I, Alex Cross

by James Patterson

  “She was twenty-four,” I said.

  I held up the picture again.

  “Someone took bites out of her. Probably raped her before they killed her. Then they put her body through a wood chipper. We found what was left of her—the remains—in a plastic bag being transported by a mob guy.”

  “What are you… Why are you telling me this? I don’t know the girl.”

  I looked at my watch. “I’m going to offer you a deal, Ryan. The terms are good for the next thirty seconds. You tell me how you found out about her, right now, and I leave your name out of my investigation. Unless, of course, you’re guilty of something a lot more damaging than procuring.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Twenty seconds.”

  “Even if I had any idea what you were talking about, how do I know you are who you say you are?”

  “You don’t. Fifteen seconds.”

  “Excuse me, Detective, but you can go to hell.”

  My hand was cocked, but I caught myself. Willoughby flinched and took a step back.

  “Get out of my office, unless you want me to have you thrown out.”

  I waited until the full thirty seconds were up.

  “I’ll see you on the news,” I said. “Trust me, you won’t be the one delivering it.”

  Chapter 19

  TWENTY MILES OF thick, old-growth Virginia forest separated Remy Williams’s cabin from pretty much everything else in the world. It was a pristine bit of wilderness with all the privacy he could ever want. A person could scream all night long out here and never be heard.

  Not that there ever was much screaming or carrying on out here. Remy appreciated efficiency, and he was good at what he did.

  Disposal.

  The thing he didn’t like was surprises—like the bright headlights that raked back and forth over his cabin window just after darkness fell that night.

  In a few seconds, he was out the back door with one of the three Remington 870 shotguns he kept around for exactly this reason—uninvited visitors. He hustled over to the side of the cabin and took up a position with a perfect view of the dark-colored sedan that was just coming to a stop out front.

  He saw that the vehicle was a Pontiac, either black or dark blue.

  Two men got out. “Anybody home?” one of them called. The voice was familiar, but Remy kept the Remington on his hip anyway.

  “What are you doing out here?” he yelled to them. “Nobody called ahead.”

  Their shadows turned toward him in the dark. “Relax, Remy. We found him.”

  “Alive?”

  “At the moment.”

  Remy slowly came around to the porch and traded the shotgun for a battery-powered lantern, which he lit.

  “What about the other one? The girl who run off?”

  “Still working on it,” said the cocky one, the white guy. Remy didn’t know either of their names and didn’t want to. He knew the spic was the smart one, though, and the most dangerous. Silent but deadly all the way.

  He walked to the back of the car and thumped on the trunk with his lantern.

  “Pop it.”

  Chapter 20

  THE YOUNG PUNK inside was naked as a newborn, half-wrapped in a soiled bedsheet with a double dose of duct tape twisted across his mouth. As soon he laid eyes on Remy, he started scrambling around like there was somewhere inside that trunk he could go and hide.

  “Why in hell’s he not wearing anything? What’s the point in that?”

  “He was banging some girl when we found him.”

  “And she’s—?”

  “Been taken care of.”

  “Awww, you should have brought her to me for safekeeping too.”

  Remy turned back to the kid, who’d gone still again—except for the eyes. Those never stopped moving.

  “He’s a funny little gerbil, isn’t he?”

  He reached down and pulled the boy up, then spun him around so the punk could see the twenty-year-old wood chipper in the car’s headlights.

  “Now, you know why you’re here, so I won’t quibble on the details,” he said. “I just need to know one thing from you, and I want you to think real careful about this. You ever tell anyone about this place? Anyone a’tall?”

  The kid shook his head way more than he needed to—no, no, no, no, no.

  “You’re real sure about that, son? You wouldn’t lie to me? ’Specially now?”

  The head changed direction and went yes, yes, yes.

  Remy laughed out loud. “You see that? He looks like one of those stupid bobbleheads. For your dashboard?” He bent his knees to be face-to-face with the kid, and palmed his skull. Then he started rocking it up and down and side to side, laughing the whole time.

  “Yes, yes, yes… no, no, no… yes, yes, yes…”

  Then, just as fast, he twisted the head halfway around with a crisp snap and let the boy fall to the ground like a broken toy.

  “That’s it? Break his neck?” one of the other two asked. “That’s what we wanted him alive for?”

  “Oh, it’s jus’ fine,” Remy told them, pushing the accent a little. “I got an intuition about this stuff.” They both shook their heads like he was some ignorant redneck, which Remy took as a compliment to his acting abilities.

  “Hey, you fellas want to stick around for a drink? I’ve got some good stuff out back.”

  “We’ve got to keep moving,” said the dark-skinned ghost. “Thanks for the offer. Maybe some other time, Denny.”

  “Suit yourself. No problema.”

  In truth, there wasn’t a drop of alcohol anywhere on the property. The only thing Remy drank besides bottled water, which he bought by the case, was the sun-brewed iced tea he sometimes made from it. Alcohol was poison to the system. He just liked letting these sanctimonious pricks think what they wanted to think about him anyway.

  They were typical government issue, those two, the way they saw everything and nothing at the same time. If they looked a little closer, they’d know when they were being tested, and what they were up against.

