The kitchen was mostly empty. An expensive juicer was the only personal indulgence. Not a low-end model -expensive. I took out my handkerchief and opened the refrigerator. There was nothing in it but bottled water and some aging fruit. The fruit was rotting and I hated to think of what else we might find here in the apartment.
'Health nut,' Sampson offered.
'Nut anyway.' I said. 'There's a sense of animal fear in here. He gets very tense, excited, when he comes to this place.'
'Yeah.' Sampson said, 'I know the feeling.'
We entered the bedroom, which had a small cot, a couple of stuffed chairs, nothing else. The sense of fear was here, too.
I opened the closet door and what I saw stopped me dead. There was a pair of khaki pants, a blue chambray shirt, a blue blazer - and something else.
'John, come here.' I called. 'John!'
'Oh, shit. Do I have to? Not more bodies.'
'Just come here. It's him. This is the Weasel's place. I'm sure of it. It's worse than a body.'
I opened the closet door wider and let Sampson see what I'd found there.
'Shit.' he groaned. 'Goddamn it, Alex.'
Someone had put up pictures. Half-a-dozen black-and-white photographs were taped to the wall of the closet. It wasn't a killer's shrine. It was meant to be found.
There were pictures of Nana, Damon, Jannie, me, and Christine. Christine almost seemed to be smiling at the camera, that incredible smile of hers, those big welcoming eyes.
The pictures had been taken in Bermuda. Whoever had rented this apartment had taken them. Finally, I had something to link Christine's abduction to the murders in Washington. I knew who had taken her.
Back off.
Before you lose everything.
I sensed fear again. It was my own.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty-Four
Patsy Hampton had decided that she wasn't ready to confide in Chief George Pittman just yet. She didn't want the Jefe interfering or crowding her. Also, she flat out didn't trust or like the bastard.
She still hadn't made up her mind what to do about Alex Cross. Cross was a complication. The more she checked him out, the better he looked. He seemed to be a very good, dedicated detective and she felt bad about keeping Chuck Hufstedler's information away from him. Chuck had been Cross's source first, but she'd used the techie's crush on her to gain an advantage. She didn't like herself for doing that.
She drove her Jeep to the British Embassy late that afternoon. She had Geoffrey Shafer under limited surveillance - hers. She could get more teams, but that would mean going to Pittman now, and she didn't want anyone to know what she had. She didn't want to be crowded.
She had done preliminary homework on Shafer. He was in the Security Service, which meant he was British Intelligence, operating outside England. Most likely he was a spy working out of the embassy on Massachusetts Avenue. His reputation was okay, good, actually. His current assignment supposedly had to do with the British Government's human-rights program, which meant the assignment was bullshit. He lived in Kalorama, and that was a high-rent district he shouldn't be able to afford on his salary. So, who the hell was this Shafer chap?
Hampton sat parked in her vehicle outside the embassy on California Street. She smoked a Marlboro Light and started to think things through. She really ought to talk to Cross about where he was with his investigation. Did he know anything that could help? Maybe he was onto Shafer? It was almost criminal for her not to contact Cross and share what she'd gotten from Chucky Cheese.
Pittman's dislike for Cross was well-known; he considered him competition. She didn't know Cross that well, but he got too many headlines. Still, she wished she knew what Cross had in his files, and especially if Geoffrey Shafer might have appeared on Cross's radar.
There was too much fricking noise on the fricking street near the British Embassy. Workers were doing construction on the Turkish Chancery across California Street. Hampton already had a headache - her life was one big headache - and she wished they would stop pounding and hammering and battering and sawing. For some reason or other, there was a crowd of people swarming all over the National Mosque today.
At a few minutes past five Shafer got into his Jaguar in a parking lot outside the glass-walled Rotunda.
She'd seen him twice before and he was in very good shape. Attractive, too, though not a physical type she herself responded to. Shafer sure didn't hang around long after the workday ended. Hampton figured he either had some place to go or he really hated his day job. Possibly both.
