Kill Alex Cross ac-18

by James Patterson

  That might have explained why I was the only non-FBI personnel here. Mrs. Coyle trusted me, for better or worse. So far, I felt like I was letting her down.

  Lindley turned the case around so the screen was facing me, then hit the space bar to start the video.

  At first, it didn’t look like anything was happening. Then I noticed some kind of vague movement, like someone was carrying a camera through a dark room.

  My pulse ticked up a notch, anticipating what I was about to see.

  A light of some kind came on, wobbly, like a handheld flashlight.

  I saw the folds of a dark blue blanket. The camera kept moving, and a hand came into the frame.

  Then Zoe’s face.

  She seemed to be sleeping. Probably under heavy sedation, I thought, given what Molly Johnson had told me. The shot was too close up to show Zoe’s surroundings — but could this be the basement Molly had described? The one that smelled like dirt? Where the hell was it?

  “The date stamp on the video file is for two days ago,” Lindley said. “Not that you can’t fake something like that, but it’s the best sign we’ve had so far that they’re alive.”

  In fact it was the only sign we’d had, but I didn’t say anything.

  The camera stayed on Zoe for another ten seconds or so. Then there was a blur of movement, and Ethan was there. His face was just as filthy as Zoe’s, and just as gaunt. At least there was no blood or scars, nothing to suggest they’d been beaten.

  “The son of a bitch is starving them,” I said. My eyes welled up. I couldn’t help it.

  Finally, I had to look away from the video.

  Lindley cleared his throat. “There’s twenty-three seconds in all,” he said. “And then … this.”

  The screen went dark. This time, it looked like the camera had been turned off.

  When it came on again, we were looking at a plain white piece of paper with something printed there, in a small, plain font.

  As the image slowly zoomed in, the words on the page became clear.

  “Believe what you want, Mr. President.”

  “It’s more of the same,” I said. “He’s turning up the torture. He wants Coyle to watch his kids waste away, just like Rodney Glass had to watch his own son die.”

  Lindley nodded sedately. He took back the computer case and shut it up tight.

  “I’m inclined to agree,” he said. “That’s why we think it’s time to put everything on the table.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. “What does that mean?”

  “It means if we’re lucky, we’ve got one last chance to save Ethan and Zoe. We’re pulling Glass in for further questioning.”

  “What?”

  “I know it’s a risk,” he said. “But all we have is circumstantial evidence — at best. We need him to think he’s cornered. A confession’s our only shot.”

  “Hang on. Did we just see the same video?” I said. “What do you think happens to Ethan and Zoe if you take him out of commission?”

  Lindley didn’t like to have his authority questioned. I could see it in the way he set his jaw when he looked at me.

  “What are you suggesting, Cross? We do nothing about this? We wait him out?”

  “I’m saying let’s consider all our options while we still can.” I got up and started moving, trying to think clearly. After weeks of walking through molasses on this, it was all happening too fast. “Maybe we create a false story. We say we have his print on the videotape. Something to let Glass think he’s got no room to maneuver.”

  But Lindley wasn’t even listening anymore. His phone had just buzzed. He looked down to check whatever message had come in.

  “Too late,” he told me. “Glass is already here.”

  RODNEY GLASS WAS a damn good actor. He seemed genuinely perplexed about why he’d been pulled in for another interview. But he didn’t fool me for a second. He’d been to medical school. Of course he was bright.

  “How many times do I have to say this?” he asked, less than a minute into the interview. “I was treating Ryan Townsend for a bloody nose just after Ethan and Zoe went missing. I’ve got Ryan himself, not to mention at least one Secret Service agent, to back me up on this. So can someone please explain what I’m doing here?”

  He had a cocky, almost adolescent quality to him, all the way down to his NBA kicks. Was that part of the act, too? Just another way to get the kids at Branaff to trust him? I also had the impression Glass had taken something, maybe even just a Klonopin, to keep himself loose while he was here. He certainly knew his way around pharmaceuticals.

  “What about just before Ethan and Zoe disappeared?” I asked. “Where were you then?”

  “Isn’t this already in your files, or whatever?” he asked.

  “Humor us,” Lindley said. After our initial argument, Peter and I had agreed on one thing. Now that Glass was here, we needed to hit him with everything we had. And maybe some things we didn’t have.

  “I was in the faculty restroom, okay? Taking a dump, if you really want to know.”

  Lindley scribbled something in his file.

  “And how long does it take to walk from the faculty restroom back to the infirmary?” I asked.

  Glass shook his head and frowned. “I don’t know. A minute and a half? You tell me.”

  “Just about a minute and a half,” I said. “But you weren’t coming back from the restroom, were you?”

  “And that’s not really a question, is it?” he said.

  “It also takes about a minute and a half to get back from the tunnel under the school, if you hurry,” I told him. “I timed it myself.”

  “Yeah, good for you,” he said.

  I hated this guy. I really did. The stakes couldn’t have been higher, and I was feeling edgier by the second. I didn’t care anymore that he’d lost a son. That didn’t excuse what he was doing now.