  “One other thing,” he added. “No more pickups.” He prodded the dead boy with his foot. “That part ain’t been working out so well, you know? I’ll do the disposals, starting with him.”

  “Agreed. He’s all yours.”

  They drove off without even a good-bye wave. Remy waved, then he waited until he couldn’t hear the car anymore, and got to work.

  The kid was just skin and bones, and it didn’t take any more cutting to get him ready than it would have for a girl. Two at the knees, two at the hips, two at the shoulders, one at the neck. Then one long swipe down the middle of his skinny little torso. It was messier with the knife than it might have been with a chain saw or an ax, but Remy liked wet work, always had.

  Once that was done, it took only about ten minutes to get the Philly Flash through the machine and into a plastic bag. It was amazing how light the bags always felt—as if it was something more than just foam and residue that got left behind inside the chipper.

  He took a shovel and a flashlight from the cabin and threw the bag into a wheelbarrow. Then he started walking into the woods. It didn’t matter which way. Wherever this kid landed, he was going to disappear forever.

  “Never to be seen or heard from again,” Remy muttered to himself. He bobbled his head up and down and side to side as he walked, and started to laugh. “No. No. No. No. Never. No. No. No. No.”

  Chapter 21

  A LOUD NOISE woke me in the middle of the night. Something had fallen and broken downstairs. I was almost sure of it.

  I looked at the clock. Saw it was just after four thirty. “Did you hear that?”

  Bree raised her head off the pillow. “Hear what? I just woke up. If I’m awake.”

  I was already out of bed and pulling on a pair of sweats.

  “Alex, what is it?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll go see. I’ll be right back.”

  Everything seemed quiet from where I sto
pped to listen in the middle of the stairs. I could just see the sky going to blue outside, but it was still dark in the house.

  “Nana?” I called in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

  There was no answer.

  Bree was up now too, and at the top of the stairs, only a few feet away. “I’m right here.”

  When I came down into the front hallway, I could see straight back to the kitchen.

  The refrigerator door was open, and there was just enough light from it that I could see Nana lying on the floor. She wasn’t moving.

  “Bree! Call 911!”

  Chapter 22

  NANA LAY THERE on her side, in her favorite old robe and slippers. The pieces of a mixing bowl were on the floor around her, and her face was contorted, as if she’d been in terrible pain when she fell.

  “Nana! Can you hear me?” I said as I hurried into the kitchen.

  I knelt down and felt for her pulse.

  It was weak, but it was there. My own was spiking like crazy.

  Please, no. Not now. Not like this.

  “Alex, here!” Bree ran in and handed me the phone.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “My grandmother has just collapsed. I found her unconscious on the floor.” My eyes scanned her face, her arms, her legs. “There’s no sign of injury, but I don’t know what happened before her fall. Her pulse is very weak.”

  Bree started timing Nana’s pulse off the kitchen clock while the operator took my name and address.

  “Sir, I’m dispatching an ambulance to your house right now. The first thing you want to do is make sure she’s still breathing, but try not to move her. It’s possible she injured her spine when she fell.”

  “I understand. I won’t move her. Let me check.”

  Nana’s face was angled toward the floor. I leaned down and held the back of my hand to her mouth. At first—it seemed like forever—there was nothing, but then I felt a faint movement of air.

  “She’s breathing, but barely,” I said into the phone.

  A soft rattle came from Nana’s chest.

  “Please hurry. I think she’s dying!”

  Chapter 23

  DISPATCH TALKED ME through something called a “modified jaw thrust” to help open Nana’s airway. It was all nightmarish and surreal, in the worst way I could imagine. I took hold of the curved part of her jaw and pushed it forward and up, using my thumb to keep her lips open.

  Her breathing picked up, but only slightly, and not a regular cadence.

  Then Ali’s voice came from behind me, soft and scared. “Why is Nana on the ground like that? Daddy, what happened to her?”

  He was standing in the kitchen door, holding on to the frame as if he didn’t want to be pushed any farther into the room than that.

  Bree put a hand over mine on Nana’s cheek. “I’ve got her,” she said, and I went to talk to Ali.

  “Nana’s sick and she fell down. That’s all it is,” I told him. “An ambulance is going to come and take her to the hospital.”

  “Is she going to die?” Ali asked, and tears flooded his gentle eyes.

  I didn’t answer, but I kept my arms around him, and we stood in the doorway to the kitchen. The one thing I couldn’t do right now was leave Nana. “We’re going to stay right here, and we’re going to think about how much we love Nana. Okay?”

  Ali nodded slowly without taking his eyes off her.

  “Daddy?”

  I turned and saw Jannie in the hall. She was even more shocked and wide-eyed than her brother. I motioned her over, and we all waited together for the ambulance to arrive.

  Finally, we heard a low siren outside. In a strange way, it seemed to make everything worse.

  Once the EMTs got there, they took Nana’s vitals and started her on oxygen.

  “What’s her name?” one of them asked.

  “Regina.” The word almost stuck in my throat. Nana’s name means queen, of course, and that’s what she is to us.

  “Regina! Can you hear me?” The tech pushed a knuckle into her sternum, and she didn’t move. “No pain response. Let’s get a heart rhythm.”

