Alex Cross 03 - Jack & Jill Read online

  The boy actually smiled up at him. Kids could do weird mood changes like that. His beautiful blue eyes sparkled, glistened; something wet and wonderful happened. “I want Mighty Max,” he proclaimed as if he were Richie Rich instead of Little Boy Lost.

  “Okay, then come with me. One Mighty Max coming up! Why? ‘Cause you’re a Toys ‘R’ Us kid.”

  He cradled the boy in his arms and began to hurry up the wide shopping aisle toward the front of the store. Suddenly, he knew he could get away with it, even something this audacious and shocking, with almost a hundred eyewitnesses in the store. Hey, he was the new Pied Piper. Kids loved him.

  “We’ll get a Vac-Man. Then how about X-men? Or how about a Stretch Armstrong?”

  “Mighty Max,” the little boy repeated, stuck on his one track. ‘T only want Mighty Max.”

  The killer peeked out of aisle three. He was less than thirty feet from the store’s front exit. The mall parking lot bordered on Columbia Park, which had been part of his escape package from the start.

  He took a couple of fast steps, then stopped dead in his tracks at the front of the store.

  Shit! A couple in their late twenties were walking toward him! The woman looked just like Little Boy Blue.

  They had him… dead to rights. They had him nailed! They had him!

  He knew what he had to do, so he never panicked for a nanosecond. Except for the two or three major heart attacks he had on the inside. Well, here goes everything. Time to bet the ranchero.

  “Hey; hi there.” He smiled broadly and went into his best stand-up routine ever. “This little guy belong to you? He was lost in the action-figure section. Nobody came for him. I figured I better bring him up to the store manager. Little guy was crying his eyes out. You his mom?”

  The mother reached out for her precious bundle of joy, while at the same time throwing her husband a dirty look.

  Aha, there was our villain! Pop was obviously the one who had lost the boy in the first place. Pops couldn’t get anything right these days, could they! His own pop sure hadn’t been able to.

  “Thank you, so much,” the mom said. She tossed another incredibly nasty look to pop. “That was very sweet of you,” she told the killer.

  He continued to hold his best smile. Man, he was acting his heart out. “Anybody would do the same thing. He’s a nice little boy. Well, so long. Bye-bye. He wants a Mighty Max. That’s probably what he was searching for.”

  “Yes, he does want Mighty Max. Bye. Thanks again,” said the mom.

  “Bye-bye,” the little boy mimicked, waving his hand. “Bye-bye.”

  “Hope I see ya some other time,” said the Sojourner Truth School killer. “Bye-bye.” You morons! You incredible idiots. You pathetic simps.

  He walked away from the family. Never looked back once. He was wetting his pants, but he was also beginning to laugh. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Here was another thing in his favor—even if he was caught someday—they wouldn ‘t believe that he was the Truth School killer. No way in hell.

  CHAPTER

  15

  AH, THIS WAS MUCH BETTER. Life was good again. I opened my eyes and Jannie was there, staring at me from about three feet away. Jannie had Rosie the cat in her arms. Jannie likes to watch me sleep sometimes. I like to watch her sleep, too. Fair is fair.

  “Hey there, sweetness and light,” I said to her. “You know the song ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’? You remember that one?” I hummed a couple of bars for her.

  Jannie nodded her head yes. She knew the song. She’d heard me play it on the piano downstairs, on our porch. “You have guests,” she announced.

  I sat up in bed. “How long have they been here?”

  “They just came. Nana sent me and Rosie up to get you. She’s making them’ coffee. You, too. You have to get up.”

  “Is it Sampson and Rakeem Powell?” I asked.

  Jannie shook her head. She seemed unusually shy this morning, which isn’t really like her. “They’re white men.”

  I was starting to wake up in a hurry. “I see. You happen to catch the names?” Suddenly, I thought I knew the names. I solved the mystery myself—at least, I thought I had.

  Jannie said, “Mr. Pittman and Mr. Clouser.”

  “Very good,” I complimented her.

  Not good, not good at all, I was thinking about my “guests.” I didn’t want to see the chief of detectives, or the police commissioner—especially not in my house.

  Especially not for the reason I imagined that they were here to see me.

