The movement of the technician seemed to startle Ellis Cooper. He turned his head and looked into the viewing room for the first time. The warden asked him if he'd like to make a statement.
Cooper's eyes found us and he held contact. It was incredibly powerful, as if he were about to lose us as he fell into the deepest chasm.
Then Ellis Cooper spoke. His voice was reedy at first, but it got stronger.
“I did not murder Tanya Jackson, Barbara Green or Maureen Bruno. I would say so if I did, take this final injection like the man I was trained to be. I didn't kill the three women outside Fort Bragg. Someone else did. God bless you all. Thank you, John and Alex. I forgive the United States Army, which has been a good father to me.”
Ellis Cooper held his head up. Proudly. Like a soldier on parade.
The executioner stepped forward. He injected a dose of Pavulon, a total muscle relaxer which would stop Cooper's breathing.
Very soon Ellis Cooper's heart, lungs and brain stopped functioning.
Sergeant Cooper was pronounced dead by the warden of Central Prison at
1:31 A.M.
Sampson turned to me when it was over. “We just watched a murder,” he said. “Someone murdered Ellis Cooper, and they got away with it.”
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
PART TWO
JAM ILLA
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Thirty-Two
I was early to meet the flight coming into Gate 74 at Reagan International, and once I was at the airport I didn't know what to do with myself. I was definitely nervous, good nervous, with anticipation. Jamilla Hughes was coming to visit.
The airport was crowded at around four on a Friday afternoon. Lots of weary, edgy business-people sitting around ending their workweeks on the computer, or already off the clock at the bar, or reading magazines and popular novels that ranged from Jonathan Frantzen to Nora Roberts to Stephen King. I sat down, then popped up again. Finally I walked close to the large, expansive windows and watched a big American jet slowly taxi to the gate. Well, here we go. Am I ready? Is she?
Jamilla was in the second wave of passengers getting off the plane. She had on jeans, a mauve top, and a black leather car jacket that I remembered from our stakeouts together in New Orleans. The two of us had become fast friends on a bizarre homicide case that had started in her hometown of San Francisco, weaved its way through the South, including the Big Easy, then ended up on the West Coast again.
We had been talking about seeing each other ever since, and now we were actually doing it. It was pretty courageous on both of our parts; I just hoped it wasn't dumb. I didn't think so, and I hoped Jam felt the same way.
Jesus, I was twitching as she came walking up to me. She looked great, though. Nice, big smile. What was I so worried about?
“Where are the thick white clouds that are supposed to be covering the city as my plane approached? God, I could see everything the White House, Lincoln Memorial, the Potomac,” Jamilla grinned as she spoke.
I leaned in and gave her a kiss. “Not every city has mountains of fog like San Francisco. You need to travel more. Your flight okay?”
“Sucked,”Jamilla grinned again. “I don't like flying much these days, but I'm glad to be here. This is good, Alex. You're almost as nervous as I am. We never had trouble talking on stakeouts. We'll be fine. We'll be just fine. Now calm down, so I can calm down. Deal?” She grabbed me in both arms, hugged me, then kissed me lightly, but nicely, on the lips. That much better,“ she said, and smacked her lips. ”You taste good."
“You must like spearmint.”
“No, I like you.”
We were a whole lot more comfortable during the ride into Washington in my old Porsche. We talked about everything that had been happening since we'd last seen each other. At first, it was work stuff, but then we got into the whole terrorist mess, then how my family was, and hers, and as usual neither of us shut up once we got started which I love.
It was only as I pulled up to the house that things began to feel tense for me again. “You ready for this?” I asked before we got out of the car.
Jamilla rolled her eyes. “Alex, I have four sisters and three brothers back in Oakland. Are you ready for that?”
“Bring them on,” I said as I grabbed hold of her black leather duffel bag, which obviously held a bowling ball, and headed toward the house. I was holding my breath a little, but I was definitely glad that she was here. I hadn't been this excited in a long time.
