Double Cross

AS I STOOD AT THE FRONT, I actually recognized about half the people in the room. I’m not sure how many of the rest of them knew me by reputation, but probably most of them did. I’d worked the high-profile cases in DC for years, and now here I was again. Doing pro bono work? Helping out Detective Bree Stone? What was this, actually?

“One thing’s pretty clear,” I began. “He’s going to want to kill again, whether or not he actually does it. His signature aspect is terrorist, but there are also serial tendencies here. There’s already a recognizable pattern that I see.”

“Can you clarify that, Alex?” someone asked. I looked over at Bree, but she raised her chin at me in a go- ahead signal.

“His opening bid, so to speak, was an individual homicide. It’s possible he’s warming up to something bigger, but I don’t think so. He just might stick to one victim at a time.”

“Why?”

“Good question, and I think I might even have the answer to that one. My guess is that he doesn’t want to be eclipsed by his own work. This is about him, not the victims. Despite what he says on the tape, he’s a narcissist at heart. He badly wants to be a star. Maybe that’s why he ‘invited’ me onto the case. He may have even left some greeting cards at the crime scene-a couple of unsigned Hallmark cards. We’re still checking into that one and what it might mean if he did. And we’re checking on the books Mrs. Olsen had written.”

“What about his motive?” Richter asked. “Are we still thinking this could be political?”

“Yes and no. Right now, our working theory is that he’s Iraqi-born, or descended, with some kind of law- enforcement or military background, or both. The FBI thinks he’s lived in the U.S. for at least a few years, if not his entire life. Above-average intelligence, highly disciplined, and yes, probably anti-American. But we also think the political agenda could be more a means of expression than an end in itself.”

“Expression of what?” Richter pressed, even though he had to know we didn’t have a lot of answers yet.

“A need to kill, maybe. He seems to like what he’s doing. But, more important, he likes being in the spotlight.”

Just like you do, Thor.

And maybe just like me.

Chapter 25

SEVERAL PEOPLE SCRIBBLED or typed out notes in the deepening and troubling silence that followed. I didn’t want to dominate the meeting, so I handed it right back to Bree for the rest of the Q amp;A. Richter grilled her hard, but she never backed down from her domineering boss. Sampson was right about Bree-she was going places in the MPD, or she was going to get tossed by some jealous superior.

Afterward, we were gathering up our materials in the empty briefing room when she stopped and looked at me. “You’re pretty good at this,” she said. “Maybe even better than your hot-shit reputation.”

I shrugged her off with a smile, but deep down I enjoyed the compliment. “I’ve done a lot of these meetings. Besides, you carried it, and you know it.”

“Not the meeting, Alex. This. This work. You’re the best I’ve seen. By a lot. If you want to know the truth, I think we’re pretty good together. How scary is that?”

I stopped organizing the files in my hands and stared at her. “Then, Bree, why do I feel like we’re headed in the wrong direction on this thing?”

She looked stunned by what I’d said. “Excuse me?”

It had been bugging me since just before the meeting ended. Everything had been moving so fast. This was really the first opportunity to hold our stuff up to scrutiny. And now I felt as if we were missing something important. I was almost sure of it. I hated the timing, but I couldn’t help the feeling I had. My famous goddamn feelings! My gut was calling out to me to review all the bidding so far, everything that we thought we believed.

“Maybe this all makes sense because it’s what he wants us to think,” I said. “That’s just a hunch I have, but it bothers the hell out of me.”

I’d been burned like this before, not too long ago. We’d spent a lot of time on the Mary, Mary case in LA, running down an obvious but misleading persona instead of the actual killer. More people had died while we figured that out.

Bree started pulling papers from the briefcase she’d just packed. “Okay, fine. Let’s break it apart again. What do we need to know to nail this thing down the right way?”

The obvious answer to her question was that another murder would provide a hell of a lot more information for us.

Chapter 26

IT WAS TIME for the second story to unfold.

Nine hundred fifty-five brave souls were filing toward and into their plush seats at the Kennedy Center that night. The Grand Foyer was lit by eighteen one-ton crystal chandeliers that resembled… what? Giant stalactites? The foyer was huge, more than six hundred feet in length. At its center was an eight-foot bronze bust of the great Kennedy himself, never more august and serious in his life.

A crew of thirty-seven worked behind the scenes here. Impressive. Expensive too.

A cast of no fewer than seventeen trod the boards.

And one lone figure waited, quietly, underneath the stage.

Dr. Xander Swift.

At three o’clock that afternoon, he’d come in through the stage door. A large toolbox in hand and a few rehearsed phrases about the boiler were all it took. Inside the toolbox were his props.

Pistol.

Ice pick, just in case.

Butane torch.

Supply of ethanol.

Now it was more than five hours later and almost time for the main act. Above his head, the play was in progress. The house was full, theater lovers one and all, drama and suspense fans.

Matthew Jay Walker was well into a scene in which he talked somewhat robotically with another character on a monitor. Walker was excessively handsome, of course, a little shorter than expected, and quite the spoiled brat, if truth be known. His agent had made demands for fresh exotic fruit, a supply of Evian water, a personal makeup artist. Now it was time for Walker to meet his costar.

“Hello, Matthew Jay! Greetings,” said Dr. Swift. “I’m here… behind you.”

The actor looked around, surprised-no, shocked-when the trapdoor in the stage floor, normally used only in the second act, flew open.

“What th -”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am so sorry for the interruption,” said Dr. Xander Swift in a loud, clear, commanding voice that could be heard way up in the cheap seats. “But please, may I have your attention, your full attention, your undivided attention? This is a matter of life and death.”

Chapter 27

AT FIRST, the only noticeable stir in the audience was that of riffling pages as dozens of people looked to their