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though."
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"Can it wait until tomorrow?" the woman asked, eyeing me up and down. "It can
wait, right?"
"Actually, no. I just spoke with Doctor Shapiro, and she asked me to run down
here and catch you. I need to see the women's forensic ward visitor's log for
the last few years. Specifically for Mary Constantine. It's really important.
I wouldn't bother you otherwise."
The woman picked up her phone. "Doctor Shapiro sent you?"
"That's right. She just left for the day, but she told me this wouldn't be a
problem." I held up my ID. "I'm with the FBI, Dr. Alex Cross. This is part of
an ongoing murder investigation."
She didn't hide her displeasure. "I just shut down the computer, and I have
to pick up my daughter. I suppose I can get you the hard copy if you want."
Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into another room and came
back with a small stack of three-ring binders.
"You can only stay as long as Beadsie's here." She waved to a woman in a
goldfish-bowl office at the back. Then she left, without another word to me,
or to Beadsie.
The pages of the visitor's log were divided into columns. I worked from the
back of the most recent book, looking for Mary's name underWho Are You Here to
See?
For two years' worth of entries, there was nothing at all. It was obvious how
alone Mary Constantine had been in this place.
Then, suddenly, a rash of names cropped up on the log. Here was the flurry of
interest that Dr. Shapiro mentioned. It lasted over the course of about a
month and a half.
I slowed down and perused the visitors' names. Most were unfamiliar to me.
One of them, I recognized.
Chapter 115
MY CELL PHONE andVermont seemed to hate each other. Apparently, this was the
Land of No Signal.
I found a pay phone instead, called Agent Page in Los Angeles, and had him
patch in LAPD. A minute later we had Maddux Fielding's office on the line, but
no Fielding. What a surprise.
"You know what?" I said to the nameless lieutenant on the line. "Screw it.
Transfer us over to Detective Jeanne Galletta."
"What's going on?" Page asked me again, while we were on hold with LAPD.
Then I heard another voice on the line. "Jeanne Galletta. Is this Alex?"
"Jeanne, it's Alex all right. Karl Page from the L.A. Bureau office is on the
line, too. I'm in Vermont. I think I have important news on the Mary Smith
case."
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"I think I may have another connection for you a murder in Vancouver,"
Jeanne said. "What are you doing all the way up in Vermont?"
"Hold that thought about Vancouver. Please find Fielding. Or do whatever you
have to do, but someone needs to pick up Michael Bell for questioning. Michael
Bell.Marti Lowenstein-Bell's husband ."
"What?" Jeanne sounded incredulous. Then Page swore, obviously muffling the
receiver.
I gave them a very quick rundown of my last two days up here, then finally
the names on the visitor log at the state hospital.
"He knows Mary Constantine. He's visited her here in Vermont before. Several
times, actually."
"And what? He's been setting her up? How would he even know she was in L.A.?"
"I don't know everything yet. Maybe she looked him up when she got there;
maybe they corresponded. If he wanted her story, it would have been worth
something. I think hedid want it, just not for a movie."
"You think it was a cover, maybe to kill his own wife? That's a big-ass
coverup, Alex."
"Sure is. It's an incredible story, too. Page, are you getting this?"
"Got it. And I like it. Finally, something makes some sense to me."
"Good. Then do a direct cross-reference Michael Bell and anyone else
connected to this case. I wonder if he had a bigger agenda than just his wife.
Find out anything you can, surfer boy. All we need for now is enough to
justify holding him once LAPD gets him into custody.
"Jeanne, listen, please. If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. I say figure it out later
and get a cruiser over to Michael Bell's house. Now. And, Jeanne."
"What?"
"Don't go over there by yourself. I'm pretty sure that Bell is our killer."
Chapter 116
SUDDENLY THE WHOLE CASE was on fire again.
About ten miles from the hospital, I pulled over at the first gas station I
saw, an ancient Texaco with a flyingA over the roof. A Ford F-150 pulled in
after me, but the only other building in sight was a darkened sugarhouse in a
field directly across the road. I could see a couple of Holsteins grazing in
the field.
I called Karl Page again from another pay phone. I needed to hear what he'd
found out about Michael Bell.
At this late hour, catching a flight out of Burlington seemed unlikely; I
wanted to stay updated all the same, and was concerned for Page and Jeanne
Galletta. Who knew what Bell was up to in L.A.
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"What have you got so far?" I asked him.
"Amazing what you find when you look in the right place," he said. "Before
she died, Marti Lowenstein-Bell had just sold her own show to HBO. She was
hotter than a fifty-dollar pistol. On the other hand, Michael Bell's last
three solo projects went nowhere. His only big successes had been with her,
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