The killer's initial reaction was to feel shame. He thought he was going to be sick. Throw up or something. He wanted to put his head between his legs. He felt like such a chump to get caught like this.
He was seated about twenty yards from where that stuffed shirt Colonel Wilson and the detective were standing around as if something incredibly fucking important were about to happen.
Every passing cadet saluted the adults, like the robotic morons that they were. A buzz of apprehension began to fill the room.
Was something earth-shattering going to happen? The thought screaming inside the killer's head. Were the police about to arrest him in front of the entire school? Had he been caught?
How could they have traced anything to him, though? It didn't make sense. That thought calmed him somewhat.
A false calm? A false sense of security? he wondered and lowered himself slightly in the stiff wooden seat, wishing that somehow he could disappear.
Then he sat straight up in his seat again. Oh, shit. Here we go!
He watched closely as the homicide detective slowly walked toward the podium with Colonel Wilson. His heartbeat was like the rhythm section in a White Zombie song.
The assembly began with the usual, dumb cadet resolutions, “honesty, integrity in thought and deed,” all that crap. Then Colonel Wilson began to talk about the “cowardly murders of two children in Garfield Park.” Wilson went on: “The Metro police are canvassing the park and surrounding environs. Maybe a cadet at Theodore Roosevelt has unwittingly seen something that might help the police with their investigation. Maybe one of you can help the police in some way.”
So that was why the imposing homicide detective was here. A goddamn fishing expedition. The ongoing frigging investigation of the two murders.
The killer was still holding his breath, though. His eyes were very large and riveted to the stage as Sampson went over to the podium mike. The tall black man really stood out in the room of nothing but uniforms and short haircuts and mostly pink faces.
He was huge. He was also kind of cool-looking in his black leather car coat, gray shirt, black necktie. He towered over the podium, which had seemed just the right height for Colonel Wilson.
“I served in Vietnam, under a couple of lieutenantswho looked about your age,” the detective said into the mike. His voice was calm and very deep. He laughed then, and so did most of the cadets.
He had a lot of presence, a whole world of presence. He definitely seemed like the real deal. The killer thought that Sampson was laughing down at the cadets, but he couldn't be sure.
“The reason I'm here at your school this morning,” the detective went on, “is that we're canvassing Garfield Park and everything that it touches. Two little kids were savagely killed there, both within the past week. The skulls of the children were crushed. The killer is a fiend, in no uncertain terms.”
The killer wanted to give Sampson the finger. The killer isn't a fiend. You're the fiend, mojoman. The killer is a lot cooler than you think.
'As I understand it from Colonel Wilson, many of you go home from school through the park. Others run cross-country, and you also play soccer and lacrosse in the park. I'm going to leave my number at the precinct with the office here at school.
You can contact me at any time, day or night, at the number if you've seen anything that could be helpful to us.'
The Sojourner Truth School killer couldn't take his eyes off the towering homicide detective who spoke so very calmly and confidently. He wondered if he could possibly be a match for this one. Not to mention motherhumping Detective Alex Cross, who reminded him of his own real father -- a cop.
He thought that he could be a match for them.
“Does anybody have any questions?” Sampson asked from the stage. “Any questions at all? This is the time for it. This is the place. Speak up, young men.”
The killer wanted to shout from his seat. He had an overwhelming impulse to throw his right arm high in the air and volunteer some real help. He finally sat on his hands, right on his fingers.
I unwittingly saw something in Garfield Park, sir. I might just know who killed those two kids with an eighteen-inch, tape-reinforced baseball bat.
Actually, to be truthful, I killed them, sir. I'm the child killer, you feeble asshole! Catch me if you can.
You're bigger. You're much bigger. But I'm so much smarter than you could ever be.
I'm only thirteen years old. I'm already this good!Just wait until I get a little older. Chew on that, you dumb bastards.
Alex Cross 3 - Jack and Jill
PART 4
A-HUNTING WE WILL GO
I LAY ON THE COUCH with Rosie the cat and a full sack of nightmares.
Rosie was a beautiful, reddish brown Abyssinian. She was wonderfully athletic, independent, feral, and also a great nuzzler.
She reminded me of the much larger cats of Africa in the way she moved. One weekend morning she just showed up at the house, liked it, and stayed.
