Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(38)

Bree’s boss glanced at her. She threw back her shoulders and said, “With all due respect, Commissioner Dennison, Metro was there. We knew about the shootings. Dr. Cross interviewed Mr. Peggliazo at length. We couldn’t anticipate an escalation away from wealthy targets to shooting a sitting congresswoman.”

“No?” Dennison said. “Isn’t that the job of a leader, Chief Stone? To anticipate what might happen and take appropriate action so it does not?”

“What exactly did you want me to do, Commissioner? Take over congressional security? That’s the Capitol Hill Police’s job.”

“That’s true, sir,” Chief Michaels said. “And even so, Chief Stone was on the scene of that shooting this morning before any other agency with primary jurisdiction.”

Dennison fumed a moment. “I do not want the people in this department looking like fools. I will not have Metro be the third-stringer in this town. Metro leads. Metro anticipates.”

“Yes, sir,” Chief Michaels said.

“Yes, sir,” Bree said, though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to.

“Show me,” he said, sitting down in his office chair and leaning back. “Show me how we anticipate and get out in front of these shootings. I want plans for review tomorrow morning at seven thirty sharp. All top brass on deck.”

Bree felt a tightness in her chest. “Sorry, Commissioner, I can’t be here until at least two tomorrow afternoon.”

That ticked Dennison off all over again. “Can’t or won’t, Chief Stone?”

“Can’t, sir, and won’t.”

“I can order you here, Chief.”

“Not tomorrow morning, sir. I am attending the funeral of a dear friend, the late wife of Metro Detective First Class John Sampson, one of my men and my husband’s best friend. So order away. I’ll be paying my respects to a woman I loved.”

Chief Michaels said, “I was going to attend the funeral as well, Commissioner. John Sampson is an eighteen-year veteran of the force. It’s the least we can do.” Dennison struggled, then nodded grudgingly. “Of course. Can we have a three p.m. meeting with contingencies on paper to anticipate and thwart any more shootings?”

“I’ll be here at three, sir,” Bree said.

“We both will,” Michaels said.

“Thank you,” the commissioner said and he turned his chair away. “Carry on.”

Out in the hall, Bree said, “Chief Michaels, permission to speak freely?”

“If you won’t, I will.”

“He’s making everything that happens in the District his personal problem.”

“Which means our personal problem,” Michaels said. “But he’s right about one thing. These shootings aren’t stopping anytime soon. We do need to anticipate.”

“I agree, but honestly, I think we need to understand why these shootings are happening. If we can figure that out, we can anticipate and stop any future shootings.”

“We just have to figure it out by three tomorrow afternoon,” Chief Michaels said, sounding dubious.

“Better than half past seven tomorrow morning.”





CHAPTER 42





WE WERE ALL UP EARLY, Nana Mama made sure of that, and she also made sure we were turned out in our somber finest. There would be nothing but the best for Billie Sampson.

My grandmother made us breakfast wearing her funeral dress beneath an apron. She frequently seemed lost in thought. I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“Are you all right, Nana?” asked Damon, my oldest, who’d come home from basketball camp the night before.

“No,” she said. “There are many blessings that go with reaching my age, Damon, but outliving a beautiful, vital soul like Billie is not one of them.” Nana Mama fell silent a moment, then said, “It feels like something’s out of balance, like God made a mistake.”

With a glance at me, Bree said, “Things are unbalanced, Nana. I feel it too.”

I nodded at them in understanding, then said, “But if we’re walking to the church, we need to go.”

After helping Ali into his navy blazer, adjusting Damon’s tie and seeing him guide Nana Mama to the sidewalk, I led the way to St. Anthony’s Catholic Church. We could hear the organ music from down the street, which got to all of us, because Billie had often played the same organ over the years.

John Sampson waited at the entrance along with Billie’s son, Andrew. Sampson was as stoic as I’d seen him. “Thank you, Alex, for agreeing to do this.”

Andrew said, “Neither of us is up to it.”

“I’ll try to do her proud,” I said, and we went inside.

Damon led Nana Mama to her seat. Bree and I followed and sat beside them with Ali and Jannie behind us.

Bree leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I love you. And I trust you.”

I whispered, “Same here.”

We squeezed each other’s hands, and the mild friction between us from the night before was gone. Bree had been stressed to begin with after her run-in with Commissioner Dennison, and she had not been prepared to hear that there was a photograph of me and Kay Willingham and that it might soon hit the internet.

I’d done my best to calm her down enough to have a dispassionate discussion about the picture. Who had taken it? Any number of people, we supposed. But why? And for whom?