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He hung up. She realized the train was pulling into Penn Station. Looking out the window as it rolled slowly to a stop, she spotted Rosella Salazar sitting on a bench and rubbing her belly, which looked enormous.
Bree walked up to her a few moments later and said, “You’re bigger every time I see you!”
Salazar grinned sourly and struggled to her feet. “He’s giving me heartburn and hemorrhoids now. C’mon. The DA’s expecting us at quarter to twelve.”
They walked through the new Penn Station welcome hall, a stunning structure, and out onto the street, where Salazar had a car waiting. After getting in and saying hello to the officer at the wheel, Bree told the detective about her conversation with Luster and the fundraiser that evening at Cipriani on Forty-Second.
Salazar said, “You’re going?”
“How could I refuse? He’s putting me in one of his dresses.”
The detective laughed and looked down at her belly bulging against the tent shirt she wore. “He should get me a dress. I think seeing us together would rattle Frances even more.”
“I’ll call Phillip back, see what he can do.”
“Really?”
“Why not?”
CHAPTER 86
Washington, DC
SAMPSON FOUND LISA MOOREright where Thomas Tull said he’d find her—in an Airbnb she’d rented in the Kalorama neighborhood. When John brought in the writer’s assistant later that afternoon, I recognized Moore as the woman we’d seen putting an envelope in Tull’s mail slot the same night he’d raced the Porsche up Rock Creek Parkway and the Kane family had been killed.
She almost smiled when she saw me. “Alex Cross. I know a lot about you.”
“Probably more than I know about you,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s not a lot to know, honestly.”
“That’s not how Thomas Tull tells it,” Mahoney said. He looked at Sampson. “Has she been read her Miranda rights?”
“At her front door,” Sampson said.
The smile on Moore’s face vanished. “I don’t know what Thomas has been saying about me, but—”
I cut her off. “What were you before you worked for Tull? CIA? DIA?”
Moore raised her eyebrows and canted her head to the right. “I cannot answer those questions for too many reasons to count.”
“You just did. Where did you go after you left Tull’s house the night of April twenty-second?”
“The twenty-second?” she said and thought for a few moments. “Home. To my Airbnb.”
“You were there all night?” Mahoney asked.
“All night.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, “my lover was with me from around nine p.m. until ten the next morning. What’s this about?”
Sampson said, “Who’s your lover? Name, address, telephone number.”
Moore took a deep breath. “I don’t think she’s ready to be out of the closet.”
Mahoney said, “But you think you’re ready for an eight-byten cell?”