She stayed a safe distance behind the black Jag, following it along crowded Massachusetts Avenue. Shafer didn't seem to be heading home, and he wasn't going to Southeast either.
Where are we going tonight? She wondered as she tailed him. And what does it have to do with The Four Horsemen? What game are you really playing? What are your fantasies?
Are you a bad man, a murderer, Geoffrey? You don't look like it, Blondie. Such a nice spiffy car for a scumbag killer.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty-Five
After work, Geoffrey Shafer joined the clogged artery of rush-hour traffic inching along Massachusetts. Turning out of the embassy he had spotted the black Jeep behind him.
The tail was still there as he drove down Massachusetts Avenue.
Who was in the Jeep? One of the other players? DC police? Detective Alex Cross? They had found the garage in Eckington. Now they'd found him. It had to be the bloody police.
He watched the black Jeep as it trailed four cars behind him. There was only one person inside and it looked like a woman. Could it possibly be Lucy? Had she discovered the truth about him? God, had she finally figured out who and what he was?
He picked up his mobile phone and made a call home. Lucy picked up after a couple of rings.
'Darling, I'm coming home, after all. There's a bit of a lull at the office. We can order in or something - unless you and the children already have plans.'
She blathered on in the usual maddening way. She and the twins had been going to see a movie, Ante, but they'd rather stay at home with him. They could order from Pizza Hut. It would be fun for a change.
'Yes, what fun,' Shafer said, and cringed at the thought. Pizza Hut served indigestible cardboard drenched with very bad tomato soup. He hung up, then took a couple of Vicodin and a Xanax. He thought he could feel cracks slowly opening up in his skull.
He made a dangerous U-turn on Massachusetts Avenue and headed toward home. He passed the Jeep going in the opposite direction and was tempted to wave. A woman driver. Now, who was she?
The pizza got to the house at around seven and Shafer opened an expensive bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. He washed down another Xanax with the wine in the downstairs bathroom. Felt a little confused, fuzzy around the edges. That was all right, he supposed.
Jesus Christ, he couldn't stand being with his family, though; he felt as if he were going to crawl out of his skin. Ever since he'd been a boy in England he'd had a repetitive fantasy that he was actually a reptile and could shed his own skin. He'd had the dream long before he'd read any Kafka; he still had the disturbing dream.
He rolled three dice in his hand as he sipped his wine, played the game at the dinner table. If the number seventeen came up, he would murder them all tonight.
He swore he would do it. First the twins, then Robert, and finally Lucy.
She kept prattling on and on about her day. He smiled blithely as she told him about her shopping trip to Bloomingdale's and Bath Body Works and Bruno Cipriani at the mall. He considered the supreme irony of taking truckloads of antidepressants, and being more depressed. Jesus, he was cycling down again. How low could he go?
'Come, seventeen.' he finally said aloud.
'What, darling?' Lucy suddenly asked. 'Did you just say something?'
'He's already playing tonight's game.' said Robert, and snickered. 'Right, Daddy? It's your fantasy game. A
m I right?'
'Right, son.' Shafer replied, thinking, Christ, I am mad!
He let the dice gently fall on the dining table, though. He would kill them - if their number came up. The dice rolled over and over, finally banking off the greasy pizza box.
'Daddy and his games.' Lucy said, and laughed. Erica and Tricia laughed. Robert laughed.
Six, five, one, he counted. Damn, damn.
'Are the two of us going to play tonight?' Robert asked.
Shafer forced a smile. 'Not tonight, Rob Boy. I'd like to, but I can't. I have to go out again.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty-Six
This was getting very interesting. Patsy Hampton watched Shafer leave the large and expensive house in Kalorama around eight thirty. He was off on another of his nightly jaunts. The guy was a regular vampire.
She knew that Cross and his friends called the killer the Weasel, and it certainly fit Shafer. There was something uncomfortable about him, something bent.
