We’d found phones and laptops that belonged to Christopher and Kay Willingham in the rafters of Peters’s home in Takoma Park, Maryland. We also found a collection of videos and digital photographs on CDs that featured the girls he’d killed.
The Christopher girls had been traumatized by their abduction and captivity, but Peters had not sexually abused either of them. Dee Nathaniel, however, had twice been raped and filmed by Peters.
She had a broken jaw from his beating her after he realized that her phone had not been completely dead. She’d been able to turn it on when he left her alone briefly on the second floor of the old silica plant, where he’d kept them overnight. He’d broken two of Dee’s ribs and her right wrist.
But when I’d gone to see her with Bree at home the other day, Dee said she was feeling much better. She was in therapy to deal with the experience and said that she was happy to report that Peters may have violated her body and messed with her mind, but he had not touched her soul.
“Not once,” she said through the wires that held her jaw shut.
We all thought that was a beautiful place to start.
Peters had lured Dee out of her house after he’d seen her on the street earlier in the day and told her he might have found evidence on the Maya Parker case that he wanted to show her. Dee said she felt comfortable doing it because she’d been around the man for years and he’d always been the same nice, homely guy.
The Christopher twins were lured into his van after the nighttime canvass with a promise of a quick ride home. Like Dee, they had known Peters for years. When the bodega owner got the girls inside the van, he’d sprayed them in the face with a chemical that knocked them cold.
Elaine Paulson was released the morning after we found her daughters. She and Gina Nathaniel were still thanking us for not giving up on their girls. And Analisa Hernandez had written me a touching note from Guatemala saying that through our work and in her heart, she was finally at peace with her daughter’s death.
All of which made me feel pretty great as we climbed that trail in the Shenandoah. Still, I couldn’t help feeling a little sadness for Kay and Randall Christopher. Not to mention all of the young women from Southeast.
Sampson got to the top of the trail first. The big man stepped out of the forest and onto the cliff; the national park was spread out below us on a bluebird day. Some of the swamp maples were already showing color.
“Beautiful,” Sampson said. “Where are they going to do this?”
I pointed at the cliff edge. “Get on your belly.”
The three of us got down and shimmied forward until we could see sixty feet to the bottom, where climbing instructor Tom Mury adjusted Willow’s harness and then showed her how to rig the rope through her climbing jumar.
“Are you sure about this, Alex?” Sampson said. “I can’t see Billie being happy about her little girl climbing a six-story cliff. Can’t say I am either.”
“The first time I watched Ali and Jannie do it, I almost threw up,” I said. “But with the harnesses, you are safe. I mean, I got up this thing. Once.”
“Don’t count on seeing me doing it ever,” Sampson said. “Someone built like a Clydesdale has no business climbing a cliff.”
“I’m glad there was a trail up because I have no interest in it either, John,” Bree said. “Oh, here she goes.”
“On rope,” Willow said, sounding uncertain.
“Say it like you mean it!” Mury said.
“On rope!” Willow shouted.
Her first three moves up the rock face, however, were tentative and stiff. Mury called up to her from below, “Relax, Willow, I’ve got you on the belay rope, so it’s impossible to fall. Just relax and climb it as if you were the itsy-bitsy spider.”
Willow laughed and from there Sampson’s daughter moved more freely, gaining confidence with every hand- and foothold. We started cheering when she was ten feet below us. Her helmet and then her head and chest reached the lip of the cliff. John reached over and hauled her up by the harness and into his arms.
“I did it!” she said. “I did it, Dad!”
“You sure did,” Sampson said, grinning and kissing her cheek. “You sure did.”
Ali came next, followed by Jannie and then Mury, who basically sprint-climbed the cliff. We took pictures of everyone up there in a group with the lower flanks of the Blue Ridge Mountains behind us.
“It’s so pretty,” I heard Willow say to Sampson. “Mom would have loved it here.”
Sampson squeezed her hand and looked off into the distance. “You’re right. This was your mom’s kind of place, the kind of place to feel heart coherence.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
John put his big hand on her chest and her small hand on his. “Breathe deep and slow and look out at the forest.”
They did that for several minutes. “Feel that?” Sampson said finally.
Willow grinned. “I do.”
“That’s heart coherence. What we share.”
After the kids had had a snack and a drink, they prepared to go back down.
Ali rappelled first, yelling, “Screamer!” He descended the face in seven big leaps. Jannie did it in ten.
“Ready, Willow?” Sampson asked as Mury double-checked her rappelling rig.
Willow didn’t say anything, but her lower lip trembled when Mury patted her on the shoulder and told her she was ready for liftoff.
“Scared?” Sampson said.
Willow shrugged and then looked at her father with teary eyes. “I just wish Mom could be here. To see me do this.”
John got down on his knees next to her. He put one hand on his daughter’s chest and the other on his own. “Willow, I promise you that your mom is here because she would not miss it. She’s in your heart and in mine. She’ll always be here, giving us strength and love and heart. You feel her?”
Willow smiled through her tears and nodded. She held tight to her rappelling rack and backed up to the cliff edge.
“Okay, Mom,” she said. “Here we go!”