  “Before that, you were using the phone from Emma Allison’s locker to send Zoe Coyle a text. One that would get her down into that tunnel just after homeroom,” I went on. “I guess the only thing I’m wondering is whether you planned for Ethan to be there, too, or if you had to improvise.”

  Glass actually grinned and looked around at everyone else in the room. There were five of us, including two of Lindley’s agents, recording the interview with a camera and a laptop.

  “Why do I feel like I’m being set up here?” he said right into the camera.

  Lindley put down his pen and closed the file in front of him as if we were just getting started.

  “Mr. Glass, was there some sort of incident, between you and your ex-wife in March of 2007?” he asked.

  Glass did an exaggerated double take, looking back and forth between Lindley and me. “I’m getting whiplash in here. What are you talking about? I’m lost.”

  “She says you drugged her and held her hostage for three days, shortly after the death of your son.”

  “What?” His face dropped. For the first time, he actually seemed surprised. “So this is how you want to play it? The dead-kid card? Are you joking?”

  I stood up. I couldn’t sit still for this anymore. “Do we look like we’re joking?” I said.

  Lindley went on in the same monotone. He stayed in his seat. “Would you be willing to show us where you took her?” he asked.

  “I can’t!” Glass shouted at him. “I can’t — because it never happened! Did you even bother to check Molly’s medical records? She had a complete breakdown after Zach died. I’m talking clinical. So if she thinks I held her hostage, or whatever, that’s her problem, not mine.”

  “You know, your compassion’s a little underwhelming,” I said.

  “Yeah, so’s your police work,” he shot back. “Jesus. If Ethan and Zoe do wind up dead, at least we’ll all know whose fault it is.”

  That was it. I snapped. The next thing I knew, I was halfway across the table with two handfuls of Glass’s shirt.

  “Where are they?” I yelled.

&nb
sp; “Alex!”

  “Where are they?”

  It was a moment of pure adrenaline. If I could have split open his head for the information, I might have done it.

  “Get him out of here!” Lindley shouted behind me.

  “This isn’t going to bring back your son!” I told him. “Give it up, Glass — for God’s sake! Don’t let those kids die!”

  I was still yelling as they pulled me out into the hall. The last thing I saw before they closed the door was Rodney Glass, raising a hand my way to wave good-bye.

  Jesus. What had I just done? He’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted, hadn’t he?

  I’d risen to the bait.

  I WAS CROUCHED down in the hall, trying to regroup, still angry but also embarrassed about what had happened with Glass, when I realized someone was standing over me.

  “Take a walk?”

  I looked up from a pair of black steel-toed boots to see Ned Mahoney, holding out a hand.

  “How’d you know I was here?” I said.

  “After that little scene? I think everyone knows you’re here,” Ned said. Several other people had stopped and were still staring. “Come on. Let’s go breathe some air.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I told him.

  “That’s true,” he said, and headed up the hall. So I stood and followed.

  We wound our way down to the ground floor of Liberty Crossing and out through the west lobby. The whole place is a huge X-shaped complex, with one of those sterile concrete plazas in the crook of the two main wings. We stopped there and took a seat on one of several empty benches overlooking the parking area down below.

  The dropping temperature outside didn’t do much to cool me off while I told Ned what had happened. In fact, talking about it only made me feel worse.

  “I screwed up, Ned. Glass is probably going to be home in his own bed tonight, while Ethan and Zoe …” I shook my head. I couldn’t even finish.

  “That would have happened whether you went off the deep end with him or not,” Ned told me. “You said so yourself. He’s too clean, too smart.”

  “Clean as dirt,” I said. “Goddamnit. But I know we can get him.”

  Mahoney was uncharacteristically slow to respond. Usually his brain has a direct line to his mouth. Then finally he said, “You’re sure Glass is the one?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  “And you can’t prove it?”

  “I can prove it,” I said. “Just not fast enough.”

  “So maybe it’s time to think about some alternatives,” he said.

  I felt a chill down my back, and not because of the stiff breeze blowing up from the parking lot. I let Ned go on.

  “Listen, I’m a company man when I need to be one,” he said. “If the system didn’t work at least some of the time, I couldn’t do this for a living. But guess what, Alex? It’s not working. Not on this one. It’s not even coming close to working.”

  “Hard to disagree. Glass is unusual, smarter than most.”

  I couldn’t get Ned to look at me. He just stared down at the pebbled concrete between his feet while he talked. This was Langley, after all. You never knew which bush had eyes, or which bench had ears.

  “Ned, you’re talking about —”

  “I’m not talking about anything,” he said. “But if I were, I’d tell you that I could pretty easily put my hands on some things you might need. Also, that I wouldn’t leave you hanging on this, if you’re interested.”

  I wanted to say, interested in what? But I was sure I already knew. Before I could say anything else, Ned got to his feet.

  “Go home, Alex. You’ve got my number if you want to … you know. Talk.”

  “Talk,” I said. “Right. I do have your number.”

  He hunched his shoulders against the wind and blew into his hands. “Should have worn a jacket out here,” he said. “Cold as hell.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Cold as hell for sure.

  RECORD.

  “After I left Cross, I was almost overwhelmed by my own emotion. I’d done it, I’d won. I’d beaten all of them and I was still winning every single battle. Every one.

