AllFreeNovel
Share Us
THEY HEARD SHOUTS FROM down the street. Several of the reporters and cameramen behind the barricade were having some kind of dispute.
“Another subject, sir?” Aaliyah said, turning away.
“Go on,” he replied.
“I think we need the media on our side,” she replied. “We need to tell them about the kidnappings and about Mulch, put his picture from the fake driver’s license on television.”
“That could open up a whole other can of night crawlers,” Sampson protested. “My nickel opinion: the less they know, the better.”
“I agree,” Mahoney said.
“I don’t,” the homicide captain said. “Detective Aaliyah’s right. We have to get them involved now. Someone somewhere could have seen Cross’s kids, or his grandmother, or Mulch.”
“Do you want me to talk to them?” Aaliyah asked. “The reporters.”
“My job, Detective,” Quintus said. “Go get some sleep. All of you. You’re no good to Cross or his family if you can’t think straight.”
The homicide captain went down off the porch and out onto the street.
“Sorry if I stepped on any toes or poked any sacred cows,” Aaliyah said to Sampson and Mahoney.
“Apology accepted,” the FBI agent said wearily. “We’re a bit sensitive when it comes to Alex. He’s one of a kind.”
“I know,” she said. “Alex Cross is one of the reasons I wanted to become a cop in the first place.”
Aaliyah climbed off the porch then, thinking that what she’d said was true. She’d read about Cross’s exploits as a teenager and admired him almost as much as she admired her father.
The detective cringed. Her dad. Bernie. She’d promised herself she’d go knock on his door this morning. But she was simply too exhausted to make the hour-long drive.
Down on the sidewalk, Captain Quintus had an army of reporters surrounding him. Aaliyah went in the opposite direction, heading to her car.
As she got in and pulled out into traffic, her thoughts kept returning to Cross’s last words to her. Mulch has us heading in the general direction of hell.
Us? Who was with Cross?
Mulch has us heading in the general direction of hell.
What did that mean?
On the one hand, it could be a figure of speech.
On the other, it could mean that Cross had communicated with the madman. Couldn’t it? Or was that just a figment of her tired and frazzled imagination?
CHAPTER
24
“DON’T FRET, MARCUS,” ACADIA chided. “You know Cross’ll call you ’fore too long.”
“I told him to call right back, and it’s been hours,” Sunday said coldly, looking straight ahead from the backseat of the Durango, watching out the windshield as Cochran drove them along that muddy road in the forest toward Harrow’s place.
The rain had stopped. Dawn was coming on.
“He’s got no choice,” Acadia said. “Cross will—”
“I know he’ll call,” Sunday snapped at her. “The question is, why is he waiting so long? What’s his angle? What’s he doing?”
“Three birches coming up,” Cochran said, and slowed to a stop.
