He thought about how the new developments might change the game. Then he sent out a message to the Horsemen. He told them about Cross and Sampson -that the detectives had decided to 'play the game'. So, naturally, he had plans for them too.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Thirty-Seven
Zachary Scott Taylor was a thorough, analytical, and very hard-nosed reporter on the Washington Post. I respected the hell out of him. His relentless cynicism and skepticism were a little too much for me to take on a daily basis; otherwise we might have been even closer friends. But we had a good relationship and I trusted him more than I did most journalists.
I met him that night at the Irish Times, on F Street, near Union Station. The restaurant-bar is in an anachronistic stand-alone brick building surrounded by modern office structures. Zachary called it 'a dumpy little toilet of a bar, a perfect place for us to meet'.
In the time-honored tradition of Washington, I have occasionally been one of his trusted sources, and I was about to tell the reporter something important. I hoped he would agree, and that he could convince his editors at the Post about the story.
'How're Master Damon and Ms. Jannie?' Zachary asked as he sat across from me in a darkened comer under an old photo of a stern-looking man in a black top hat. Zachary is tall, gaunt and thin; he resembles the man in the old photo a little bit. Zachary always talks too fast - with the words running into one another -How'reMasterDamonandMsJannie? There was just a hint of Virginia softening his accent.
The waitress eventually came over to our table. He ordered black coffee and I had the same.
'Two coffees?' she asked, to make sure she'd heard us right.
'Two of your very finest coffees,' Zachary said.
'This isn't Starbucks, y'know.' she said.
I smiled at the waitress's joke, then at what Zachary had said - his first words to me. I'd probably mentioned my kids' names to him once, but he had an encyclopedic memory for all kinds of disparate information.
'You should go get yourself a couple of kids, Zachary,' I told him, smiling broadly.
He glanced up at an ancient whirring ceiling fan that looked as if it might suddenly spin out of the ceiling, it seemed a nice metaphor for modern life in America, an aging infrastructure threatening to spin out of control.
'Don't have a wife yet, Alex. Still looking for the right woman,' said Zachary.
'Well, okay then, get yourself a wife first, then get a couple of kids. Might take the edge off your neuroses.'
The waitress placed steaming cups of black coffee in front of us. 'Will that be all?' she said. She shook her head, then left us.
'Maybe I don't want the edge taken off my rather stunning neurotic behavior. Maybe I believe that's what makes me such a damn fine reporter, and that without it my work would be pedestrian shit, and then I'd be nothing in the eyes of Don Graham and company.'
I sipped the day-or-two-old coffee. 'Except that if you had a couple of kids, you could never be nothing.'
Zachary squinted one eye shut and smacked the left side of his lips. He was a very animated thinker.
'Except if the kids didn't love, or even like me very much.'
'And you don't consider yourself lovable? But actually you are, Zachary. Trust me. You're just fine. Your kids would adore the hell out of you and you would adore them. You'd have a mutual adoration society.'
He finally laughed and clapped his hands loudly. We usually laugh a good bit when we're together.
'So will you marry me and have my children?' He grinned at me over the top of his steaming cup. This is a pick-up joint, after all. Singles from the Bureau of Labor Statistics and the Government Printing Office come here, hoping to bed a staffer from Kennedy's or Glenn's.'
'Actually, it's the best offer I've had all day. Who called this meeting anyway? Why are we here at this dive, drinking really bad coffee?'
Taylor slurped his. 'Coffee's fairly strong, isn't it? That's something to be thankful for. What's up, Alex?'
'You interested in another Pulitzer?' I asked him.
He pretended to think it over, but his eyes lit up. 'Well, I might be. You see, I need to balance the look of my mantelpiece. One of my dates told me that. Never did see the young woman again. She worked for Gingrich, as a matter of fact.'