  “And yet I felt a subtle change in myself. Was I so filled with guilt … that I was someone different now? Why hadn’t I struck out at Cross?

  “The honest truth: I wasn’t as impressed by him as I thought I might be. But was he playing me? Setting me up for the kill? He was certainly physically imposing, and smart, I suppose. He’s definitely passionate about what he’s doing.

  “But I don’t believe he’s going to catch me, to stop me, to put me away for what I’ve done, the awful things.

  “I’m not afraid of Cross.

  “But that’s not what my feelings are about. This isn’t about the detective; it’s about me. I know that to be perfectly safe I should do nothing about him. I’m clever enough to figure out something deadly. I’m good enough to execute it, and get away with it.

  “So why haven’t I acted? What’s stopping me? Is it guilt? Remorse over what I’ve done to the children? Maybe something got to me — something about Cross’s kids, or his wife, or Cross himself? His passion is inspiring.

  “Or is it this: I know I can’t stop myself and I want Cross to do it for me?

  “No. I don’t think so. I don’t believe I want to be stopped. I’ve won … and I rather like that.”

  WHEN I GOT home that night, I could hear the kids going at it down in the basement. Ever since Ava had come to stay with us, the three of them were getting on like a house on fire, and they’d turned the downstairs into their own makeshift all-in-one clubhouse, boxing gym, and movie theater.

  Bree and Nana were in the living room, stuffing envelopes for Southeast Children’s House. That was the name of the charter school Sampson and Billie were still struggling to start up … without much help from me these days.

  I flopped down on the couch with my plate of leftovers and a Budweiser.

  “What’s the good word?” Bree said, sliding me a sideways kiss, then another. She smelled good, felt even better. I’d missed her.

  “All bad,” I finally told her. I couldn’t get Mahoney’s offer out of my head, but this was not the time or place to talk about it. I was home now.

  I reached down and picked up a tattered paperback copy of Precious, which someone had left on the floor. It was the movie tie-in version, with the amazing lead actress, Gabourey Sidibe, on the cover.

  “Is Jannie reading this for school?” I asked. “Tough story. Good one.”

  “Actually, I got that for Ava,” Nana said. “I told her she needed some meat and potatoes to go with those comic books she’s been gobbling down.”

  “Speaking of Ava,” Bree said. “We got a call from Anita at Child and Family Services today. Just checking in to see how things are going.”

  “I guess that means they don’t have a placement for her,” I said, forking up a mouthful of meat loaf and sweet potato.

  “I think Anita’s hoping they have one,” Bree said. “She thinks Ava’s going to make it.”

  I looked up from my plate to see both of them staring at me.

  “Don’t look so surprised, Alex,” Nana said. “You knew they’d push for this.”

  “Let them,” I said. “We still need to get Ava into a real foster home before she gets too settled here. Or too attached.”

  Nana threw down the flyer and envelope she was holding. “Well, isn’t that just typical!”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Apparently, it’s obvious to everyone but you that Ava is already attached to this family,” she laid into me. “And most of us are attached to her!”

  I set down my plate and rubbed my eyes. The last thing I needed right now was a lecture from my grandmother. Or a fight. I was home.

  “Nana, I can’t tell you how bad the timing is.”

  “And, Alex? I can’t tell you how little I care what you think right now. Why do you suppose Ava ne
ver smiles at you?” she said. “Why do you think the conversation always drops off when you come into the room? It’s because you’re never here! You think she’s that way with everyone?”

  “Excuse me, but I’m trying to help bring two kids home to their parents,” I said, barely holding onto my temper.

  “Oh yes, because nobody else is working on that one. Excuse me, but those Coyle children have thousands — thousands — of people looking out for them right now. What does Ava have? She’s got us, that’s what.”

  “That’s not fair,” I said.

  “Well, someone let me know when everything gets fair around here.”

  She snatched the copy of Precious off my lap like she didn’t even want me touching it and she left the room. A second later, I heard the basement door open.

  “Who wants ice cream?” she called out, like nothing had happened, and a small army of feet started up on the stairs. “I’ve got Chunky Monkey, Mint Chocolate Chunk, Cookie Dough …”

  I took a deep breath. Then I took another.

  “What a great day,” I said.

  Bree gave me a sympathetic smile. I could tell whose side she was on, but she wasn’t going to beat me up about this. Not right now, anyway.

  “Come on, tough guy,” she said. “Let’s go put some Mint Chocolate Chunk on it. You deserve it.”

  SLEEP WAS APPARENTLY out of the question that night. With Bree off working another graveyard shift, the bed seemed way too big and I was left alone with my thoughts. Including thoughts about poor Ava.

  Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ethan and Zoe’s dirty, emaciated faces. And every time I opened them, I thought about what Ned Mahoney had said to me after my encounter with Glass. Or rather, everything he hadn’t said. I could feel the idea of it taking shape like a heavy ball in my chest — half dread, half adrenaline.

  If I’d understood Ned correctly, we were talking about something I’d resisted ever since I became a cop, a line I’d never crossed. But then again, maybe that was only because I’d never had to.