A cop’s suicide, and the anguish of the wife he left behind.
In this one way, they were sisters.
10 LANDRY
A baby boomer, Landry grew up with television. He had two brothers and a sister who fought over what to watch. They were raised together in a fifth-wheel trailer, living on or near the back side of horse racing tracks all over the west. Not a lot to do in downtimes, so his siblings fought over the TV remote. To Landry, it was just so much white noise, but he’d grown accustomed to the space it filled up.
After Kristal was born, he became more particular about what they watched as a family—the History Channel or Discovery mostly.
Today, the TV was turned to National Geographic while Landry went through the tabloids.
He knew a lot more about Brienne Cross now. She was unknown until she appeared on America’s Newest Star, which helped her single, “Stealthy Lovin’,” make it to the top of the country charts. She appeared in some movies and released a Grammy-winning country album, Marfa Lights. When she became a judge on America’s Newest Star, Brienne became an even bigger celebrity. Eventually this led to her own reality show, Soul Mate.
Landry had gone out and bought up every celebrity magazine with Brienne Cross on the cover. He’d printed up reams of information from TMZ and sites like it. Her death still generated publicity all these weeks later. The family had yet to arrange for a burial; for some reason there had been a holdup at the medical examiner’s office in LA. This created a great deal of hysteria. People wanted to see America’s Princess squared away. They wanted a big funeral they could all participate in from their living rooms. Half the tabloids hinted at a conspiracy theory.
He read about the lone survivor, Nick Holloway. Landry had been briefed about the survivor one day later, after he had gone to Salida, Colorado, to carry out the rest of the mission. The sheriff’s cars racing by on Castle Creek Road had distracted them from going back into the house and checking everywhere.
A black mark on Landry’s once-pristine record.
But lucky for Nick Holloway.
They’d let it go. A reporter for Esquire wasn’t important in the scheme of things.
Nick Holloway was a lucky man.
Back to Brienne Cross. The Internet generated lots of stories, but most of them harped on the same themes. They concentrated either on her extreme behavior, or the idea that in most ways she was just like regular people. For example, she liked Burger King. Apparently, the idea that she was just like a regular person was very important to the people who read the fan magazines.
There was little point in reading this garbage, so he just looked at the photos—inhaled them. Even the ones where Brienne was featured as the “worst dressed” celeb for the week. In fact, he liked these photos best because he could see a little more of her as a person. Her inner conflict showed on her face; she knew she was dressed like a trailer park hooker. He wondered why she did it. In the photos she would look at turns tentative, defiant, and worried. Sometimes, it was clear she’d made a clothing mistake but was going out there anyway.
He admired that.
“Anyone who has ever had a personal encounter with a Florida cottonmouth knows where it got its name,” the announcer on National Geographic said.
Landry looked at the television. He’d encountered a cottonmouth once, when he was at SDV school outside Panama City, Florida.
Landry opened to the article in US Weekly magazine. There she was with her golden retriever, Charlie, and her teacup Chihuahua, Spike.
“Contrary to popular belief, a venomous snake’s bite is rarely life-threatening…”
Landry knew of people who had been bitten by venomous snakes. Most of them did fine because there was so little snake venom actually injected into their wounds. This was because snakes had only so much venom, and they used it to paralyze prey. They didn’t like to waste it.
Landry turned the page. There was a story about the reality show, Soul Mate. Below were the photos of the four remaining contestants. He remembered them in a different context. He read their stories, seeing them for the first time as human beings with petty problems and lofty aspirations. He read each of their names aloud—the show producer, Justin Balough, Brendan Shayles, Amber Redmond, Connor Fallon, and Tanya Williams.
Brendan Shayles was the kid who looked at the stars. Turned out Brendan was one of the last two finalists chosen earlier that day. No wonder he was happy.
Poor kid. Brendan Shayles was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Landry looked back at the television. There was the cottonmouth, coiled up, its mouth wide open and showing white—white like cotton. Showing his mouth as a warning, because snakes didn’t use their venom indiscriminately.
He looked back at Brendan Shayles. The question remained: Why kill a bunch of kids from a television show? Why kill a celebrity like Brienne Cross? Were the kids collateral damage, or were they also the targets?
There would be a pattern. The Aspen killings weren’t random, any more than mathematics was random. It would have its own logic.
The snake documentary was over, and now The Dog Whisperer was on. Landry switched the TV off.
He had undergone a battery of psychological tests for his current job—thoroughly profiled. He knew he’d been chosen for the job because he did his work without question. He saw his job in terms of mission only.
When he was working with the team, he answered to “Peters.” There were four of them: Peters, Jackson, Davis, and Green. Peters had no connection to the life he had with his wife, his daughter, his brothers, and the racetrack.
Because he compartmentalized so well—it was an absolute necessity for him to do so—Landry had never looked for patterns in the missions he was given. He took each job as it came. He stayed away from the news and didn’t read any paper except for the Daily Racing Form. He’d built a wall around the job, because the job defined him and he refused to look at it in any other light. The job was who he was. He carried out the missions that had to be done to keep this country safe and her people unaware. Blissfully unaware. He shouldered that burden for them.
But Brienne Cross?
Landry thought about some of “the Shop” missions, the ones that fit a similar profile to the Aspen killings. They had seemed unusual at the time, but Landry had lived long enough to know that danger could come from unusual sources.
There was the blonde Mexican woman in Malibu. She’d looked familiar. He’d dispatched her one twilight as she jogged alone down Serra Road near her rented house. His orders were to stab her in the heart and leave her there, exposed.
The Egyptian professor at Berkley. Landry could see a reason for this man’s death. He could have been a radical Islamist.
But he didn’t know for sure, did he? Because he didn’t read the papers or watch the news.
The wealthy couple in Montana. The man had looked familiar.
He Googled them.
The Mexican woman was Jacinta Rivera, a Mexican pop star. She was very popular in the United States, but a superstar in Mexico. There had been a national day of mourning for her.
The Egyptian professor was a well-known political pundit and author. He had a show on CNN.
The husband and wife in Montana were both actors. The husband was an up-and-coming star, widely hailed to be “the next Brad Pitt.” They had just bought the ranch and retreated there between films.
Landry stared at the crime scene photos of the ranch, remembering the mission. He and his team had been swift and merciless. That was a year and a half ago, during the hostage crisis at the U.S. embassy in Yemen. The U.S. government had botched the hostage situation, and both U.S. soldiers and American civilians had been killed and dragged through the streets.