Triple Cross (Alex Cross #30)(59)

CHAPTER 64


IT TOOK THOMAS TULL an hour working with an FBI computer technician in a van outside the Kane crime scene, but using his cell phone and car GPS data, the writer began to convince us of where he’d gone after we’d lost him at the north end of Rock Creek Parkway the evening before.

Tull’s data showed him bailing left off Cathedral Avenue and taking a quick right with his headlights off, which explained how he’d lost me and Sampson. From there, he’d zigzagged northwest through Chevy Chase back to Bethesda and close to Potomac, but he’d never come within six miles of the Kane home.

According to the data, at nine p.m., Tull was parking at an upscale Chinese restaurant in Bethesda. He used a phone app to pay for dinner a few minutes later.

“That was a quick eat,” I said.

“Takeout,” the writer said.

“But you didn’t get back in the car for almost an hour,” Sampson said. “What did you do? Go for a walk? Eat outside? Meet someone?”

Tull reacted awkwardly, then nodded. “I met someone. We ate outside.”

“Who was that?”

After another awkward moment, he said, “Suzanne Liu. My former editor.”

“Who you threatened with violence,” I said.

“Who I promised financial repercussions if she continued to spread lies about me.”

The writer said that the editor had messaged him earlier in the day, apologizing for her behavior and inviting him to meet her before she returned to New York.

“She said she wasn’t angry anymore, but she had things to say to find closure,” Tull said. “She told me she was going to change professions and work as a literary agent. She said she’d managed to find perspective and move on in the past few days, but deep down she loved me, and that had clouded her reactions to losing me as a writer and then losing her job.”

Sampson said, “She’ll back you up on all that?”

“Maybe not all of it. Women can be touchy about love. But the gist of it, I’m sure.”

“Take us through the rest of your evening,” I said.

“We hugged goodbye. She tried for a kiss, but I shut her down. She smiled, tears on her cheeks. And then she was gone. I took the leftover kung pao and drove home.”

GPS data from the Audi and from his phone showed him back at his Georgetown rental at a little before eleven. The rest of the evening and until eight thirty the next morning, after he learned of the Kane killings, the Audi never moved.

Tull’s phone was also largely stationary from eleven p.m. to eight thirty a.m.

Sampson leaned over and tapped the computer screen, said, “Except for this hour and twenty minutes, from two ten to three thirty. When the Kanes were killed.”

“Wait, what?” Tull said, agitated and coming around behind the computer tech. “Show me moving. I defy you to show me moving anywhere.”

“Not moving,” the tech said. “Just not generating data between your phone, the cell tower, and the satellite. It was dead.”

“You could have turned your electronics off,” I said. “It’s a stretch to make it from Georgetown to the Kanes and back in that time frame, but doable.”

“Except I didn’t do anything but sleep,” the writer protested. “There must be a record of my phone turning off, right? Show me where it turns off and on.”

The computer tech typed on his laptop. He looked at us. “You got me there. The phone was on the entire time, just not transmitting or receiving data.”

“Is that possible in this day and age?” Mahoney said.

“If the cell tower or the satellite went down, sure, it could look like this.”

“Perfect,” Tull said. “Call Verizon. That’s my carrier.”

“We will,” Sampson said. “Count on it.”

“In the meantime, am I in or out of this investigation?” the writer asked me, John, and Ned.

“As far as the FBI is concerned, you are out,” Mahoney said.

Tull looked like he wanted to argue but said, “Fine, I’m out for the time being. Am I free to go home and get some work done? You’ve got my phone and car signals. They’re not electronic ankle bracelets, but then again, I’m not going anywhere.”

Ned glanced at me and Sampson. I said, “We do know where to find him.”

“Thank you, Dr. Cross,” he said sourly. “Appreciate the support.” He plucked his phone and car keys off the tech’s bench, saying, “It would be easier if we cooperated, you know. I’ve written three books and worked with multiple police agencies, and this is the most static I have ever encountered.”

I said, “We tend to keep people at arm’s length until letting them in is warranted.”

Tull paused at the rear of the van. “Suit yourself. I’ll write the book one way or another.”

With that, he jumped down and was gone. A few moments later, we heard the RS 7 fire up with a low-throated rumble and roar off.

Mahoney looked at me and Sampson. “What do you think? Is he our guy?”

I said, “I’m leaning that way, but let me call the folks at Paladin.”

“Why?” John asked.

“In the data dumps from around every prior Family Man crime scene, the analysts at Paladin found localized blackouts of all digital information.”