Alex Cross 1 - Along Came A Spider

by Patterson, James

  “Did you use the rest room?” I already knew that he had gone to the bathroom. Most of his actions were covered in the reports of the arrest.

  “Yes, I used the rest room,” he answered.

  “How about a beverage? Something to drink? Bring me along with you. Put yourself right there as much as you can.”

  He smiled. “Please. Don't condescend.” He had cocked his head a little oddly. Then, Gary started to laugh. A peculiar laugh, deeper than usual. Strange, though not completely alarming. His voice pittems were becoming more rapid, and very clipped. His foot was tapping faster and faster.

  “You're not smart enough to do this,” he said.

  I was a little surprised by the change in his tone of voice. “To do what? Tell me what you're saying, Gary, I don't follow you.”

  “To try and trick him. That's what I'm saying. You're bright, but not that bright.”

  “Who am I trying to trick?”

  4 'Soneji, of course. He's right there in the McDonald's. He's pretending to get coffee, but he's really pissed off. He's about to go nuclear. He needs attention now.

  I sat forward in my chair. I hadn't expected this. “Why is he angry? Do you know why?” I asked.

  “He's pissed because they got lucky. That's why.”

  “Who got lucky?”

  I “ne police. He's pissed because stupid people could luck out and ruin everything, screw up the master plan. ”

  “I'd like to talk to him about it,” I said. I was trying to stay as matter-of-fact as he was. If Soneji were here now, maybe we could talk.

  “No! No. You'ro not on a level with him. You wouldn't understand anything he has to say. You don't have a clue about Soneji. ”

  “Is he still angry? Is he angry how? Being here in prison? What does Soneji think about being in this cell?”

  “He says-fuck you. FUCK YOU!”

  He lunged at me. He grabbed my shirt and tie, the front of my sport jacket.

  He was physically strong, but go am 1. I let him hold, and I held on to him. We were in a powerful bear hug. Our heads came together and cracked. I could have broken free, but I didn't try. He wasn't really hurting me. it was more as if he were issuing a threat, drawing a line between us.

  Campbell and his guards came rushing down the corridor. Soneji/Murphy let go of me and began throwing himself at the cell door. Spit ran from the side of his mouth. He began screaming. Cursing at the top of his voice.

  The guards wrestled him onto the floor. They restrained him with difficulty. Soneji was much more powerful than his slender body would have suggested. I already knew that from experience.

  The R.N. followed them in, and gave him a shot of Ativan. Within minutes, he was asleep on the floor of the cell.

  The guards lifted him onto his cot and wrapped him in a restraining jacket. I waited until they locked him in the cell. Who was in the cell?

  Gary Soneji?

  Gary Murphy? Or both of them?

  Along Came A Spider

  CHAPTER 51

  HAT NIGHT, Chief Pittman called me at home. I didn't think he wanted to congratulate me on my work with Soneji/Murphy. I was right. The Jefe did ask me to stop by his office the next morning.

  “What's up?” I asked him.

  He wouldn't tell me over the phone. I guess he didn't want to spoil the surprise.

  In,the morning, I made sure I was clean-shaven, and

  I I put on my leather car coat for the occasion. layed a little Lady Day on the porch before I left the houseThink darkness and light. Be darkness and light. I played “The Man I Love,” “For All We Know”, “That's Life, I Guess.” Then off to see The Jefe.

  When I arrived at Pittman's office, there was too much activity for quarter to eight in the morning. Even The Jefe's assistant seemed fully employed for a.change.

  Old Fred Cook is a failed vice detective, now posing as an administrative assistant. He looks like one of the

  268 artifacts they trot out for old-timer baseball games. Fred is mean-spirited, petty, and supremely political. Dealing through him is like giving messages to a wax-museum doll.

  “Chief s ready for you.” He served up one of his thin-lipped smiles. Fred Cook relishes knowing things before the rest of us. Even when he doesn't know, he acts as if he does.

  “What's going on this morning, Fred?” I asked him straight out. “You can tell me.”

  I saw that all-knowing glint in his eyes. “Why don't you just go in there and see. I'm sure the chief will explain his intentions.”

