Alex Cross 16 (6 page)

It took me less than fifteen minutes to get from the Daly Building on Indiana up to Channel Nine's offices on Wisconsin. By the time I got there, I hadn't cooled down one bit. My badge got me past the guard in the lobby, then up to a receptionist on the third floor. A big number 9 hung on the wall behind her, along with poster-sized head shots of their news team.

I showed my badge and pointed at the wall. "I'm looking for
him
." She pushed a button without taking her eyes off me. "Judy? I've got a police officer out here for Ryan?" She covered the receiver and spoke to me. "What is this regarding?"

"Tell him I'll be happy to share that information with anyone who wants to listen if he and I aren't face-to-face in the next two minutes."

"About ninety seconds later, I was ushered past reception, past the news studio entrance, and into a hall of windowed offices someplace in the back. Ryan Willoughby was waiting for me, looking like his tie was a little too tight. I'd seen him dozens of times delivering the news, but now all that polished blond congeniality of his was nowhere in sight.

"What the hell is this about?" he asked me, after he closed the door. "You come barging in here like Eliot Ness, or Rudolph Giuliani back in his prosecutor days."

I held up a picture of Caroline. "It's about her," I said in the quietest voice I could manage. It took him a second, but I saw a flash of recognition on his face, then a fast recovery. He was brighter than he seemed.

"Pretty girl. Who is she?"

"Are you saying you've never seen her before?"

He laughed defensively, and a little more of the anchorspeak came into his voice. "Do I need a lawyer here?"

"We found your phone number in her apartment. She was murdered."

"I'm sorry about that, the girl's murder. A lot of people have my number. Or they can get it."

"A lot of call girls?" I asked.

"Listen, I don't know what you want with me, but this is obviously some kind of mistake." Whatever he was publicly, this guy was nothing but a scumbag to me now. It was clear he didn't care about Caroline and what had happened to her.

"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 page 24

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."

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 sedan, 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."

"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 —?"

page 25

"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, Remy."

"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 chainsaw or an axe, 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."

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." page 26

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 stopped 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!"

"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!"

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 page 27

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."