  Jannie bent and gave me my morning kiss. Then a second kiss.

  “Oh, what lies there are in kisses,” I winked and said to her.

  “Nope,” she said. “Not my kisses.”

  It took me less than five minutes to get as ready as I was going to get for this. Nana was entertaining our visitors in the parlor. Commissioner Clouser had come to my house twice before. This was a first for the chief of detectives. The Jefe. I assumed that Clouser had forced him to come.

  Chief Pittman and Commissioner Clouser were sipping Nana’s steaming coffee, smiling at a story she was spinning for them. I wondered what it was she had decided to get off her chest. This was a dangerous time—for Pittman and Clouser.

  “I was just rebuking these gentlemen for allowing Emmanuel Perez to roam our streets for so long,” she told me as I entered the parlor. “They promised not to let that sort of thing happen again’. Should I believe them, Alex?”

  Both Pittman and Clouser chuckled as they looked at me. Neither of them realized this was no chuckling matter, and that my grandmother was no one to mess with or, even worse, condescend to in her house.

  “No, you shouldn’t believe one word they say. Are you finished now?” I asked her, returning her sweet, phony smile with one of my own.

  “I didn’t think I could trust either of them. I wanted to get their promise in writing,” Nana said.

  I nodded and smiled, as if she’d just made a joke, which I knew she hadn’t. She was dead serious. The Jefe and Commissioner Clouser both laughed heartily. They thought Nana Mama was a stitch. She isn’t. She’s the whole nine yards.

  “Can the three of us talk in here?” I asked her. “Or should we go outside for our discussion?”

  “I’ll go in my kitchen,” Nana evil-eyed me and said. “So nice to meet you, Chief Pittman, Commissioner Clouser. Don’t forget your promise. I won’t.”

  Once she had left the room, the commissioner spoke right up. “Well, congratulations are in order, Alex. I understand that you found all kinds of kiddie porn in Emmanuel Perez’s apartment”

  “Detective Sampson and I found the pornography,” I said. Then I was silent I had decided not to make this easy for them. Actually, I agreed one hundred percent with the point Nana had been trying to make.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering what we’re doing here, so let me explain,” Chief of Detectives Pittman spoke up. He and I were not close, to put it mildly. Never had been, never would be. Pittman is a bully and also a closet racist and those are his better points. He could never seem to see a belt without wanting to hit below it.

  “I’d appreciate it” I said to The Jefe. “I was thinking that maybe you had just been in the neighborhood and you dropped by for my grandmother’s coffee. It’s worth a trip.”

  Pittman didn’t Come close to breaking a smile. “We received a formal request from the FBI late last night. They’ve asked that you work on the investigation of Senator Fitz-Patrick’s murder. Special Agent Kyle Craig strongly suggested that your background and recent experience might serve the investigation well. Obviously, it’s an important case, Alex.”

  I let Chief Pittman finish, then I slowly shook my head no. “I’ve got a half-dozen open homicides here in Southeast,” I said. “The case I just worked on should have been solved months ago. Then another little girl wouldn’t have died for no goddamn reason. A homicide detective got reassigned off the killer’s trail back then. Now a little girl is dea
d. Six years old.”

  “This is a major case, Alex,” the commissioner said. He had snow-white hair. His face was bright red, which happened when he was angry or disturbed. The two of us went back some. Usually we went along, got along. Maybe not this time.

  “Tell the FBI that I can’t be spared for this Jack and Jill mess. I’ll call Kyle and make my peace with him. Kyle will understand. I’m on several homicide cases in Southeast. People die here, too. We have our own messes, and even major cases.”

  “Let me ask you something, Alex,” the police commissioner said. He smiled gently as he spoke. Lots of beautifully capped white teeth. I could have played some sweet Gershwin on them, though maybe some key-slamming Little Richard would have been more satisfying.

  “Do you still want to be a cop?” he asked.

  That one landed, and it stung. It was a sucker punch, but a pretty good one.

  “I want to be a good cop,” I said to him. “I want to do some good if I possibly can. Same as always. Nothing’s changed.”