  I'm proud of you, Fred. You sure can be trusted with a secret. You know, you should be on the National Security Council."

  I went inside expecting the worst. But I underestimated the chief of detectives a little.

  Mayor Carl Monroe was in the office with Pittman. So was our police captain, Christopher Clouser, and, of all people, John Sampson. It appeared that one of Washington's ever-so-popular morning events, a workIng breakfast, had been set up in the chief's inner sancturn.

  “ It's not all bad,” Sampson said in a low voice. In sharp contrast to his words, Sampson looked like a large animal caught in one of those double-clawed springtraps hunters use. I got the feeling he would happily have chewed his foot off to escape from the room.

  “It's not bad at all.” Carl Monroe smiled jovially when he saw the chiseled look on my face. "We have some good news for you both. Very good news. Shall

  I? Yeah, I think so.... You and Sampson are be ng promoted today. Right here. Congratulations to our newest senior detective and our newest divisional chief.

  They clapped approvingly. Sam pson and I exchanged quizzical looks. What the hell was going on?

  If I'd known, I would have brought Nana and the kids along. It was like those affairs where the president gives medals and thanks to war widows. Only this time, the dead had been invited to the ceremony. Sampson and I were dead in the eyes of Chief Pittman.

  “Maybe you'd like to tell Sampson and me what's going on here,?” I smiled conspiratorially at Monroe. “You know, the subtext.”

  Carl Monroe had his magnificent smile blazing away. It was so warm, and personal, and “genuine.” “I was asked to come here,” he said, “because you and Detective Sampson were being promoted. That's about it. I was very happy to come, Alex”-he made a comic face-“at quarter to eight this morning.”

  Actually, it's hard not to like Carl sometimes. He's totally aware of who and what he's become as a politician. He reminds me of the prostitutes on 14th Street who will tell you a raunchy joke or two when you have to pull them in for soliciting.

  “There are a couple of other things to discuss,” Pittman said, but then waved off the idea of any real substance entering the ceremonial conversation. “They'can wait until after. There's coffee and sweetcakes first.”

  “I think we ought to discuss everything now,” I said. I shifted my eyes to Monroe. “Put it out on the table with the sweetcakes.”

  EL

  Monroe shook his head. "Why don't you go slow for a change.

  “I'm not going to be able to run for public office, am 1?91 I said to the mayor. ”Not much of a politician."

  Monroe shru gged, but he continued to smile. “I don't know about that, Alex. Sometimes a man changes to a more effective style as he gains experience. Sees what works, what doesn't. It's definitely more satisfying to be confrontational. Doesn't always serve the greater good, though. ”

  I is that what this is about? The greater good? That's the topic for this morning's breakfast?" Sampson asked the group.

  “I think so. Yes, I believe it is.” Monroe nodded and bit into one of the sweetcakes.

  Chief Pittman poured coffee into an expensive china cup that was too small and delicate for his hand. It made me think of little watercress sandwiches. Rich people's unc S. I “We're bumping into the FBI, Justice, the Secret Service, on this kidnapping case. It's no good for anybody. We've decided to pull back completely. To take you off the case again,” Pittman finally said
.

  Bingo. The other shoe had dropped. The truth was out at our little working breakfast All of a sudden, everybody in the office was talking at once. At least two of us were shouting. Neat party.

  “This is total bullshit,” Sampson told the mayor to his face. “And you know it. You do know it, don't '?” you.

  ' I've begun sessions with Soneji/Murphy,“ I said to Pittman and Monroe and Captain Clouser. ”I hypno tized him yesterday. Jesus fucking Christ, no. Don't do this. Not now."

  “We're aware of your progress with Gary Soneji. We had to make a decision, and we've made it.”

  “You want the truth, Alex?” Carl Monroe's voice suddenly rang out in the room. “You want to hear the truth about this?”

  I looked at him. “Always.” Monroe stared right into my eyes. "A great dealof pressure has been used by the attorney general on a lot of people in Washington. A huge trial will begin, I believe, within six weeks at the most. The Orient Express has already left the station, Alex. You're not on it. I'm not on it. It's gotten much bigger than either of us. Soneji/Murphy is on it....

