Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross #1)(38)

One night she was late coming home from her social-work job. I finally got the call, and rushed to Misericordia Hospital. Maria had been shot. She was in very bad shape was all they would tell me over the phone.

I arrived there a little past eight. A friend, a patrolman I knew, sat me down and told me that Maria was dead by the time they got her to the hospital. It had been a ride-by shooting outside the projects. No one knew why, or who could have done the shooting. We never got to say good-bye. There was no preparation, no warning at all, no explanation.

The pain inside was like a steel column that extended from the center of my chest all the way up into my forehead. I thought about Maria constantly, day and night. After three years, I was finally beginning to forget. I was learning how.

I was lying in bed, in a peaceful and resigned state, when Damon came in to the room as if his hair were on fire.

“Hey, Daddy. Hey, Daddy, you awake?”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, absolutely hating the sound of those words lately. “You look like you just saw Vanilla Ice on our front porch.”

“Somebody to see you, Daddy,” Damon announced with breathless excitement. “Somebody’s here!”

“ ‘The Count’ from Sesame Street?” I asked. “Who’s here? Be a touch more specific. Not another news reporter? If it’s a news reporter—”

“She says her name Jezme. It’s a la-dy, Daddy.”

I believe I sat up in bed, but I didn’t like the view from there too much, and lay down quickly again. “Tell her I’ll be right down. Do not volunteer that I’m in bed. Tell her I’ll be down directly.” Damon left the bedroom, and I wondered how I was going to deliver on the promise I’d just made.

Janelle and Damon and Jezzie Flanagan were still standing in the foyer of our house when I made it downstairs. Janelle looked a little uncomfortable, but she was getting better at her job of answering our front door. Janelle used to be painfully shy with all strangers. To help her with this, Nana and I have gently encouraged her and Damon to answer the front door during the daytime hours.

It had to be something important to have Jezzie Flanagan come to the house. I knew that half the FBI was searching for the pilot who’d collected the ransom. So far, there had been nothing on any front. Whatever had been solved about the case, I had solved myself.

Jezzie Flanagan was dressed in loose black trousers, with a simple white blouse, and scuffed tennis sneakers. I remembered her casual look from Miami. It almost made me forget what a big deal she was over at the Secret Service.

“Something’s happened,” I said, wincing. Pain shot across my skull, then down across my face. The sound of my own voice was too much to bear.

“No, Alex. We haven’t heard any more about Maggie Rose,” she said. “A few more sightings. That’s all.”

“Sightings” were what the Federal Bureau called eyewitness accounts from people “claiming” to have seen Maggie Rose or Gary Soneji. So far, the sightings ranged from an empty lot a few streets from Washington Day School, to California, to the children’s unit at Bellevue Hospital in New York City, to South Africa, not to mention a space-probe landing near Sedona, Arizona. No day went by without more sightings being reported somewhere. Big country, lot of kooks on the loose.

“I didn’t mean to intrude on you guys,” she finally said and smiled. “It’s just that I’ve been feeling bad about what’s happened, Alex. The stories about you are crap. They’re also untrue. I wanted to tell you how I felt. So here I am.”

“Well, thanks for saying it,” I said to Jezzie. It was one of the only nice things that had happened to me in the past week. It touched me in an odd way.

“You did everything you could in Florida. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.”

I tried to focus my eyes. Things were still a bit blurry. “I wouldn’t call it one of my better work experiences. On the other hand, I didn’t think I deserved front-page coverage for my performance.”

“You didn’t. Somebody nailed you. Somebody set you up with the press. It’s a lot of bull.”

“It’s bullshit,” Damon blurted. “Right, Big Daddy?”

“This is Jezzie,” I said to the kids. “We work together sometimes.” The kids were getting used to Jezzie, but they were still a little shy. Jannie was trying to hide behind her brother. Damon had both hands stuffed in his back pockets, just like his dad.

Jezzie went down on her haunches; she got down to their size. She shook hands with Damon, then with Janelle. It was a good instinctive move on her part.

“Your daddy is the best policeman I ever saw,” she told Damon.

“I know that.” He accepted the compliment graciously.

“I’m Janelle.” Janelle surprised me by offering her name to Jezzie.

I could tell she wanted a hug. Janelle loves hugs more than anyone ever put on this earth. That’s where she got one of her many nicknames, “Velcro.”

Jezzie sensed it, too. She reached out and hugged Jannie. It was a neat little scene to watch. Damon immediately decided to join in. It was the thing to do. It was as if their long-lost best friend had suddenly returned from the wars.

After a minute or so, Jezzie stood up again. At that moment it struck me that she was a real nice person, and that I hadn’t met too many of those during the investigation. Her house visit was thoughtful, but also a little brave. Southeast is not a great neighborhood for white women to travel in, even one who was probably carrying a gun.