Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross #1)(45)

After months without any information, I couldn’t get the questions out fast enough. Everything I’d heard so far was tracking. An important question loomed: Had Gary Soneji/ Murphy been telling the truth to his wife? Was he capable of telling the truth to another person?

“Mrs. Murphy, do you have any idea where he might have gone?” I asked now.

“Something really frightened Gary,” she said. “I think maybe it relates to his job somehow. And to my brother, who’s his employer. I can’t imagine that he went home to New Jersey, but maybe he did. Maybe Gary went back home. He is impulsive.”

One of the FBI agents, Marcus Connor, peeked into the kitchen where we were talking. “Can I see both of you for a minute?…. I’m sorry, this will just be one minute,” he said to Mrs. Murphy.

Connor escorted us down into the basement of the house. Gerry Scorse, Reilly, and Kyle Craig from the FBI were already down there, waiting.

Scorse held up a pair of Fido Dido socklets. I recognized them from descriptions of what Maggie Rose Dunne had been wearing the day of the kidnapping. Also from visits to the little girl’s room, where I’d seen her collection of clothes and trinkets.

“So, what do you think, Alex?” Scorse asked me. I had noticed that whenever things got really weird, he asked for my opinion.

“Exactly what I said about the sneaker in Washington. He left it for us. He’s playing a game now. He wants us to play with him.”





CHAPTER 40


THE OLD DU PONT HOTEL in downtown Wilmington was a convenient place to get some sleep. It had a nice quiet bar, and Sampson and I planned on doing some quiet drinking there. We didn’t think we’d have company, but we were surprised when Jezzie Flanagan, Klepner, and some of the FBI agents joined us for nightcaps.

We were tired and frustrated after the near-miss with Gary Soneji/Murphy. We drank a lot of hard liquor in a short time. Actually, we got along well. “The team.” We got loud, played liar’s poker, raised some hell in the tony Delaware Room that night. Sampson talked to Jezzie Flanagan for a while. He thought she was a good cop, too.

The drinking finally tailed down, and we wandered off to find our rooms, which were scattered throughout the spacious Du Pont.

Jeb Klepner, Jezzie, and I climbed the thickly carpeted stairs to our rooms on two and three. The Du Pont was a mausoleum at quarter to three in the morning. There wasn’t any traffic outside on the main drag through Wilmington.

Klepner’s room was on the second floor. “I’m going to go watch some soft-core pornography,” he said as he split off from us. “That usually helps me get right to sleep.”

“Sweet dreams,” Jezzie said. “Lobby at seven.”

Klepner groaned as he trudged down the hallway to his room. Jezzie and I climbed the winding flight to the next floor. It was so quiet you could hear the stoplight outside, making clicking noises as it changed from green to yellow to red.

“I’m still wound tight,” I said to her. “I can see Soneji/Murphy. Two faces. They’re both very distinct in my head.”

“I’m wired, too. It’s my nature. What would you do if you were home instead of here?” Jezzie asked.

“I’d probably go play the piano out on our porch. Wake the neighborhood with a little blues.”

Jezzie laughed out loud. “We could go back down to the Delaware Room. There was an old upright in there. Probably belonged to one of the Du Ponts. You play, I’ll have one more drink.”

“That bartender left about ten seconds after we did. He’s home in his bed already.”

We’d reached the Du Pont’s third floor. There was a gentle bend in the hallway. Ornate signs on the wall listed room numbers and their direction. A few guests had their shoes out to be shined overnight.

“I’m three eleven.” Jezzie pulled a white card-key from the pocket of her jacket.

“I’m in three thirty-four. Time to call it a night. Start fresh in the morning.”

Jezzie smiled and she looked into my eyes. For the first time that I could remember, neither of us had anything to say.

I took her into my arms, and held her gently. We kissed in the hallway. I hadn’t kissed anyone like that in a while. I wasn’t sure who had started the kiss, actually.

“You’re very beautiful,” I whispered as our lips drew apart. The words just came out. Not my best effort, but the truth.

Jezzie smiled and shook her head. “My lips are too puffy and big. I look like I was dropped face-first as a kid. You’re the good-looking one. You look like Muhammad Ali.”

“Sure I do. After he took too many punches.”

“A few punches, maybe. To add character. Just the right number of hard knocks. Your smile’s nice, too. Smile for me, Alex.”

I kissed those puffy lips again. They were perfect as far as I could tell.

There’s a lot of myth about black men desiring white women; about some white women wanting to experiment with black men. Jezzie Flanagan was a smart, extremely desirable woman. She was somebody I could talk to, somebody I wanted to be around.

And there we were, snuggled in each other’s arms at around three in the morning. We’d both had a little too much to drink, but not a lot too much. No myths involved. Just two people alone, in a strange town, on a very strange night in both of our lives.