  “The prosecutor, the Justice Department, has decided to stop your sessions with Soneii/Murphy. A team of psychiatrists has been formally assigned to him. That's the way it will work from here on. That's the way it's going to be. This case has moved into a new phase, and our involvement won't be needed.” Sampson and I walked out on our own party. Our involvement was no longer needed.

  Along Came A Spider

  CHAPTER 52

  OR THE NEXT WEEK, I got home from work at a sane hour, usually between six and six-thirty. No more eighty-and hundred-hour work weeks. DaMon and Janelle couldn't have been happier if I'd been fired from the job outright.

  We rented Wait Disney and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles videos, listened to the three-disc set Billie Holiday: The Legacy 1933-1958, fell asleep on the couch together. All 'sorts of amazing good stuff. one afternoon, the kids and I visited Maria's grave ther Jannie nor Damon had completely gotten site. Nei over losing their morn. On the way out of the cemetery, I stopped at another grave, Mustaf Sanders's final place. I could still see his sad little eyes staring at me. The eyes were asking me, Why? No answer yet, Mustaf. But I wasn't ready to give UP.

  On a Saturday toward the end of summer, Sampson and I made the long drive to Princeton, New Jersey. Maggie Rose Dunne still hadn't been found. Neither

  273 had the ten-million-dollar ransom. We were rechecking everything on our own time.

  We talked to several neighbors of the Murphys'. The Murphy family had all perished in a fire, but no one had suspected Gary. Gary Murphy had been a model student as far as everyone around Princeton knew. He'd graduated fourth in his class at the local high school, though he never seemed to study or compete. Nor did he get into any kind of trouble, at least none that his neighbors in Princeton knew about. The young man they described was similar to the Gary Murphy I'd interviewed at Lorton Prison.

  Everyone agreed-except for a single boyhood friend whom we located with some difficulty. The friend, Simon Conklin, now worked at one of the local produce markets as a greengrocer. He lived alone, about fifteen miles outside Princeton Village. The reason we went looking for him was that Missy Murphy had mentioned Conklin to me. The FBI had interviewed him, and gotten little for their efforts.

  At first Simon Conklin refused to talk to us, to any more cops. When we threatened to haul him down to Washington, he finally opened up a little.

  “Gary always had everybody fooled,” Conklin told us in the disheveled living room of his small house. He was a tall unkempt man. He seemed frazzled and his clothes were hopelessly mismatched. He was very smart, though. He'd been a National Merit student, just like his friend Gary Murphy. “Gary said the great ones always fooled everybody. Great Ones in caps, you understand. Thus spake Gary!”

  “What did he mean, the 'great ones'?” I asked Con klin. I thought I could keep him talking, as long as I played to his ego. I could get what I needed out of Conklin.

  “He called them the Ninety-ninth Percentile,” Conklin confided to me. “The creme de la cr@me. The best of the best. The World-beaters, man.”

  “The best of what?” Sampson wanted to know. I could tell he wasn't too fond of Simon Conklin. His shades were steaming up. But he was playing along, being the good listener so far.

  “The best of%the real psychos,” Conklin said, and he smiled smugly. “The ones who have always been out there, and will never ever get caught. The ones who're too smart to get caught. They look down on everybody else. They show no pity, no mercy. They completely rule their own destinies.”

  “Gary Murphy was one of them?” I asked. I knew that he wanted to talk now. About Gary, but also about himself. I sensed that Conklin considered himself in the Ninety-ninth Percentile.

  “No. Not according to Gary.” He shook his head and kept the disturbing half smile. “According to Gary, he was a lot smarter than the Ninety-ninth Percentile. He always believed he was an original. 'ne original. Called himself a 'freak of nature.' ”

  Simon Conklin told us how he and Gary had lived on the same country road about six miles outside of town. 'Mey'd taken the school bus together. They'd been friends since they were nine or ten. The road was the same one that led to the Lindbergh farmhouse in Hope@ well.

  Simon Conklin told us that Gary Murphy had defi nitely paid his family back with the fire. He knew all about Gary's child-abuse sufferings. He could never prove it, but he knew Gary had set the blaze.