Willow grinned at us, kicked off the edge, and dropped away, screaming happily.
Have you read them all?
ALONG CAME A SPIDER
Alex Cross is working on the high-profile disappearance of two rich kids. But is he facing someone much more dangerous than a callous kidnapper?
KISS THE GIRLS
Cross comes home to discover his niece Naomi is missing. And she’s not the only one. Finding the kidnapper won’t be easy, especially if he’s not working alone …
JACK AND JILL
A pair of ice-cold killers are picking off Washington’s rich and famous. And they have the ultimate target in their sights.
CAT AND MOUSE
An old enemy is back and wants revenge. Will Alex Cross escape unharmed, or will this be the final showdown?
POP GOES THE WEASEL
Alex Cross faces his most fearsome opponent yet. He calls himself Death. And there are three other ‘Horsemen’ who compete in his twisted game.
ROSES ARE RED
After a series of fatal bank robberies, Cross must take the ultimate risk when faced with a criminal known as the Mastermind.
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
As Alex Cross edges ever closer to the awful truth about the Mastermind, he comes dangerously close to defeat.
FOUR BLIND MICE
Preparing to resign from the Washington police force, Alex Cross is looking forward to a peaceful life. But he can’t stay away for long …
THE BIG BAD WOLF
There is a mysterious new mobster in organised crime. The FBI are stumped. Luckily for them, they now have Alex Cross on their team.
LONDON BRIDGES
The stakes have never been higher as Cross pursues two old enemies in an explosive worldwide chase.
MARY, MARY
Hollywood’s A-list are being violently killed, one-by-one. Only Alex Cross can put together the clues of this twisted case.
CROSS
>
Haunted by the murder of his wife thirteen years ago, Cross will stop at nothing to finally avenge her death.
DOUBLE CROSS
Alex Cross is starting to settle down – until he encounters a maniac killer who likes an audience.
CROSS COUNTRY
When an old friend becomes the latest victim of the Tiger, Cross journeys to Africa to stop a terrifying and dangerous warlord.
ALEX CROSS’S TRIAL
(with Richard DiLallo)
In a family story recounted here by Alex Cross, his great-uncle Abraham faces persecution, murder and conspiracy in the era of the Ku Klux Klan.
I, ALEX CROSS
Investigating the violent murder of his niece Caroline, Alex Cross discovers an unimaginable secret that could rock the entire world.
CROSS FIRE
Alex Cross is planning his wedding to Bree, but his nemesis returns to exact revenge.
KILL ALEX CROSS
The President’s children have been kidnapped, and DC is hit by a terrorist attack. Cross must make a desperate decision that goes against everything he believes in.
MERRY CHRISTMAS, ALEX CROSS
Robbery, hostages, terrorism – will Alex Cross make it home in time for Christmas … alive?
ALEX CROSS, RUN
With his personal life in turmoil, Alex Cross can’t afford to let his guard down. Especially with three blood-thirsty killers on the rampage.
CROSS MY HEART
When a dangerous enemy targets Cross and his family, Alex finds himself playing a whole new game of life and death.
HOPE TO DIE
Cross’s family are missing, presumed dead. But Alex Cross will not give up hope. In a race against time, he must find his wife, children and grandmother – no matter what it takes.
CROSS JUSTICE
Returning to his North Carolina hometown for the first time in over three decades, Cross unearths a family secret that forces him to question everything he’s ever known.
CROSS THE LINE
Cross steps in to investigate a wave of murders erupting across Washington, D.C. The victims have one thing in common – they are all criminals.
THE PEOPLE VS. ALEX CROSS
Charged with gunning down followers of his nemesis Gary Soneji in cold blood, Cross must fight for his freedom in the trial of the century.
TARGET: ALEX CROSS
Cross is called on to lead the FBI investigation to find America’s most wanted criminal. But what follows will plunge the country into chaos, and draw Cross into the most important case of his life.
CRISS CROSS
When notes signed by ‘M’ start appearing at homicide scenes across the state, Cross fears he is chasing a ghost.
A list of more titles by James Patterson appears at the back of this book
Are you a fan of James Patterson’s bestselling Alex Cross series?
If so, you’ll love …
DETECTIVE MICHAEL BENNETT
A native of New York City, Michael Bennett is the NYPD’s top detective. An expert in hostage negotiation, terrorism, homicide and organised crime, he shares Alex Cross’s particular talent for solving the cases that no one else can.
Relentless in his search for the truth and unorthodox in his methods, Bennett will stop at nothing to get the job done – even if it means breaking the rules. Just like Alex Cross, Bennett strives to protect his city and the family that he loves. With ten adopted children, family is at the core of everything Bennett does.
Discover the series with an extract from The Russian
Available in hardback from January 2021
CHAPTER 1
I CHECKED THE street in both directions in front of an upscale coffee house called Flat Bread and Butter on Amsterdam Avenue near 140th Street. The street was about as quiet as New York City gets.
There’s never a good time to be breaking in a new detective on the squad, but this moment was one of the worst. The new detective’s name was Brett Hollis. He was a sharp up-and-comer. He may not have been experienced, but he looked good. Full suit and tie. Not a hair out of place. He almost looked like he could be one of my kids dressed for church.
