Double Cross

The impact seemed to have been mostly visual. He’d shouted, “Special delivery!” and then got right to it-half a dozen vicious swings with a blade large enough to be seen from the theater’s back row.

I looked down at Mrs. Courlevais, then back at the empty sack next to her.

Suddenly, another angle occurred to me. What else might be tucked inside there? Was there something else in the mail sack?

I worked the bag open, dreading what I might find. Finally my hand touched a flat piece of plastic. Something was definitely there. What?

I pulled the object out. What the hell? It was a postal worker’s ID. A second photo had been pasted over the original. The name was changed too. It said Stanley Chasen.

The image on the ID was a match to the preliminary description we’d gotten: elderly white man, possibly in his seventies, silver hair, bulbous nose, horn-rimmed glasses. Heavyset and tall.

“Who’s Stanley Chasen?” Sampson asked.

“Probably nobody,” I said. Then it hit me. I knew what he was doing-I was thinking like him, and not liking the feeling. “It’s a figment of this sick bastard’s imagination. He’s creating characters, then he’s playing them, one at a time. And all the characters inside his head are killers.”

And… what? He wants us to catch them all?

Chapter 73

I DIDN’T GET TO LEAVE the National Air and Space Museum until five in the morning, and we weren’t even finished with our workday yet. Bree and I sent Sampson home to his wife and little one, and then we drove back up to Baltimore -where there was still a mess of paperwork to finish up and a situation to try to make some sense out of, if we possibly could.

On the drive, we talked about the woman who had been DCAK’s accomplice at the Best Western-the driver of the blue sports car. Had he hired her just for the night? Or had she been in on the murder spree all along? No way to tell yet, but the scenario led to lots of speculation on the ride up I-95, some of it connecting to Kyle Craig and his escape from ADX Florence.

When we finally got back to the Best Western, Bree and I hugged for a minute in the car, but that was about all we did-a hug and a kiss. Then we were needed inside. It was too early to call my house, so I waited until later-well into the morning, as it turned out. When I finally called, I got the answering machine.

I decided to keep my message light, the exact opposite of what I was feeling. “Hey, chickens, it’s Dad. Listen, I’m working through the morning, but I’ll be home later this afternoon. Promise. Seems like a good night for a movie. That is, if I can convince anyone to join me.” And if I can stay awake.

Bree took her tired eyes off some paperwork and smiled over at me. “You must be pretty exhausted too. You’re a real good dad, Alex.”

“Trying. I’m a guilty dad for sure.”

“No,” Bree repeated. “You’re a good dad. Trust me on that. I had a bad one.”

As it turned out, it was past three o’clock when I finally dragged myself home to Fifth Street. A shower and a little something from the kitchen, and I’d be ready to go again. Maybe just an hour or two of nap time.

As I was getting out of the car, I saw Jannie’s long face. She was standing on the front porch, watching me come up the walk. Her features were still, and she didn’t move or speak when our eyes met.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I humped up the steps. “Something happened.”

“Yeah, Dad, it sure did. Damon’s run away.”

My head tilted back involuntarily. What? Maybe I was groggy and hadn’t heard Janelle right.

“Run away? What are you talking about? Where is he?”

“He left home five hours ago, and he hasn’t come back. Never told anybody where he was going. Nothing. Nana’s been going crazy.”

This didn’t compute. Not with Damon. It just wasn’t something he’d ordinarily do.

“Five hours? Jannie, what is going on? What am I missing here?”

Jannie stared hard at me. “The basketball coach from Cushing was here today-to talk to you. You missed the meeting. The prep-school coach from Massachusetts?”

“I know what Cushing is, Janelle,” I said.

Just then, Nana came out to the porch. Little Ali trailed a half step behind his grandmother. “I’ve spoken with his friends and the parents that I can reach. No one’s seen him,” Nana said.

I pulled out my phone. “I’ll call Sampson. We can -”

Nana cut me off. “I spoke to John already. He’s out searching the neighborhood.”

Just then, the phone in my hand buzzed. I hadn’t known that it had been ringing off the hook for hours. Sampson’s name came up on the caller ID.

“John?” I said into the receiver.

“Alex, I’ve got Damon.”

Chapter 74

“WHERE IS HE? Where are you?” I asked, paranoia blossoming inside my head. Kyle Craig had threatened my family. DCAK said he was watching us too.

“We’re over at Sojourner Truth. Day wandered around town, then he came up here to shoot some hoops. We had a talk. He’s ready to come home now. We’ll be back there in a few minutes.”

“No. I’ll come to you,” I said. I wasn’t sure why. I just felt it should be that way. I wanted to go to Damon, not the other way around.

“Can I come, Daddy?” Ali looked up at me, his small hands outstretched, curious brown eyes always ready for the next little adventure in his life.

“Not this time, pup. I’ll be back soon.”

“You always say that.”

“I do. And I always come back.” Eventually I do, anyway.

I drove over to the school, the same one Damon and Jannie had gone to, and Ali would be attending before I knew it.

Day and Sampson were playing one-on-one, pounding the school’s cracked pavement court. Damon still had on the khakis and nice blue dress shirt he’d probably worn for the meeting with the prep-school coach. A red- and-black necktie hung out of his back pocket. He scored easily on Sampson as I approached the court.

I laced my fingers into the chain-link fence. “Pretty nice move,” I said. “Of course, you only had to beat an old man to get to the hoop.”

Damon played it cool-cold, really-and didn’t even look my way.

Sampson bent and leaned on his knees, sweat dripping off his face, and not just because it was eighty degrees out. Damon was good, getting better too. Bigger and better, and a whole lot quicker than he ever was before. It struck me that I hadn’t seen him play ball in a long time.

“I’m up next,” I called to Sampson.

He held up an index finger that clearly said, I’m out.

“That’s okay. Game’s over,” Damon said. He came out through the gate near my car, and I caught his arm. I needed him to look at me, which he did. Daggers. Sharp ones that cut deep.

“Damon, I’m sorry about what happened today. Couldn’t be helped.”

“If you guys are all good, I’m going to take off,” Sampson said.

He clapped Damon on the back as he went. The Big Man knows when to hang in and when to head out.

“Let’s sit.” I motioned to the stone school steps. Damon reluctantly sat down with me. I could tell he was pissed, but maybe he was confused too. We almost never got this angry, let it get this bad. Damon was a good