Cross the Line (Alex Cross #24)(52)

Trying to stay quiet while rushing through the hush of a famous church is no mean feat, but we managed it and followed him through the door. We found ourselves on a stair landing. There was a closed door ahead of us, and steps that led down.

We figured the door led to the sacristy and went down the stairs. We wandered around the basement hallways, not finding Condon but seeing the tomb of Admiral John Paul Jones before returning to our last point of contact.

Back on the landing, I stood for a moment wondering where he could have gone, and then I heard Condon’s distinctive voice raised in anger on the other side of the sacristy door.

“But they’re following me now, Jim,” Condon said. “This is persecution.”

That was enough for me to rap at the door, push it open, and say, “We’re not persecuting anyone.”

Condon and a chaplain stood in a well-appointed room with plush purple carpet and a clean, stark orderliness. The sniper’s face twisted in anger.

The chaplain said, “What is this? Who are you?”

“Really, Dr. Cross?” Condon said, taking a step toward us with his gloved hands clenched into fists. “You’d follow me in here? I thought better of you.”

“We just wanted to talk,” Sampson said. “And you ran. So we followed.”

“I didn’t run,” he said. “I was late for a meeting with the chaplain.”

“You saw us and played cat and mouse,” I said, dubious.

“Maybe,” Condon said. “But that was just entertainment.”

“What’s this about?” the chaplain asked, exasperated.

“You his spiritual adviser?” Sampson asked.

They glanced at each other before the chaplain said, “It’s a little more complicated than that, Detective …?”

“John Sampson,” he said, showing him his badge and credentials.

“Alex Cross,” I said, showing mine.

“Captain Jim Healey,” the chaplain said.

“What’s complicated, Captain Healey?” I asked.

“This is none of their business, Jim,” Condon said.

The chaplain put his hand on the sniper’s arm and said, “I am Nicholas’s spiritual adviser. I was also the father of his late fiancée, Paula.”

I didn’t expect that; I lost some of my confidence and stammered, “I’m—I’m sorry for your loss, Captain. For both of your losses.”

“We meet to talk about Paula once a week,” the chaplain said, and he smiled faintly at Condon. “It’s good for us.”

For a second I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry to have interrupted,” I finally told him. “We just wanted to talk to him for a few moments, Captain.”

“About what?” Condon said, pugnacious again. “I already told you I didn’t have anything to do with those killings.”

“You actually never answered our questions about that, but this is about six motorists shot by a lone motorcyclist within an hour’s drive of your house.”

“One of them just up the road from your place,” Sampson said. “Beyond Willow Grove.”

The sniper shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You own a forty-five-caliber handgun?” I asked.

“Somewhere,” he said.

“Would you let us test it?”

“Hell no,” Condon said, and then he cocked his head. “Wait, you think I shot these people from my Harley? For what?”

“Breaking traffic laws,” Sampson said. “Speeding. Driving and texting.”

“This is insane, Jim,” the sniper said to the chaplain, throwing up his hands. “Every time a nutcase appears on the scene, they come after me. Even when a cursory glance at my medical record would show that I am not capable of shooting a forty-five-caliber handgun from a motorcycle going fast or slow.”

“What are you talking about?” Sampson asked.

Condon looked over at the chaplain and then pulled off his gloves, revealing that he wore wrist braces. He tore those off too, revealing scars across his wrists.

Captain Healey said, “Nick shattered both wrists in a training exercise when he was with SEAL Team 6. He can still shoot a rifle better than any man on earth, but his wrists and hands are too weak to shoot a pistol with any accuracy. It was what got him his medical discharge.”





CHAPTER


60


SAMPSON PULLED UP in front of my house just as the sun was setting.

“Don’t look so glum,” Sampson said. “We’ll come up with a new battle plan tomorrow.”

“I feel like we had preconceptions about Condon,” I said, opening the door. “He was the easy person to look to, so we did.”

“We had to look at him,” Sampson said. “It was our job.”

“But it wasn’t our job to insult a war hero and tarnish his reputation,” I said, climbing out.

“Did we do that?”

“In a roundabout way, yes.”

“Are we supposed to be dainty or something in a murder investigation?”

“I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I just need food and some sleep before I try to learn something from today.”