Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(41)

“Makes sense,” Dennison said. “How?”

“I think there are two possible ways. Incrementally, in which case one of a hundred U.S. senators could become the likely target. Or a big jump if the shooter is looking for someone even more high profile. The Speaker of the House, say. Or the Senate majority leader. Or one of the nine Supreme Court justices. Or the president.”

The commissioner sat forward. “So how do we handle this?”

Bree looked at Chief Michaels, who said, “We don’t, sir.”

“What?” Dennison snapped.

Bree said, “Again, Commissioner, with all due respect, protection of members of Congress is the job of the Capitol Hill Police. The Secret Service guards the president, the vice president, and the members of the cabinet except for the secretary of state, who is protected by the Diplomatic Security Service. And invariably, once there’s been a shooting of a member of Congress, the FBI swarms the case.”

“It’s simply not our job, sir,” Chief Michaels said.

“Not our job?” Dennison roared. “What the hell is wrong with this city? In Boston, the PD had clout. We worked hand in hand with the Feds on the marathon bombing. I simply do not understand why we are not functioning at the same level here.”

Bree said, “We do function at that level.”

“When we’re called upon to do so,” Chief Michaels said.

The commissioner chewed on that for several moments, and Bree could see he was having trouble swallowing what they’d just told him. In fact, he was angered by it.

With that realization came another. When Dennison was deputy police commissioner in Boston, he’d been able to throw his weight around, get noticed as a serious player. And now she understood why he’d been pressuring her from the get-go. He was the new commissioner. He wanted a big arrest to stake his claim on the job.

“Anything new on the Maya Parker case?” Dennison asked.

“Dr. Cross is going back to interview some people we think were overlooked during the Elizabeth Hernandez part of the investigation.”

“The Willingham case? Something? Anything?”

“Other than Elaine Paulson being charged, I have nothing of consequence to report, sir.”

“It’s all everyone’s talking about. Tell me something I don’t know about the case. Something I might find surprising that the ordinary citizen wouldn’t know.”

Bree felt uncomfortable. She glanced at Chief Michaels, who was no help, then returned her attention to Dennison. “After her mother died a few years back, Kay Willingham evidently spent three months in a psychiatric facility,” she said.

The commissioner’s eyebrows arched up. “Well, that is interesting,” he said, leaning forward. “Who’s the source?”

“My husband.”

“Who’s his source?”

“Her ex-husband. Who has asked that that information not be made public.”

“Is that a fact?” Dennison said, twiddling his thumbs. “I can’t imagine why Vice President Willingham would want to keep something like that a secret now that she’s dead.”





CHAPTER 46





DESPITE THE SCANDAL SURROUNDING RANDALL CHRISTOPHER’S death, the memorial service for him at Harrison Charter High was well attended. Jannie and I followed a crowd past two satellite television trucks and into the school’s gym.

As we looked for seats, I saw parents and local community members I recognized, including Ronald Peters, Dee Nathaniel, and her mother, Gina. Then I spotted Clive Sparkman in the bleachers. Our eyes met and we nodded to each other.

Jannie and I sat down in folding chairs arranged on the gym floor off to one side, five or six rows back. My daughter pointed out Christopher’s unidentical twin daughters, Tina and Rachel, when they came in wearing dark dresses and supporting their paternal grandmother.

I was not surprised to see them followed by their next-door neighbor Barbara Taylor, who sat with them.

A reverend from their church presided. He gave a quick, rather bland homily and seemed about to wind down the service when Rachel and Tina suddenly got up and went forward.

This flustered the minister. He got even more flustered when they asked for the microphone, but he handed it to them.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rachel said with great emotion. “It means a lot to us, given everything.”

“Thank you,” Tina said, her hand on her chest. “To have your support as we get ready to bury our father is something we’ll never forget. Despite the way he died and the circumstances, our father was a good man.”

“A decent man,” Rachel said loudly. “He built this school and changed so many lives. I don’t want that to be lost in this story. And he loved us and made us who we are. We don’t want that lost either. And our father had a crazy-bright future ahead of him. He didn’t deserve to die this way and we are left … we want …”

She couldn’t go on. Tina took the microphone. “We want to tell you one thing from the bottom of our hearts: We love our mother as much as we loved our father. We love her and we know — in our souls — that she did not kill Dad. We know what it looks like to people. We know about the gun matching the bullets. And we know Mom can get wound up at times, real wound up, but she would never kill our father. Never.”