more bullshit for the public to sift through. I saw Kellyâs Stingray so I knew she was going to bust my chops for not arriving sooner. The murder of NSA Director Pockets was going to mean a tremendous amount of pressure to catch the killer.
According to Michelson, Clayton Pockets was killed the same way Judge Taylor was killed. The only good thing about that information was that we now knew Jennifer Taylor, not her husband, had indeed been the target. It also meant that I didnât have to waste valuable time interviewing feminist leader Patricia English.
I walked into the hotel room and saw Pockets lying nude on the bed, his hands and feet tied to the bedposts. Agents and police officers alike were joking about how he had died. Pocketsâ balls were purple from repeated orgasms. One officer joked, âIf you gotta go, thatâs the way.â Anotherjoked about wanting to be next on her list. No one seemed to be surprised or even interested in the fact that the Assassin appeared to be a woman.
I examined the body more closely and saw the needle pattern in the victimâs chest. I recognized it from the time I had spent in the Shaolin Temple. It was the fertility pattern, designed to help a man with a low sperm count continue relations so that a significant amount of semen could be ejaculated. One of the side effects of this sort of acupuncture was that the man wouldnât be able to have sex again for a least a month, maybe six, depending on the man.
The pattern told me that the assailant was familiar with the ancient art. That, coupled with the skill it took to snap a neck so cleanly, led me to believe that the assassin was a martial artist. If I was right, it was going to be tough to catch her. Michelsonâs cell rang. From the look on his face, it wasnât good news.
âPerry,â Michelson said. âWe got another stiff. Same MO as Taylor and Pockets. You and McPherson get over there before the media finds out weâve got a serial killer out there.â
CHAPTER 20
N SA RECEPTIONIST Anita Price told us that Pockets had called in Friday afternoon and said he was taking the rest of the day off, which meant nothing. When she told us he had called from the Capitol Hill Hyatt Regency, I knew we had missed something last night. Nevertheless, we still didnât have enough to get a search warrant. Even if we had a warrant, I had no idea who or what we were looking for.
I looked through the telephone logs the reluctant desk clerk had given us and couldnât make much sense of them, so I decided to do some old-fashioned police work. That meant going to the Hyatt Regency and questioning all the employees.
Director Pockets had called from a pay phone in the lounge. The bartender told us that Pockets had been there, but left with a blonde. He was reasonably confident that he could identify her. We confiscated the security tapes and took the bartender with us to the Hoover Building. With his help, we obtained a picture of the woman Pockets had left with. On the chance that she may have been a guest at the hotel, we put in several other tapes and spotted her coming out of a room on the ninth floor.
From the angle of the videotape, I could see that the room was the last one on the left, next to the exit stairs. We went back to the hotel and called the room to see if she was in. There was no answer. Kelly stayed in the lobby. She was supposed to call me on my cell if the suspect entered the hotel.
I showed the maid my credentials and had her open the door. Careful not to disturb anything, I searched the room and found an electronically locked suitcase. It had a sophisticated ten-button keypad. There could be no doubt now. The blonde was the assassin.
There was a laptop on the dresser, next to the television. I turned it on and searched through the documents. When I saw a file titled âThe List,â I opened it and saw a list of names. There were addresses and bios next to each
According to Michelson, Clayton Pockets was killed the same way Judge Taylor was killed. The only good thing about that information was that we now knew Jennifer Taylor, not her husband, had indeed been the target. It also meant that I didnât have to waste valuable time interviewing feminist leader Patricia English.
I walked into the hotel room and saw Pockets lying nude on the bed, his hands and feet tied to the bedposts. Agents and police officers alike were joking about how he had died. Pocketsâ balls were purple from repeated orgasms. One officer joked, âIf you gotta go, thatâs the way.â Anotherjoked about wanting to be next on her list. No one seemed to be surprised or even interested in the fact that the Assassin appeared to be a woman.
I examined the body more closely and saw the needle pattern in the victimâs chest. I recognized it from the time I had spent in the Shaolin Temple. It was the fertility pattern, designed to help a man with a low sperm count continue relations so that a significant amount of semen could be ejaculated. One of the side effects of this sort of acupuncture was that the man wouldnât be able to have sex again for a least a month, maybe six, depending on the man.
The pattern told me that the assailant was familiar with the ancient art. That, coupled with the skill it took to snap a neck so cleanly, led me to believe that the assassin was a martial artist. If I was right, it was going to be tough to catch her. Michelsonâs cell rang. From the look on his face, it wasnât good news.
âPerry,â Michelson said. âWe got another stiff. Same MO as Taylor and Pockets. You and McPherson get over there before the media finds out weâve got a serial killer out there.â
CHAPTER 20
N SA RECEPTIONIST Anita Price told us that Pockets had called in Friday afternoon and said he was taking the rest of the day off, which meant nothing. When she told us he had called from the Capitol Hill Hyatt Regency, I knew we had missed something last night. Nevertheless, we still didnât have enough to get a search warrant. Even if we had a warrant, I had no idea who or what we were looking for.
I looked through the telephone logs the reluctant desk clerk had given us and couldnât make much sense of them, so I decided to do some old-fashioned police work. That meant going to the Hyatt Regency and questioning all the employees.
Director Pockets had called from a pay phone in the lounge. The bartender told us that Pockets had been there, but left with a blonde. He was reasonably confident that he could identify her. We confiscated the security tapes and took the bartender with us to the Hoover Building. With his help, we obtained a picture of the woman Pockets had left with. On the chance that she may have been a guest at the hotel, we put in several other tapes and spotted her coming out of a room on the ninth floor.
From the angle of the videotape, I could see that the room was the last one on the left, next to the exit stairs. We went back to the hotel and called the room to see if she was in. There was no answer. Kelly stayed in the lobby. She was supposed to call me on my cell if the suspect entered the hotel.
I showed the maid my credentials and had her open the door. Careful not to disturb anything, I searched the room and found an electronically locked suitcase. It had a sophisticated ten-button keypad. There could be no doubt now. The blonde was the assassin.
There was a laptop on the dresser, next to the television. I turned it on and searched through the documents. When I saw a file titled âThe List,â I opened it and saw a list of names. There were addresses and bios next to each
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