Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(43)

Butler’s camera was on. He panned it beyond the yellow police tape, saw DEA, FBI, and other investigators moving about the scene.

“Were you clean?” the familiar voice said in his ear.

“Spotless in and out,” Butler muttered into the mike.

“All cameras?”

“Everything on their network was neutralized.”

“Your team?”

“On their way back to the ranch. I’ll follow tomorrow. I’m guessing we can expect another retaliation?”

“And more civilian casualties. It’s how they operate in Mexico—they use the deaths of innocents to sow terror.”

Butler kept panning the camera around the scene. “We have another target?”

“Several domestically, but in anticipation of the cartel’s counterattack, I think it’s time we take it to their territory, let their families feel vulnerable, exposed. They’ll start making mistakes and—stop. Go back left with the camera.”

Butler did.

“Stop. Zoom in on the two big African-Americans talking to the short white guy in the suit.”

Butler pressed the zoom button and brought the three men into tight view. “Who are they?” Butler asked.

“Big guy on the left is Dr. Alex Cross, an FBI consultant regarded as one of the best investigators in the country. Guy in the suit is Special Agent Ned Mahoney of the FBI, Cross’s former partner and the Bureau’s go-to in a crisis. Big guy on the right is John Sampson, Cross’s best friend and a detective on DC’s homicide team. Also a very tough man. You are seeing Sampson six weeks after he was stabbed by a pro who was trying to kill him and whom he killed instead.”

“Impressive. Our pro?”

“The impostor’s.”

“Really?” Butler said. “What’s his beef with Sampson?”

“We’re dealing with a sick mind, so I can’t tell you. But Cross, Sampson, and Mahoney make a formidable team and we should not underestimate them in any way. Let’s start keeping tight tabs on all three of them.”

“Geo-location?”

“Their phones, anyway. I want to know where those three are at all times.”





Chapter





49




After several moments of strategizing, Mahoney called his FBI superiors to work out clear jurisdiction on the case. Sampson and I returned to our car and drove to Falls Church, Virginia, where the late DEA Agent Eddie Hernandez had lived with his wife, Rosella, and their children, ten-year-old Eddie Jr. and seven-year-old Naomi.

The house was in an older neighborhood of split-level ranches and short driveways with basketball hoops mounted above many of the garage doors. I pulled over across the street from the Hernandez residence, where a painting crew was at work scraping and priming the exterior in blistering heat.

We’d no sooner arrived than a tan minivan pulled into the driveway and Rosella Hernandez exited the house with the children behind her, the kids dressed for day camp and carrying knapsacks. She kissed them both, got them into the van, and began talking animatedly with the driver, who appeared to be another mom.

“Jesus,” Sampson said. “She doesn’t know.”

“What the hell is going on? The DEA swarms the scene but doesn’t dispatch someone to inform the superstar’s wife that her husband’s dead?”

“It’s not like we haven’t had this terrible chore before,” Sampson said, opening the car door as the minivan pulled away. Rosella waved to her children and turned to speak to one of the painters.

I steeled myself and then climbed out of the car and walked across the street.

“Mrs. Hernandez?” I said, holding up my credentials. “My name is Alex Cross. I’m an investigative consultant to the FBI. This is Detective John Sampson with DC Metro Police.”

Her head cocked to one side. “Yes? How can I help you?”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Twenty minutes later, we were all sitting in Rosella’s kitchen, and her initial shock had turned to anguish. Her sobs shook her from head to toe. “Eddie said he was going to a training program for a few days. He said he’d be back for Naomi’s birthday.” She shook her head in bewilderment. “What am I going to tell her and little Eddie? It’s going to break his heart. He idolizes his dad.”

“Do you have family around here?”

“No,” she said. “Everyone is back in New Mexico.”

There was a loud knock at the front door. I offered to get it, and the DEA agent’s widow nodded.

I could hear Sampson telling her about Billie as I walked down the hallway to the front screen door to find Supervising Special Agent Jill Hanson standing there with two other DEA agents.

“What are you doing here?” Hanson demanded.

“What you should have been doing instead of tampering with our crime scene,” I said. “Consoling a grieving widow.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Dr. Cross.”

“And I am going to have to refuse, Special Agent in Charge Hanson. Every action you’ve taken today stinks of cover-up.”

“There’s no cover-up,” Hanson shot back. “We just want to talk to…oh, hello, Rosella. I’m so sorry for your loss.”