Occasionally I have a hard time trusting a well-put-together cop. I figure cops who take the job seriously have a permanent disheveled look. Like mine.
Hollis was also young. Maybe too young.
My lieutenant, Harry Grissom, hadn’t used the word babysit, but he’d said to make sure this kid didn’t get into any trouble. Sort of what a babysitter does. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but we were in the middle of a major murder investigation.
Chloe Tumber, a first-year student at Columbia Law, had been found stabbed to death with some kind of sharp tool. One Police Plaza was keeping recent developments quiet, but Chloe was the third victim—after one in the Bronx and another in Brooklyn—to die by similar means. The stab wounds had been made by blades with slightly different markers. We suspected the killer had a toolbox full of sharp implements.
I turned to the rookie and said, “Remember, this guy Van Fleet is a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. Follow my lead.”
Hollis nodded his head nervously, saying, “We need to call in our location.”
“Why?”
“Policy says we have to check in on the radio for safety reasons.”
I smiled at the young detective. “I appreciate your knowledge of the NYPD policy manual, but in real life, if we called in every location we stopped at, we’d do nothing but use the radio all day.” I stepped into the coffee house without another word, trusting Hollis would follow.
The coffee house was narrow, with about ten tables and a bar with ten stools. A good-looking young man wearing the name tag jesse stood behind the counter and welcomed us.
I said, “Is Billy around?”
“You guys cops?”
Hollis stepped forward and said, “What about it?”
Jesse shrugged. “You got the look. Listen, Billy doesn’t steal from me and he shows up for his shifts—that’s all I care about.” Jesse set down his rag and jerked his thumb toward the rear of the narrow coffee house. “He’s in the back.”
I followed Hollis through the constricted hallway, boxes of paper towels and toilet paper stacked along the walls. Hollis walked past the bathrooms and storage room into the kitchen. That’s where we found Billy Van Fleet. The tall, slim, pale twenty-eight-year-old was busy washing dishes. He looked up and smiled, clearly making us for police officers. Guess we did have the look.
I saw Hollis take a step forward, and I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, saying, “Be cool.”
“What can I do for you, Officers?” the dishwasher asked, drying his hands and straightening his shirt.
I held up my shield. “Billy Van Fleet?”
He nodded.
“When was the last time you saw Chloe Tumber?”
“Why?”
Hollis’s demeanor changed in an instant. “We’re asking the questions,” he snarled.
Van Fleet held up his hands and said, “Okay, okay, just asking.”
Hollis kept going. “How about you tell us where you were last night between 8 and 11 p.m.”
Van Fleet kept his eyes on Hollis, which I figured I’d use to my advantage. Maybe I’d let my new partner lead the interview. That way I could watch Van Fleet and see what made him nervous.
Right now he seemed very calm. Until suddenly he wasn’t. Without warning, he spun and sprinted away from the sink, blasting through the rear exit. He was fast.
Hollis broke into a run, calling over his shoulder almost cheerfully, “He’s our man!” just as Van Fleet hit the safety bar on the door, letting sunshine flood into the dark kitchen.
CHAPTER 2
I COULD’VE BROKEN into a run with Brett Hollis. But that would’ve been counterproductive. Hollis was trying to keep the suspect in sight. I was sure he’d give this guy a good run for his money. But veteran cops don’t engage in foot chases. Experience is supposed to teach you
something. It taught me to either find a car or use my head.
I knew this neighborhood. Every block of it. Traffic had picked up on Amsterdam Avenue, and no one runs toward a busy street. This guy had a plan. I figured he’d take the alley a block down and move away from any pedestrian traffic. If I were him, I’d head toward St. Nicholas Park. It wasn’t that far away.
I broke into a light jog. We needed this guy—make no mistake. Van Fleet was the first lead we’d had in Chloe Tumber’s homicide. Which, despite the different blades used, looked to be connected to those two other cases. All three victims were young women who’d suffered gruesome injuries moments before their deaths. And the three crime scenes looked similar. Messy. Though I couldn’t shake the feeling that the mess was deliberate, almost designed for effect. We were still developing a theory as to why.
I found the garbage alley I was looking for between two buildings, with its gates, as usual, left wide open. Then I saw an abandoned dog leash. A long one. Maybe twelve feet, and already hooked to a pole behind a pizza place. I took the leash in my hand and stepped to the other side of the alley.
Ten seconds later, as if on cue, Van Fleet slid around the corner, ducked a drainage pipe that stuck out into the alley, and picked up the pace again. He never even saw me. As he neared the dog leash, I jerked the line. His feet tangled and he tumbled down onto the alley’s nasty asphalt, slipping in some pizza grease congealed in the middle of the alley and knocking over an empty forty-ounce beer bottle like it was the last bowling pin in the lane.
Before I could even reach Van Fleet, Hollis barreled around the corner. He didn’t notice the drainage pipe, and ran full speed into it, headfirst. The impact made the pipe reverberate like a gong and knocked him completely off his feet. I could only imagine what the collision sounded like inside his brain.
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