“I missed you,” I said.
“Yeah, me too,” said Jam.
Ill
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Thirty-Three
Nana had obviously been thinking about the appropriate welcoming dinner for a while. Jamilla offered to help, and of course Nana refused to let her so much as lift a little finger. So Jam trailed her into the kitchen anyway.
The rest of us followed to see what would happen next. Two immovable forces. This was high drama.
“Well all right then, all right,” Nana complained some, but I could tell she was pleased with the company. It allowed her to show off her wares, put us all to work, and test Jamilla at her leisure. She even managed to hum a little of' Lift Every Voice and Sing'while she worked. And then, so did Jamilla.
“You okay with pork chops in apple gravy, squash casserole, over-creamed potatoes? And you're not allergic to a little cornbread, are you? Or fresh peach cobbler and ice cream?” Nana asked several loaded questions at once.
“Love the pork chops, potatoes, peach cobbler,” Jamilla said as she examined the food. “Neutral on squash casserole. I make creamed cornbread at home. My grandma from Sacramento's recipe. You add creamed corn which makes it extra moist. Sometimes I throw in pork rinds, too.”
“Hmm,” Nana said. “That sounds pretty good, girl. I'll have to try it.”
“If it ain't broke...”Jannie decided to contribute.
“Keep your small mind open, ”said Nana, and wagged a crooked pinkie finger at Jannie. “That's if you ever want it to grow bigger, and don't want to remain a small person all your life.”
“I was just defending your cornbread, Nana,” said Jannie.
Nana winked. “I can take care of myself.”
Dinner was served in the dining room, with Usher, Yolanda Adams and Etta James on the CD player. So far, this was pretty good. Just what the doctor ordered.
“We eat like this every night,” Damon said. “Sometimes, we even have breakfast out here in the formal dining,” he told Jamilla. I could tell he already had a little crush on her. Hard not to, I suppose.
“Of course you do, like when the President stops over for tea,” Jamilla said and winked at Damon, then at Jannie.
“He comes here often,” Damon nodded. “How did you know? My dad tell you?”
“Think I saw it on CNN. We get that on the West Coast, you know. We all have TVs out by our hot tubs.”
Dinner and the small talk were a success at least I thought so.
The laughter was constant, and mostly relaxed. Little Alex sat in his highchair grinning the whole time. At one point Jamilla pulled Damon out of his seat and they danced a few steps to Aretha's'Who's Zoomin'Who?".
Nana finally rose from the table and proclaimed, “I absolutely forbid you to help with the dishes, Jamilla. Alex can pitch in. That's his job.”
“Cmon, then,” Jamilla said to Jannie and Damon. “Let's go out front and trade gossip about your daddy. And your Nana! You have questions, I have questions. Let's swap spit. You too, little man,” she said to Alex Jr. “You're excused from kitchen detail.”
I followed Nana out to the kitchen with about half of the dirty dinnerware stacked in my hands and arms.
“She's pleasant,” Nana said before we got there. “She's certainly full of life.” Then she started to cackle like one of those pesky crows in the old-time cartoons.
“What's so funny, old woman?” I asked. “You're really getting a big
kick out of yourself, aren't you?”
“I am. Why wouldn't I? You're just dying on the vine to know what I think. Well, surprise, surprise. She's a real sweetheart. I'll give you that, Alex, you pick nice girlfriends. She's a good one.”
“No pressure,” I warned her as I set dirty dishes in the sink and turned on the hot water.
“Why would I do that? I've learned my lesson with you.” Then Nana started to laugh again. She seemed more like her old self. She'd gotten a clean bill of health from her doctor, or so she said.
I went back to the dining room to clear away the rest of the dishes, but I couldn't resist taking a quick peek out the front window to check on Jamilla and the kids.