She followed the black Jag, but he didn't head toward Southeast, which disappointed her. He drove to a trendy supermarket, Sutton on the Run, which was just off Dupont Circle. Hampton knew the pricey store and called it Why Pay Less.
He parked the sports car illegally, then jogged inside. Diplomatic immunity. That pissed her the hell off. What a weasel he was, real Euro-trash.
While he was in the market, Hampton made a command decision. She was pretty sure she was going to talk to Alex Cross. She had thought a lot about it, the pros and cons. Now she figured that she might be endangering lives in Southeast by not sharing at least some of what she knew. If someone died, she wouldn't be able to bear it. Besides, Cross would have gotten the information if she hadn't interceded with Chuck Hufstedler.
Shafer shuffled back out of Sutton on the Run and glanced around crowded Dupont Circle. He had a small bag of overpriced groceries clutched in one arm. Groceries for whom, though? He didn't look in the direction of her Jeep, which was just peeking around the corner.
She followed the black Jag at a safe distance in the light traffic. He got on Connecticut Avenue. She didn't think he'd spotted her, though he was an MI6 man, so she needed to be careful.
Shafer wasn't far from Embassy Row. He wouldn't be going back to work now, would he? Why the groceries if he was headed to the embassy?
The Jaguar eventually turned into the underground garage of a prewar building in Woodley Park. THE FARRAGUT was engraved on a brass sign in front.
Patsy Hampton waited a few minutes, then she pulled into the garage behind the attendant in a small kiosk and identified herself.
"The Jag that came in before me, ever see it here before?' she asked.
The man nodded. He was around her age and she could tell he wanted to impress her if he could. 'Sure. I don't know him to talk to, though. Comes here to visit a lady on ten. Dr. Elizabeth Cassady. She's a shrink. I assume he's a patient. He's got a funny look in his eyes.' the attendant said, 'but so do most people.'
'How about me?' Hampton asked.
'Nah. Well, maybe a little.' the attendant said, and grinned.
Shafer stayed upstairs with Dr. Cassady for nearly two hours. Then he came down and went straight back to the house in Kalorama.
Patsy Hampton followed him, then watched the house for another half-hour. She thought that Shafer was probably in for the night. She drove to a nearby diner but didn't go inside right away. She picked up her mobile phone before she had too many second thoughts. She knew Cross's street, and got the phone number through information. Was it too late to call? Screw it, she was going through with this.
She was surprised when the phone was picked up on the first ring. She heard a pleasant male voice. Nice. Strong.
'Hello. Alex Cross.'
She almost hung up on him. Interesting that he'd intimidated her for a moment. 'This is Detective Patsy Hampton. I've been doing some work on the Jane Does. I've been following a man who is a suspect. I think we should talk.'
'Where are you, Patsy?' Cross said, without hesitation. 'I'll come to you. Just tell me where.'
'I'm at the City Limits diner on Connecticut Avenue.'
'I'm on my way,' said Cross.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty-Seven
I wasn't totally surprised that Pittman had assigned someone to the Jane Does. Especially after Zach Taylor's article in the Washington Post. I was interested in any leads Detective Hampton might have turned up.
I had seen Patsy Hampton around and she obviously knew who I was. She was supposed to be on a fast track; she was a smart and effective senior homicide detective, though from what I'd heard, she was also a lone wolf. She didn't have any friends in the department, as far as I knew.
She was much prettier than I remembered. She was in very trim, athletic shape, probably early thirties, short blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that cut through the diner haze.
She'd put on bright-red lipstick for our meeting, or maybe she wore it all the time. I wondered what was on her mind and what her motives were. I didn't think I could trust her.
'You or me first?' Detective Hampton asked, after we'd ordered coffee. We were seated at a table in the City Limits diner, near a window looking out on Connecticut Avenue.
'I'm afraid I don't know what this is about.' I told her.
She sipped her coffee and gave me a look over the cup's rim. She was a strong-willed, confident person. Her eyes told me that much.