  “That’s the right answer,” the commissioner said as if I were a child who needed his instruction. “You’re on the Jack and Jill investigation. It’s been decided in very high places. You have experience with these kinds of murders, with lunatic psychotics. You are officially off all your other cases Now, be a very good cop, Alex. The FBI is almost certain Jack and Jill are going to kill again.”

  So was I, so was I.

  And I felt the very same thing about the Sojourner Truth School killer.

  CHAPTER

  16

  I RESISTED the unique charms of the Jack and Jill case for one more day. Half a day, anyway. I tried to clear a few things on my watch in Southeast. I was furious about what had happened with Clouser and Pittman.

  Shanelle Green had died because more detectives hadn’t been assigned to find Chop-It-Off-Chucky, hadn’t given Alvin Jackson the time of day. The whole sorry affair was race-related, no way around it, and it made me both angry and sad.

  I came home early and spent the evening with Nana and the kids. I wanted to make sure they were okay after the murder at the Sojourner Truth School. At least that horror tale had been solved. But I still wasn’t over the child killing. I couldn’t get past it for a lot of reasons.

  For half an hour or so, I gave Damon and Jannie their-weekly boxing lesson in the basement. To Damon’s credit, he’s never complained that the sessions include his sister. He just puts on the gloves.

  They’re becoming tough little pugs, but more important, they’re learning when not to fight. Not many kids mess with them at school, but that’s mainly because they’re nice kids and know how to get along.

  “Watch that footwork, Damon,” I told him. “You’re not supposed to be putting out a fire with your feet”

  “You’re supposed to be dancing,” Jannie threw a little verbal jab at her brother. “Step, right. Back. Step, step, left.”

  “I’ll do a dance on you in a minute,” Damon warned her off, and then they both laughed like hell.

  A little later, we were upstairs in front of the tube. Jannie was crossing her small arms, squinting her brown eyes, and making a tough-as-nails face at me. It was her official, non-negotiable bedtime, but she had decided to lodge a protest.

  “No, Daddy. Nope, nope, nopeee,” she said. “Your watch is too fast”

  “Yes, Jannie. Yep, yep, yepeee.” I held my ground, held my own against my chief nemesis. “My watch is too slow.”

  “No, siree. No way,” she said.

  “Yes, indeedee. No escaping it. You’re busted.”

  The long arm of the law finally reached out and corralled another repeat offender. I grabbed Jannie off the couch and carried my little girl up to bed at eight-thirty on the dot Law and order reigns at the Cross house.

  “Where we going, Daddy?” she giggled against my neck. “Are we going out for ice cream? I’ll have pralines ‘n’ cream.”

  “In your dreams.”

  As I tightly held Jannie in my arms, I couldn’t help thinking about little Shanelle Green. When I had seen Shanelle in that schoolyard, I was scared. I’d thought of Jannie. It was a vicious circle that kept playing inside my head.

  I lived in fear of the human monsters coming to our house. One of them had come here a few years back. Gary Soneji. That time no one had been hurt, and we had been very lucky.

  Jannie and I had worked out a prayer that we both liked. She knelt beside her bed and said the words in a beautiful little whisper.

  Jannie said, “God up in heaven, my grandma and my daddy love me. Even Damon loves me. I thank you, God, for making me a nice person, pretty and funny sometimes. I will always try to do the right thing, if I can. This is Jannie Cross saying goodnight.”

  “Amen, Jannie Cross,” I smiled and said to my girl. I loved her more than life itself. She reminded me of her mother in the best possible way. “I’ll see you in the morning. I can’t wait.”

  Jannie grinned and her eyes widened suddenly. She popped back up in bed. “You can see me some more tonight. Just let me stay up,” she said. “I scream for ice cream.”

  “You are funny,” I said and kissed her goodnight. “And pretty and smart.” Man, I love her and Damon so much. I knew that was why the child murder had really gotten under my skin. The madman had struck too close to our house.

  Maybe for that reason Damon and I went for a walk a little later that night’ I draped my arm over my son’s shoulders. It seemed as if every day he got a little bigger, stronger, harder. We were good buddies, and I was glad it had worked out this way so far.