  They asked me a few more questions while they worked. Was she on medication? Had her condition changed since we called 911? Was there any history of heart trouble with her or in the family?

  I kept a hand on Ali the whole time, to let him know I was there, but vice versa too. Jannie stayed right by my side as well.

  Within minutes, the EMTs had started a saline lock. Then they slid a collar around Nana’s neck and put a backboard under her. Jannie finally buried her face in my side, sobbing quietly.

  That got Ali crying again. And Bree too.

  “We’re a mess,” I finally managed. “That’s why she can’t leave us.”

  They lifted Nana’s tiny body onto a stretcher, and we followed them through the dining and living rooms, then out the front door. The familiarity of the surroundings seemed both sad and scary.

  Bree had disappeared for a minute, and now she came up from behind, handing me my cell, a shirt, and a pair of shoes. Then she took Ali from me and put an arm around Jannie. Their faces were like mirrors of everything I was feeling.

  “Go with Nana, Alex. We’ll follow you in the car.”

  Chapter 24

  GABE REESE WAS pacing with his arms folded tightly, just inside the West Wing lobby doors. He wasn’t used to this kind of uncertainty, the total lack of information, the fucking mystery of it all. He had plenty of resources at his disposal—he just couldn’t use most of them on this. Not until he was sure what they were dealing with.

  He was waiting for the vice president, and the subject was Zeus, of course, and what had been found out so far, and what kind of unprecedented scandal this could turn out to be. Tillman was scheduled to address the National Association of Small Business Owners from 12:30 to 1:00 at the Convention Center. It was less than a mile and a half away, which meant maybe five minutes in the car. Reese was going to need every second.

  At exactly 12:20, the vice president strode into the lobby with the Secret Service’s Dan Cormorant on one side and a deputy director of communications on the other.

  Two scheduling assistants and another Secret Service agent trailed behind. The usual kind of entourage, trappings of power and arrogance.

  Tillman looked surprised to see Reese standing there, holding his trademark fedora in one hand.

  “Gabe, you’re coming to this thing?”

  “Yes, sir. Wouldn’t miss it. Not a word. Not an arching eyebrow.”

  “Okay. Okay. Let’s go, then.”

  They continued outside, where the vice president’s Cadillac limo, two black Suburbans, and three motorcycle police waited with engines running. As the vice president stepped into his car, Reese put a hand on Cormorant’s shoulder.

  “We need some privacy, Dan.”

  The senior agent squinted in annoyance, then turned to his number two. “Bender, take the staff car. I’ve got this covered.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know that has to go into the log,” Cormorant said as soon as the other agent was out of earshot.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Reese told him. There was more than enough precedent for this kind of request, even from Reese himself. Once Reese and the vice president were in the car, Cormorant got in. Then he radioed the go-ahead, and the motorcade pulled out toward Fifteenth Street.

  Chapter 25

  WITH THE PARTITION up and tinted bullet- and soundproof glass on all sides, this was as private a meeting as they were going to get today, given the vice president’s busy schedule.

  Reese took a quick breath, then he started right in on what he’d found out. For one thing, the FBI and Metro police were both pursuing the case—at least as a murder investigation. Apparently prostitutes were involved, male and female. Zeus hadn’t been identified yet. If there actually was a Zeus.

  “I just heard that we’ve got another problem.” He turned to face the Secret Se
rvice agent on the jump seat. “Dan, do you know who Alex Cross is?”

  “MPD detective, specializes in major cases—homicides, serials. He’s working on a certain murder in question?” Cormorant hadn’t missed a beat. “We’re aware of Cross’s involvement. We’re watching him.”

  “And I’m finding out about this on my own, why?”

  Cormorant ticked off the vice president’s wishes on two fingers. “No phone, no e-mail, remember? I’ll get information to you when I can get it to you, Gabe. We’re talking about one homicide detective here.”

  “Hang on,” the vice president cut in. “Where are we on Zeus, Dan?”

  “Quickly, please,” Reese added. They were already coming up on K Street, which was less crowded than usual— unfortunately.

  “It’s complicated. There are a lot of avenues to go down. We’ve had some SIGINT on a private club out in Virginia. Very discreet place for meetings. It’s a sex club, sir. It’s possible that Zeus has been there. It’s likely he has. The White House, actually the Cabinet, keeps coming up, but that might be because of the code name, Zeus. I hope it’s no more than that.”

  Tillman’s expression darkened as he leaned in toward the Secret Service man. “And that’s it? That’s all you have?”

  “This is a murder investigation. They usually don’t solve themselves. The club is called Blacksmith Farms. We have the names of several clients. The owners are mob.”

  Tillman snapped. “Why can’t we find out who Zeus is?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t turn over too many rocks without attracting more attention than we want. We’re not even sure if Zeus actually used the club in question. There are all these swirling rumors but nothing solid.”

  Reese didn’t like Cormorant’s tone with the vice president any more than he did with himself. “Swirling rumors. Who else knows about this?” he asked.

  “Two senior agents in the Joint Operations Center, one intelligence officer, but it’s all being contained. No links to the OVP at all.”