though. It's important."
I lightly kissed her lips. "What's that?" I asked.
"I still want to go back to the room with you. Then we can go through all the dusty, musty files on the banks."
I laughed. "That sounds like a very wise plan. Especially the first part."
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
We were back at the FBI field office by three that afternoon. Betsey had called ahead and the First Union files were waiting in her office. We dug into the files. And dug, and dug. We ordered sandwiches and iced tea from the deli on the corner.
Twice.
"Why are the two of us so driven to do this?" Betsey finally asked, looking over at me.
"He probably killed Walsh, and maybe Mike Doud. He's a really sick puppy and he's out there somewhere and that's scary as hell."
She nodded solemnly. "We're sick puppies and look where it got us. Pass me that stack, will you? God, it was so nice and restful and sunny at the Four Seasons."
Around eleven o'clock I held up a small black-and-white photo. I was deep into the personnel files from First Union.
"Betsey?" I called out.
"Mmmm?" She was deep into her own stack of files.
"This guy was a security executive at the bank. Betsey, he's a patient on Five at Hazelwood. I know who he is. I've talked to him this week. There's no record at the hospital that he ever worked at First Union. This is our guy. He has to be. "I passed her the picture.
We quickly agreed that Sampson and I would return to Hazelwood in the morning. In the meantime, Betsey tried to gather all the information she could on a patient named Frederic Szabo. Goddamn, nerdy Frederic Szabo!
It was possible that Szabo wasn't connected, but it didn't seem likely. Szabo had been the head of security at First Union Bank. He was a tall, bearded patient at Hazelwood. He fit Brian Macdougall's description. His psychiatric profile included recurring paranoid fantasies against