For the next forty-five minutes or so, I told Zachary exactly what I thought was up. I told him about one hundred and fourteen unsolved murders in Southeast and parts of Northeast DC. I detailed the contrasting investigation of the cases of Frank Odenkirk and the German tourist in Georgetown, and the black teenagers Tori Glover and Marion Cardinal. I filled him in on the chief of detectives, his proclivities and his biases, at least my perception of them. I even admitted that I disliked Pittman intensely, and Zachary knows I'm not that way about too many folks who don't murder for a living.
He shook his head back and forth, back and forth, while I talked, and didn't stop when I was finished. 'It's not that I doubt any of what you're saying, but do you have any documentation?' he asked.
'You're such a stickler for details,' I said. 'Reporters are such wusses when you come right down to it.'
I reached down under my seat and lifted up two thick manila folders. His eyes brightened.
This should help with the story. Copies of sixty-seven of the unsolved homicide reports. Also a copy of the Glover and Cardinal investigation. Note the number of detectives assigned to each. Check the case hours logged.
You'll see a huge discrepancy. That's all I could get my hands on - but the other reports exist.'
'Why would this be happening, this malicious neglect?' he asked me.
I nodded at the wisdom of his question. 'I'll give you the most cynical reason,' I said. 'Some Metro cops like to refer to Southeast as “self-cleaning ovens”. That sound like the beginnings of malicious neglect to you? Some victims in Southeast are called NHIs - that's No Humans Involved. The latter is a phrase used by Chief Pittman.'
Zachary quickly leafed through the reports. Then he shook my hand. I'm going home to my lonely abode, made bearable only by my single Pulitzer. I have all these fascinating police files on NHIs to read, then hopefully a chilling news expose to write. We'll see. As always, it's been a party, Alex. My best to Damon, Jannie, Nana Mama. I'd like to meet them one day. Put some faces with the names.'
'Come to the next Washington Boys' Choir performance.' I said. 'All our faces will be there. Damon is a chorister.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Thirty-Eight
I worked that night until eight thirty, and then I drove to Kinkead's in Foggy Bottom to meet up with Christine. Kinkead's is one of our favorite restaurants and also an excellent place to listen to jazz, and snuggle up to each other.
I sat at the bar and enjoyed the sounds of Hilton Felton and Ephrain Woolfolk until Christine arrived, coming from an event at school. She was right on time, though. She is punctual. Very considerate. Perfect in almost every way, at least in my eyes. Yes, I will be your wife.
'You hungry? Want to go to a table?' I asked, after we had hugged as if we'd been separated for many years and thousands of miles.
'Let's just sit here at the bar for a few minutes. You mind?' she asked. Her breath smelled lightly of spearmint. Her face was so soft and smooth that I had to lightly cup it in both my hands.
'Nothing I'd rather do in the whole wide world,' I said.
Christine ordered a Harvey's Bristol Cream and I had a mug of beer, and we talked as the music flowed over, around, and right through our bodies. It had been a long day, and I needed this.
I've been waiting for this all day long. I couldn't wait. Am I being too corny and romantic again?' I said, and grinned.
'Not for me. Never too corny, never too romantic. That won't happen, Alex.' Christine smiled. I loved to see her like this. Her eyes twinkled and danced. I sometimes get lost in her eyes, fall into the deep pools, all that good stuff that people yearn for but few seem to get no
wadays, which is sad.
She stared back and my fingers lightly caressed her cheek. Then I held her under her chin. 'Stardust was playing. It's one of my favorite songs, even under ordinary circumstances. I wondered if Hilton and Ephrain were playing the tune for us, and when I looked at him, Hilton gave me a sly wink.
We moved closer together and danced in place. I could feel her heart beating; feel it right up against my chest. We must have stayed like that for ten or fifteen minutes. No one at the bar seemed to notice; no one bothered us -offered to refill our drinks, or escort us to our table. I guess they understood.
'I really like Kinkead's.' Christine whispered. 'But you know what? I'd rather be home with you tonight. Some place a little more private. I'll make you eggs, whatever you'd like. Is that all right? Do you mind?' 'No, I don't mind at all. That's a perfect idea. Lets go.' I paid our bar bill, made my regrets about the dinner reservation. Then we went to Christine's. 'We'll start with dessert.' she said and smiled wickedly.