  The two of us strolled in the direction of Damon’s school. On the way, we passed a Baptist church with angry, dark-red and black graffiti markings: I don’t care ‘bout Jeez, ‘cause Jeez don’t care ‘bout me. That was a common sentiment around here, especially among the young and restless.

  One of Damon’s schoolmates had died at the Sojourner Truth School. What a horrible tragedy, and yet he had already seen so much of it. Damon had witnessed a death in the street, one young man shooting another over a parking space, when he was only six years old.

  “You ever get afraid to be at the school? Tell me the truth. Whatever you really feel is okay to say, Damon,” I gently reminded him. “I get afraid sometimes, too. Beavis and Butt-head scares me. Ren and Stimpy, too.”

  Damon smiled, and he shrugged his shoulders. “I’m afraid sometimes, yeah. I was shivering on our first day back. Our school isn’t going to close down, is it?”

  I smiled on the inside, but kept a straight face. “No, there’ll be classes as usual tomorrow. Homework, too.”

  “I did it already,” Damon answered defensively. Nana has him a little too sensitive about grades, but that probably isn’t so terribly bad. “I get mostly all A’s, just like you.”

  “Mostly all A’s,” I laughed. “What kind of sentence is that?”

  “Accurate.” He grinned like a young hyena who had just been told a pretty good joke on the Serengeti.

  I grabbed Damon in a loose, playful headlock. I gently slid my knuckles over the top of his short haircut. Noogies. He was okay for now. He was strong, and he was a good person. I love him like crazy, and I wanted him to always know that.

  Damon wiggled out of the headlock. He danced a fancy Sugar Ray Leonard-style two-step and fired a few quick, testing punches at my stomach. He was showing me what a tough little cub he was. I had no doubt about it.

  Right about then I noticed someone leaving the school building. It was the same woman I’d seen in the early morning of Shanelle Green’s murder. The one who had blown me away then. She was watching Damon and me tussle on the sidewalk. She had stopped walking to watch us.

  She was tall and slender, almost six feet. I couldn’t see her face very well in the shadows of the school building. I remembered her from the other morning, though-I remembered her self-confidence, a sense of mystery I’d felt about her.

  She waved, and Damon waved back. Then she headed down to the s
ame dark blue Mercedes, which was parked up against the wall of the building.

  “You know her?” I asked.

  “That’s the new principal of our school,” Damon informed me. “That’s Mrs. Johnson.”

  I nodded. Mrs. Johnson. “She works late. I’m impressed. How do you like Mrs. Johnson?” I asked Damon as I watched her walk to her car. I remembered that Nana had talked about the principal and been very positive about her, calling her “inspirational” and saying she had a sweet disposition.

  She was certainly attractive, and seeing her made my heart ache just a little. The truth was, I missed not having someone in my life. I was getting over a complicated friendship I’d had with a woman—Kate McTiernan. I had been working a lot, avoiding the whole issue that fall. I was still avoiding it that night.

  Damon didn’t hesitate with his answer to my question. “I like her. Everybody likes Mrs. Johnson. She’s tough, though. She’s even tougher than you are, Daddy,” he said.

  She didn’t look so tough with her Mercedes sedan, but I had no reason hot to believe my son. She was definitely brave to be in the school alone at night. Maybe a little too brave.

  “Let’s head on home,” I finally said to Damon. “I just remembered this is a school night for you.”

  “Let’s stay up and watch the Bullets play the Orlando Magic,” he coaxed and grabbed onto my elbow.

  “Oh—sure. No,’ let’s get Jannie up and we’ll all pull an all-nighter,” I said and laughed loudly. We both laughed, sharing the jokey moment.

  I slept in with the kids that night I was definitely not over the murder at the Truth School. Sometimes, we’ll throw blankets and pillows on the floor and sleep there as if we were homeless. It gives Nana fits, but I believe she thrives on her fits, so we make certain she has one every other week or so.

  As I lay there with my eyes open, and both kids sleeping peacefully, I couldn’t help thinking about Shanelle Green. It was the last thing I needed to think about. Why had someone brought the body back to the schoolyard? I wondered. There are always loose ends on cases, but this one made no sense, so it concerned me. It was a piece that didn’t fit in a puzzle that was supposed to be finished.