They were out in the street, tossing around Damon's football. The three of them were laughing. I also noticed that Jamilla had a real good arm, threw a tight, little spiral. She was used to playing with the boys.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jamilla was staying in the bedroom at the top of the stairs, the room we always kept for special guests -presidents, queens, prime ministers and the like. The kids thought we were doing it for appearances, and we would have, but the unvarnished truth was that Jam and I had never been together that way, never even kissed before the airport reunion. Jamilla was here to find out if things should go any further between the two of us.
She came in through the back door of the kitchen while I was finishing up the dishes. The kids were still playing outside and Nana was straightening up God knows what upstairs. Probably the guest room, but maybe the hall bathroom. Or the linen closet?
“I can't stand it,” I finally said.
“What?”she asked. “What's wrong?”
“You really want to know?”
“Of course I do. We're buddies, right?”
I didn't answer, but I grabbed hold of Jamilla's shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. Then I kissed her again. I was keeping an eye peeled for the kids.
And Nana, of course.
And Rosie our cat, who is a big gossip too.
Jamilla started to laugh. “They all think we're doing a lot worse than this the kids, your grandmother, even that nosey cat.”
“Thinking is different to knowing,” I said.
“I like your family a lot,” Jamilla said as she stared into my eyes,“ I even like the cat. Hiya there, Rosie. You gonna tell everybody about our kisses?”
“I like you,” I said as I held Jamilla in my arms.
“A lot? ”she asked as she pulled away. “You better like me a lot after I came all the way here from San Francisco. God, I hate plane rides these days!”
“Maybe I do like you a lot. I don't see you saying too much. Not a lot of reciprocation going on here.”
She grabbed me again and kissed me harder. She pressed into me and then she slid her tongue into my mouth. I liked that a lot. I was starting to respond in kind, which probably wasn't a fantastic idea in the kitchen.
“Get a room,” we heard a voice behind us.
Nana was there, but she was laughing. “Let me call in the kids. I want them to see this too,” she said. “Let me get my Instamatic camera.”
“She's fooling with us,” I told Jam.
“I know,” she said.
“Heck I am,” said Nana. “I'm rooting for Alex to get to third base.” She was cackling like a cartoon crow again.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Thirty-Five
I woke up alone in bed the next morning with the sheets thrown every which way around my body. I was kind of used to the feeling, but I didn't like it anymore than I ever had, especially with Jamilla sleeping just down the hallway in the spare bedroom. I hoped she was okay with how things were going and didn't want to go back to San Francisco already.
I lay in bed for a few minutes, thinking about other people who wake up feeling alone, even though some of them do share a bed with somebody else. Finally, I slid into some loose-fitting clothes, then tiptoed down the hall to check on Jamilla.
I tapped lightly on the door.
“I'm awake. Come in,” I heard her say.
It was a nice sound, her voice musical, sweet. I pushed against the door and it opened with a soft whine.
“Morning, Alex. I slept great,” Jamilla said. She was sitting up in bed, wearing a white tee-shirt with SFPD printed on it in black. She started to laugh. “Sexy, huh?”
“Actually, yeah. Detectives can be sexy. Samuel T. Jackson in Shaft, Pam Grier in Foxy Brown. Jamilla Hughes in the guest bedroom.”
She whispered, “Come over here, you. Just for a minute. Come here, Alex. That's an order.”
I came forward and Jamilla reached out her arms. I slid into them like I belonged there. Kind of nice. “Where were you when I needed you last night?” I asked her.
“I was right here in the guest room,” she smiled, and winked. “Listen, I don't want your kids to get the wrong idea either. But.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “But?” I asked. “But what?”
“Just but. I'll leave the rest up to you.”
As we were finishing breakfast in the kitchen, without the cloth napkins I told Nana and the kids that Jamilla and I were going to tour Washington for the rest of the day. We needed a little time to ourselves. The kids just nodded over their cereal bowls; they'd been expecting as much.
“I won't expect you two home for supper then,” Nana said. “Is that right?”
“That's right,”I said. “We'll catch a meal in town.”