I liked that about her too.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Thirty-Nine
I had been waiting a long time to be in love again, but this was worth it and then some. I grabbed hold of Christine as soon as we were inside her house. My hands began to trace her waist, her hips; they played over her breasts, her shoulders, then touched the delicate bones of her face. We liked to do this slowly, no need to rush. I kissed her lips, then gently scratched her back and shoulders. I pulled her closer, closer.
'You have the gentlest touch,' she whispered against my cheek. 'I could do this all night. Be just like this. You want some wine? Anything? I'll give you anything I have.'
'I love you,' I told her, still lightly scratching her lower back. 'We will do this forever. I have no doubt of it.'
'I love you so much.' she whispered, then I heard her breath softly catch. 'So please, try to be careful, Alex. At work.'
'Okay, I will. But not tonight,' I said.
Christine smiled. 'Not tonight. Tonight you can live dangerously. We both will. You are handsome, and debonair for a policeman.'
'Or even for an international jewel thief.'
I swept her up and carried her down the hallway to the bedroom. 'Mmm. Strong, too.' she said. She flicked on a hall lamp as we passed. It was just enough light to see where we were going.
'How about a trip somewhere?' I said. 'I need to get away.'
'That sounds good. Yes - before school starts. Anywhere. Take me away from all this.'
Her room smelled of fresh flowers. There were pink and red roses on the nightstand. She has a passion for flowers and gardening.
'You planned this all along, didn't you?' I said. 'You did. This is entrapment. You sly girl.'
'I was thinking about it all day.' she confessed and sighed contentedly. 'I thought about being with you all day, in my office, in the hallways, the schoolyard, and then in my car on the way to the restaurant. I've been having erotic day-dreams about you all day.'
'I hope I can live up to them.'
'You will. No doubt about it.'
I took off her black silk blouse in one sweeping motion. I put my mouth to a breast, pulling at it through her demi bra. She was wearing a brushed leather skirt and I didn't take it off, just slowly pushed it up. I knelt and kissed her ankles, the tops of her feet, then slowly came up her long legs. She massaged my neck, my back and shoulders.
'You are dangerous tonight,' she said. 'That's a good thing.'
'Sexual healing.'
'Mmm, please. Heal me all over, Doctor.'
She bit down hard into my shoulder, then even harder into the side of my neck. We were both breathing fast. She moved against me then opened her legs for me. I moved inside her. She felt incredibly warm. The bed-springs began to sing and the headboard rocked into the wall.
She pushed her hair to one side, behind an ear. I love the way she does that.
'You feel so good Oh, Alex, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop,' she whispered.
I did as I was told and I loved every moment, every movement we made together, and I even wondered for a second if we had made a baby.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Forty
Much later that night we rustled up some eggs with Vidalia onions and cheddar and mozzarella cheeses, opened a nice bottle of Pinot Noir. Then I started a fire, in August, with the air-conditioner turned up high.
We sat in front of the fire, laughed and talked, and planned a quick trip away from Washington. We settled on Bermuda, and Christine asked if we could bring Nana and the kids. I felt as if my life were changing fast, going to a new good place. If only I could get lucky and catch the Weasel somehow. That could be the perfect ending to my career with the Metro police.
I went home to Fifth Street late, got in just before three. I didn't want Damon and Jannie to wake in the morning and not find me there. I was up by eight o'clock the next morning, bounding downstairs to the delectable smells of fresh coffee and Nana's world-famous sticky buns.
The terrible twosome were just about ready to dash off to the Sojourner Truth School where they were taking advanced classes in the morning. They looked like a pair of shiny angels. I didn't get to feel this good very often, so I was going all the way with it.
'How was your date last night, Daddy?' Jannie said, making her biggest goo-goo eyes at me.
'Who said I had a date?' I made room for her on my knee. She ate a bite of the humongous sweet bun Nana had set on my plate.