'You really didn't know someone else was working on the Jane Does?'
I shook my head. 'Pittman said that the cases were closed. I took him at his word. He suspended some good detectives for working the cases after hours.'
'There's a lot of seriously nasty crap going on in the department. So what's new though,' she said as she set down her cup. She gave a deep sigh. 'I thought I could deal with it by myself. Now I'm not so sure.'
'Pittman assigned you to the Jane Does? Personally?'
She nodded, then her blue eyes narrowed. 'He assigned me to the Glover and Cardinal murders, and any others I wanted to look into. Gave me free rein.'
'And you say you have something?'
'Maybe. I've got a possible suspect. He's involved in a role-playing game that features victims being murdered, mostly in Southeast. It's all after-the-fact stuff, so he could have read the news stories and then fantasized about them. He works at the British Embassy.'
This was a new piece of information, and it surprised me. 'How far have you gone with this?'
'Not to Pittman, if that's what you mean. I've done a little discreet checking on the suspect. Trouble is, he seems to be a solid citizen. Very good at his job - supposedly. At least that's the official word from the embassy. Nice family in Kalorama. I've been watching Shafer a little, hoping I'd get lucky. His first name is Geoffrey.'
I knew she was supposed to be a little bit of a loose cannon, and that she didn't suffer fools gladly. 'You're out here alone tonight?' I asked her.
Hampton shrugged. 'That's how I usually operate. Partners slow me down. Chief Pittman knows how I like to work. He gave me the green light. All green, all day long.'
I knew that she was waiting for me to give her something - if I had anything. I decided to play along. 'We found a cab that the killer apparently used in Southeast. He kept it in a garage in Eckington.'
'Anybody see the suspect in the neighborhood?' She asked the right first question.
'The landlady saw him. I'd like to show her pictures of your guy. Or you want to do it yourself?'
Her face was impassive. 'I'll do it. First thing in the morning. Anything revealing in the apartment?'
I decided to be straight with her. She'd initiated the meeting, after all. 'Photographs of me and my family covered a wall in a closet. They were taken of us in Bermuda. While we were on vacation. He was there watching us all the time.'
Hampton nodded gently. 'I heard your fianc‚e disappeared in Bermuda. Word gets around.'
'There were photographs of Christine too.' I said.
Her blue eyes softened. I got a quick look behind her tough facade. I'm really sorry about your loss.'
'I haven't given up yet.' I told her. 'Listen, I don't want any credit for solving these cases, just let me help. He called me at home last night. Somebody did. Told me to back off. I assume that he meant this investigation, but I'm not supposed to be on it. If Pittman hears about us--'
Detective Hampton interrupted me. 'Let me think about everything you've said. You know that Pittman will totally crucify me if he finds out. You have no idea. Trouble is, I don't trust him.' Hampton's gaze was intense and direct. 'Don't mention any of this to your buddies, or Sampson. You never know. Just let me sleep on it. I'll try to do the right thing. I'm not such a hardass really. Just a little weird, you know.'
'Aren't we all.' I said, and smiled. Hampton was a tough detective, but I felt okay about her. I took something out of my pocket. A beeper.
'Keep this. If you get in trouble or get another lead, you can beep me anytime. If you find something out, please let me know. I'll do the same. If Shafer's the one, I want to talk to him before we bring him in. This is personal for me. You can't imagine how personal.'
Hampton continued to make eye contact, studying me. She reminded me of someone I'd known a while back, another complicated woman cop named Jezzie Flanagan. 'I'll think about it. I'll let you know.'
'All right. Thanks for calling me in on this.'
She stood. 'You're not in on it yet. Like I said, I'll let you know.' Then she touched my hand. 'I really am sorry about your friend.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Sixty-Eight
We both knew I was in, though. We'd made some kind of a deal in the City Limits diner. I just hoped I wasn't being set up by Hampton and Pittman or God knows who else.
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