Double Cross

There were several volumes on American presidents-Truman, Lincoln, Clinton, Reagan, and Bushes forty-one and forty-three. Other world leaders too: Emperor Hirohito, Margaret Thatcher, bin Laden, Ho Chi Minh, Churchill.

“Delusions of grandeur, maybe?” I said. “Fits the bill for DCAK. At least, what we think we know about him.”

“You don’t sound too confident about your intel,” huffed Mills, who was a huffy sort.

“I’m not. He’s been messing with us from the start. He’s a game player.”

Bell ’s bedroom was smaller and darker-dank, actually. He had a toilet and sink right in the room, partitioned off with another bookcase. I didn’t see a tub or shower, unless you counted the river. In fact it reminded me of a prison cell-and that made me think of Kyle Craig again. What the hell did Kyle have to do with all this?

The only decorations were three framed photos on the wall, in a vertical stack that reminded me of the new Web site. The top one was an old black-and-white wedding portrait, presumably Mom and Dad. The middle was a picture of two golden retrievers.

And then a shot of five adults standing in front of the same red pickup that now sat abandoned outside.

I recognized three of them right away, and that gave me a start: Tyler Bell, Michael Bell, and Marti Lowenstein-Bell, who would eventually be killed by her husband. The other two, a man and a woman, weren’t familiar to me. One woman held two fingers up in a V behind Tyler ’s head. So, she thought he was the devil?

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Bree said. “They actually look happy. Don’t you think so?”

“Maybe they were. Hell, maybe he still is.”

Finally, after hours of poring over every inch of the bedroom, we went back out to the main room to tackle the kitchen area, which we had saved for last. There was no sense opening that fridge any sooner than we had to. It was a propane appliance and had obviously run down a long time ago. The shelves were half stocked. Most of the food looked like bulk purchases-grains and beans in plastic bags alongside other unrecognizable produce mush.

“He sure likes mustard,” Bree said. There were several kinds in the door. “And milk.” He had two half gallons, one of them unopened. I leaned in closer to look.

“Milk doesn’t keep,” I said.

“Milk’s not alone.” Bree had the handkerchief up over her mouth and nose again.

“No, I mean one of these is dated one day after anyone saw him around here.” I stood up and closed the refrigerator door. “The other carton’s dated nine days after that. Why would he buy more milk if he was getting ready to disappear?”

“And,” Bree said, “why would he need to disappear so suddenly? He seemed pretty safe and secure here. Who would bother him?”

“Right. That’s the other angle to figure out. So which one do we follow?”

But the question was almost immediately moot. As soon as I’d posed it, my phone rang, and everything changed all over again.

Chapter 110

I LOOKED AT MY CALLER ID. “Probably the kids,” I told Bree, and picked up. “Hello from Big Sky Country!” I said.

Instead, I heard, “Alex, it’s me. It’s Nana.”

The tension in Nana’s voice created waves of dread that traveled up and down my spine. “What’s going on? The kids okay?” I asked automatically. “Damon?”

“The children are fine. It’s -” She let out a quavering sigh. “It’s Sampson, Alex. John has gone missing. No one’s heard from him all day.”

The words hit me like icy water. I’d been half expecting the kids’ cheerful voices when I answered. Hi, Daddy. When are you coming home? Will you bring me something?

But instead, it was this.

“Alex, are you there?”

“I’m here.” The scene around me came back into focus. Bree was watching intently, wondering what was going on. Then her cell went off, and she took the call.

I had a feeling that we were hearing the same story, just from different sources.

“Davies,” Bree mouthed. The superintendent of detectives was on her line. “Yes, sir, I’m listening.”

“Nana, hold for a second,” I said.

“Sampson went to the gym around lunchtime.” Bree gave me a running commentary on her call from Davies. “They just found his car. But not him. They found some blood in the car, Alex.”

“He’s alive,” I told her. “If he was dead, we’d have heard from DCAK already. He’s going to want an audience again.”

Chapter 111

HE HAD CONTROLLED other killers before, in particular a brilliant boy who called himself Casanova and who had worked in the Research Triangle near the University of North Carolina and Duke. Of course, in those days, he had been with the FBI.

He’d even explained himself to Alex Cross once. “What I do… it’s what all men want to do. I live out their secret fantasies, their nasty little daydreams… I don’t live by rules created by my so-called peers.” He claimed he attracted others who thought as he did.

Now Kyle Craig had his own ideas about how things should go. He knew it was time for him to take charge, maybe even past time. The man known as DCAK had contacted him through Wainwright, his lawyer when he was in jail, as had other freaks of his kind. DCAK had claimed to be an admirer and a student-as had Wainwright himself-but now it was time for the teacher to step forward and take control of this game.

X marks the spot. That should be easy enough to figure out, he was thinking. Especially for someone who considered himself so brilliant.

Kyle was in position a few minutes before twelve on Saturday night. As promised. He was interested in what would happen next, from several perspectives. First of all, was DCAK bright enough to get himself to the meeting place? That was a legitimate question, but Kyle figured that the killer would be. DCAK was a clever enough fiend.

Then, would DCAK actually show his face to him? That proposition was a little trickier, and Kyle thought the odds were probably fifty-fifty. It all depended on what kind of a risk taker the killer turned out to be. How truly confident was he?

Or would he show up in one of his theatrical disguises? Maybe he’ll come as me. Kyle smiled as he let the final thought drift across his mind. Then he moved on to other things. He continued to be intrigued with the concept of freedom-to be out here in the world like this. He could feel his heart beating, steady but at an accelerated pace. He was getting better and better at controlling his body and mind.

Then he heard something. Someone was here. A voice coming from behind him.

“In your honor.”

DCAK had arrived, and now he stepped forward from a row of shadowy oak trees. No mask, no disguise. A tall, well-built man who looked to be in his thirties. Rather cocky.

Directly behind him loomed Alex Cross’s house on Fifth Street.

X marks the spot. That would be Cross’s house, of course.

“I’m honored as well,” said Kyle, knowing that they were both lying, wondering if this was as delicious for DCAK as it was for him.