'Let's just say a little birdie told me,' she chirped.
'Uh-huh. Little birdie makes good sticky buns,' I said. 'My date was pretty good. How was yours? You had a date, right? Didn't sit home alone, did you?'
'Your date was pretty good? You came home with the milkman.' Jannie laughed out loud. Damon was giggling, too. She can get us all going when she wants to; she's been that way since she was a baby.
'Jannie Cross.' Nana said, but she let it go. There was no use trying to make Jannie act like a typical seven-year-old at this point. She was too bright, too outspoken, too full of life and fun. Besides, we have a philosophy as a family: he or she who laughs, lasts.
'How come you two don't live together first?' Jannie asked. That's what they all do in the movies and on TV.'
I found myself grinning and starting to frown at the same time. 'Don't get me going on the silly stuff they do on TV and in the movies, little girl. They always get it wrong. Christine and I are going to get married soon, and then we'll all live together.'
'You sure you asked her?' they all exclaimed.
'I did.'
'And she said yes?'
'Why do you all look so surprised? Of course she said yes. Who could resist being a part of this family?'
'Hooray!' Jannie whooped loudly. I could tell she meant it from the bottom of her little heart.
'Hooray!' echoed Nana. 'Thank God. Oh, thank God.'
'I agree.' Damon piped in. 'It's time that we had a more normal life around here.'
Everybody was congratulating me for several minutes until Jannie finally said, 'I have to go to school now, Pa-pa. I wouldn't want to disappoint Ms. Johnson by being late, now would I? 'Here's your morning newspaper.'
Jannie handed me the Washington Post and my heart jumped a little in my chest. This was a good day indeed. I saw Zachary Taylor's story in the bottom right of the front page. It wasn't the banner headline it deserved to be, but he'd gotten the story on page one.
Potential scandal over unsolved murders in Southeast DC. Possible racial bias seen in police activity.
'Potential scandal indeed,' Nana said, and squeegeed her lower face. 'Genocide always is, isn't it?'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Forty-One
I entered the station house around nine and Chief Pittman's assistant-lackey came scurrying up to me. Old Fred Cook had been a bad detective once, and now was an equally bad and devious administrator, but Fred was as smooth a buttkis
ser as could be found in the department or anywhere else in Washington.
'The chief of detectives wants to see you in his office, post-haste. It's important.' Fred told me. 'Better move it.'
I nodded at him and tried to keep my good mood intact. 'Of course it is, he's the chief of detectives. You have any helpful hints for me, Fred? You happen to know what this is about, what I should expect?'
'It's a big deal,' said Cook, unhelpful and happy about it. 'That's about all I can tell you, Alex.'
He walked away, leaving me hanging. I could feel the bile rising in my throat. My good mood had already deserted me.
I walked down the creaking hardwood floors of the hallway to the Jefe's office. I had no idea what to expect; but I sure wasn't prepared for what I found.
I immediately thought about what Damon had said that morning: It's time that we had a more normal life around here.
Sampson was seated inside the chief's office. Rakeem Powell and Jerome Thurman were both in there, too.
'Come in, Dr. Cross.' Chief Pittman beckoned with an outstretched hand. 'Please come in. We've been waiting for you to arrive.'
'What is this?' I said, pulling up a chair next to Sampson's, whispering in his ear.
'Don't know yet, but it's not too good,' he said. The Jefe hasn't said one word to us. Looks like the canary who ate the cat, though.'
Pittman came around in front of his desk and leaned his ample buttocks back against it. He seemed particularly full of himself, and shit, this morning. His mousy gray hair was plastered back and looked like a helmet on his bullet head.
'I can tell you what you want to know, Detective Cross.' he said. 'In fact, I didn't want to tell these other detectives until you got here. As of this morning, Detectives Sampson, Thurman, and Powell have been suspended from active duty. They have been working on cases outside the auspices of this department. Evidence is still being gathered about the full extent of these activities; and also, if any other detectives were involved.'
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