'Not a thing, Alex. Nothing to miss. Weasel didn't leave a clue. Never does.'
We got back down to the entrance, and met up with an elderly man carrying three clear plastic bags of groceries from the Stop Shop.
'We're homicide detectives,' I said to him. 'Two young girls were murdered across the street.'
The man nodded. 'Tori and Marion. I know 'em. You want to know 'bout that fella watchin' the buildin'? He was sittin' there most the night. Inside a slick fancy black car,'he said.'Mercedes, I think. You think maybe he's the killer?'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Fifty-Five
'I've been away awhile, see. Visitin' wit' my two old bat sisters in North Carolina for a week of good memories, home-cooked food.' the elderly man said as we climbed to the fourth floor. 'That was why I was missed during the earlier time through here by your detectives.'
This was old-school police work, I was thinking as I climbed stairs - the kind too many detectives try to avoid. The man's name was DeWitt Luke and he was retired from Bell Atlantic, the huge phone company that services most of the Northeast. He was the fifty-third interview I'd had so far in Shaw.
'Saw him sittin' there around two in the mornin'. Didn't think much of it at first. Probably waitin' for somebody. Seemed to be mindin' his own business. He was still there at three, though. Sittin' in his car. Seemed kinda strange to me.' He paused for a long moment as if trying to remember.
'Then what happened?' I prompted the man.
'Fell asleep. But I got up to pee around four thirty. He was still in that shiny black car. So I watched him closer this time. He was watchin' the other side of the street. Like some kind of damn spy or somethin'. Couldn't tell what he was lookin'at, but he was studyin' somethin' real hard over there. I thought he might be the police. 'Cept his car was too nice.'
'You got that right,' Sampson said, and barked out a laugh. 'No Mercedes in my garage.'
I pulled up a card-table chair behind the darkened window in my apartment. Made sure there were no lights on, so he couldn't see me. By now he'd caught my attention some. Remember the old movie Rear Window? I tried to figure out why he might be down there sittin', waitin'. Jealous lover, jealous husband, maybe some kinda night stalker. But he wasn't botherin' anybody so far as I could see.'
I spoke again. 'You never got a better look than that? Man sitting in the car?'
'Around the time I got up to pee, he got out of the car. Opened the door, but the inside light didn't come on. That struck me strange, it bein' such a nice car and all. Fueled my mind even more. I squinted my eyes, get a better look.' Another long pause.
'And?'
'He was tall, a blond gentleman. White fella. We don't get too many of them around here at night, or even in the daytime, for that matter.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Fifty-Six
Detective Patsy Hampton's investigation of the Jane Doe murders was starting to show forward movement and positive results. She thought she might have something good in the works. She had confidence in her ability to solve the murders. She knew from experience that she was smarter than everybody else.
It helped to have Chief Pittman and all the department's resources on her side. She had spent the past day and a half with Chuck Hufstedler at the FBI building. She knew she was using Chuck a little, but he didn't seem to mind. He was lonely, and she did like his company. She and Chuck were still sitting around at three thirty in the afternoon when Lancelot entered the Gamesters' Chatroom again. Laughalot, she remembered.
'He couldn't resist, could he?' Hampton said to Hufstedler. 'Gotcha, you fantasy freak.'
Hufstedler looked at her, his thick black eyebrows arched. 'Three thirty in the afternoon, Patsy. What does that say? Tell you what it says to me. Maybe he's playing from work. But I bet our Lancelot is a school kid.'
'Or he's somebody who likes to play with school kids.' She offered a thought that upset her even as she uttered the words.
This time, she didn't try to make contact with Lancelot. She and Chuck just listened in on a stupefying discussion of several role-playing games. In the meantime, he was trying to trace Lancelot.
'He's pretty good at this, a real hacker. He's built a lot of security into his system. Hopefully, we'll get to him anyway.'
'I have confidence in you, Cheeseman.'
Lancelot stayed in the chatroom past four thirty. By then it was all over. Chuck had his name and address: Michael Ormson, Hutchins Place in Foxhall.
At a few minutes before five, two dark-blue vans pulled up in front of the Ormson house on the Georgetown Reservoir. Five agents in blue FBI windbreakers and Detective Patsy Hampton surrounded the large Tudor-style house with an acre or two of front and back lawn and majestic views.
Senior FBI Agent Brigid Dwyer and Hampton proceeded to the front door and found it unlocked. With weapons