“Uh huh,” Nana said.
“Uh huh,” said the kids.
I drove about four miles from the house on Fifth. I pulled into 2020 O Street and stopped the car. Some people might have trouble finding the place, or even any information about the Mansion on O Street. There's no sign hanging outside, no indication that it isn't a private residence. Most guests come to the Mansion because of word of mouth. I happen to know the owner through friends at Kinkead's restaurant in Foggy Bottom.
Jamilla and I went inside, where I registered, and then we were brought upstairs to the Log Cabin room. Along the way, just about every surface, corner, cranny and crevice was filled with antique puppets, lithographs, jewelry in glass cases. We took it all in. Silently.
A strange thing happened to me on our way upstairs. I had the thought, here I go again. It almost caused me to stop walking and head back to the car. But something inside told me not to give up, not to shut feelings out, to put my trust in Jamilla.
Neither of us said a word until the bellman was gone.
Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice
Chapter Thirty-Six
I could get used to this in a hurry!“ Jamilla whispered when we were alone in the room. ”Let's explore this place. It's beautiful, perfect, Alex. Almost too nice."
And so we explored.
The Log Cabin room was an amazing two stories that even included a sauna-Jacuzzi. The loft was reached by spiral stairs and had a full kitchen. The walls and floors were wood-paneled to suggest the simply hewn tongue-and-groove design of a cabin. A rough-cut, stone-framed fireplace was there to keep everything cozy. There was also an aquarium.
Jamilla did a quick, gleeful dance. She obviously approved, and so did I, mainly because she was happy. It sure was a whole lot better than the front seats of cars where we'd spent so many hours together during surveillance details in New Orleans.
As we checked out the suite, we explored each other a little, too. We stopped to kiss and I discovered once again that Jamilla had the sweetest-tasting mouth. We held each other and danced in place. We kissed some more and my head began to feel light. I was still nervous, and I couldn't quite figure out why.
Jamilla slowly unbuttoned my denim shirt and I helped her loosen and then slip out of a cream-colored silk blouse. Under her shirt, she wore a plain, thin, silver chain. Very simple and lovely.
Her hands gently unfastened my belt, then loosened my pants. I helped her out of her leather ones. “Such a
gentleman,” she said. Somewhere along the way I kicked off my shoes and she did the same with her sandals.
Which finally, somehow, brought the two of us to the centerpiece of the suite a king-size bed.
“I like this, ”she whispered against my cheek. “Nicest bed I ever saw.”
The bed was definitely the visual focus of the room. It had four wooden columns suggesting a canopy bed, but without the frills. It was covered with a flannelly comforter and half a dozen throw pillows, which we immediately tossed onto the floor. The room looked even better a little messed-up.
“Music?”Jamilla asked.
“Be nice,”I said. “You pick something.”
She switched on the CD player and found WPFW, 89.3. Nina Simone's "Wild Is The Wind' was playing.
“Our song. From now on,” she said.
Jamilla and I kissed again and her mouth was soft. I was happy to see that the homicide inspector had a gentle side. Her lips continued to press into mine and I felt myself melting. Maybe that was why I was afraid. Here I go again.
“I'd never hurt you,” she whispered, as if she knew my thoughts. “You don't have to be afraid. Just don't hurt me, Alex.”
“I won't.”
A few minutes later, we were dancing to "Just The Two Of Us' and I folded Jam in real close. This was good.
She was strong, but she knew how to be tender. Another detective. How about that? We moved well together. My lips brushed the tops of her shoulders, then the hollow in her throat, and just lingered.
“Bite me there. Just a little, ”she whispered.
I nipped her gently, slowly. I didn't want to hurry any of this. The first time with someone wasn't like any other. Not always the best, but always different, exciting, mysterious. Jamilla reminded me of my dead wife Maria, and I thought that was a good thing. She was tough on the outside, a city girl, but she could be tender and sweet. The contrast was special, and dramatic enough to give me goosebumps.
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