  "I'll tell you exactly how I know his plan. He told me-when we were twelve years old. Gary said he was going to get them for his twenty-first birthday. He said he'd do it so it looked like he was away at school. That he'd never be a suspect. And that's what the boy did, didn't he? He waited for nine long years. He had a nine-year plan for that one.

  We talked to Simon Conklin for three hours one day, then five more hours the following day. He told a series of sad and gruesome stories. Gary locked away in the Murphy basement for days and weeks at a time. Gary's obsessive plans: ten-year plans, fifteen-year plans, life plans. Gary's secret war against small animals, especially pretty birds that flew into his stepmother's garden. How he would pluck off a robin's leg, then a wing, then a second leg, for as long as the bird had the will to live. Gary's vision to see himself way up in the Ninety-ninth Percentile, right at the top. Finally, Gary's ability to mimic, to act, to play parts.

  I would have liked to have known about it while I was still meeting with Gary Murphy at Lorton Prison. I would have wanted to spend several sessions with Gary, prowling around his old Princeton haunts. Talking to Gary about his friend Simon Conklin.

  Unfortunately, I had been taken off that part of the case now. The kidnapping case had moved way beyond me and Sampson, and Simon Conklin.

  I gave our leads in Princeton over to the FBI. I wrote a twelve-page report on Simon Conklin. The Bureau never followed up on it. I wrote a second report and sent copies to everyone on the original search team. In my report was something Simon Conklin had said about his boyhood friend, Gary Murphy: “Gary always said he was going to do important things.”

  Not a thing happened. Simon Conklin wasn't interviewed again by the FBI. They didn't want to open up new leads. They wanted the kidnapping case of Maggie Rose Dunne closed.

  Along Came A Spider

  CHAPTER 53

  N LATE SEPTEMBER, Jezzie Flanagan and I went away to the islands. We escaped for a long weekend. Just the two of us. It was Jezzie's idea. I thought it was a good one. R & R. We were curious. Apprehensive. Excited about four uninterrupted days together. Maybe we wouldn't be able to stand each other for that long. That's what we needed to find out.

  On Front Street on Virgin Gorda, hardly a head turned to look at us. That was nice for a change, different from D.C., where people usually stared.

  We took scuba and snorkeling lessons from a seventeen-year-old black woman. We rode horses along a beach that ran uninterrupted for over three miles. We drove a Range
Rover up into the jungle and got lost for a half day. The most unforgettable experience was a visit to. an unlikely place that we named Jezzie and Alex's Private Island in Paradise. It was a spot the hotel found for us. They dropped us off in a boat, and left us all alone.

  “This is the most awe-inspiring place that I've ever been in my life,” Jezzie said. “Look at all this water and sand. Overhanging cliffs, the reef out there.” “It's not Fifth Street. But it's okay.” I smiled and looked around. I did a few three-sixties at the edge of the water.

  Our private island was mostly a long shelf of white.sand that felt like su ar under our feet. Beyond the @g beach was the lushest green jungle we bad ever seen. It was dotted with white roses and bougainvillea. The blue-green sea there was as clear as spnng water. The kitchen at the inn had packed a lunch-fine wines, exotic cheeses, lobster, crabmeat, and various salads. Not another person was anywhere in sight. We did the natural thing. We took off our clothes. No shame. No taboos. We were alone in paradise right?

  I started to laughout loud as I lay on the beach with Jezzie. That was something else I was doing more than I had in a long, long time-smiling, feeling at peace with the surroundings. Feeling, period. I was incredibly thankful to be feeling. Three and a half years was too long a time for mourning.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you really are?” I said to her as we lay together.

  “I don't know if you've noticed, but I carry a compact in my purse. Little mirror. ” She looked into my eyes. She was studying something in them I would never see. “Actually, I've tried to avoid the issue of being attractive since I joined the Service. That's how screwed up things are in macho-man Washington.”

  Jezzie gave me a wink. “You can be so serious, Alex. But you're also full of fun. I'll bet only your kids get to see this side of you. Damon and Jannie know you. Booga, booga. ” She tickled me. “Don't switch subjects on me. We were talking about you. ”