Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(42)

I realized both of Elaine Paulson’s girls were looking directly at me and I nodded.

When it was over, I stood and looked up into the bleachers again. Sparkman was already gone. Ronald Peters was on his way out. Dee and Gina Nathaniel were climbing down together, and they came over to me.

“Hello, Dr. Cross,” Gina Nathaniel said.

Dee smiled weakly. “Sad, confusing day.”

“In too many ways,” I said.

“Did she do it?”

“Ballistics don’t lie,” I said.

Jannie and I waited until the crowd thinned before approaching the twins, who were standing to one side of their grandmother and Barbara Taylor. Rachel saw me and went stone-faced. Tina gave Jannie a hug and shook my hand.

“We know you kept Mom from killing herself,” Tina said. “Thank you. And we know absolutely that Mom did not do this. I don’t care what the report said about that old gun and the bullets.”

“Mom never shot that gun but once or twice,” Rachel said. “And it scared her. I know that for a fact. Dad was the only one who ever shot that gun.”

Tina said, “And Mom and Dad used to watch Twenty/Twenty, you know, the one where the husband or the wife is always the killer?”

I shrugged. “Yes, I’ve seen it once or twice.”

Rachel said, “Mom and Dad used to laugh about that. They’d throw up their hands, say, ‘Why didn’t they just get a divorce? Why did they have to kill each other?’ ”

Tina said, “Every time they watched Twenty/Twenty, they’d make each other promise that if they weren’t in love anymore, they’d get divorced and not try to kill each other.”

“But the gun,” I said. “She had it with her on the beach when I found her, girls.”

“There’s got to be more to it,” Rachel insisted. “Please, Dr. Cross, you are our only hope here.”

There was such desperation in their expressions, I finally nodded. “I’ll go over the ballistics report again and look at my notes.”

Tina burst into tears, and a moment later Rachel did the same.





CHAPTER 47





BREE AND I GOT UP before dawn and went for a run. We’d been separated quite a bit by work obligations the past few months and it felt good to get out together, even if we were huffing, puffing, and sweating.

“I think I’ve got Commissioner Dennison figured out,” Bree said about a mile into our normal route.

“Okay?”

“He was a player in Boston. He wants to be a player in DC. He wants Metro to be taken seriously so he’ll be taken seriously.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided. Though I have to admit, he was less irrational than usual in my meeting with him yesterday. Almost reasonable.”

“There you go. He’s new to the job. He doesn’t know you or Chief Michaels all that well. There’s bound to be some tension at first, and I don’t think his wife’s friendship with Mrs. Peggliazo helped you.”

“True. And I think his instincts are spot-on. These shootings are not over, and when you look at the targets in a string, they are escalating.”

“I agree. But if the next target is a bigger public figure in this town …”

“We can’t compete with the FBI or the Secret Service or the Capitol Hill Police.”

“Exactly, so don’t. Stay in your lane. Play to your strengths. The new commissioner will figure you out.”

When we were almost home, a block away, we slowed to a walk to cool down.

“You’re good at this,” she said. “Helping people talk through their problems.”

“Thanks.”

“No,” she said, and she smiled at me over her shoulder. “I mean, you should really think about doing it professionally.”

“Funny, funny,” I said. I came up behind her and tickled her under the ribs.

She softly shrieked with laughter, ran up the stairs to our porch, and turned to wait for me with both arms open.

“Happy lady?” I said, stepping into her arms.

“Very,” she said. “I don’t think it would be possible for me to be unhappy today.”

“Especially after a run and a kiss with your husband.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Bree said and kissed me deeply. “I love you.”

I kissed her back. “I adore you. Especially when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Relaxed. Less preoccupied.”

“Oh, well, it helps not to have something to be preoccupied with, and I feel like I turned the corner with Dennison yesterday.”

“Good for you,” I said, glancing at my watch. “I’m going to take a shower and then spend the morning studying the digital files of Kay Willingham and Randall Christopher before I see clients in the afternoon.”

“Sounds more interesting than a personnel records review,” she said. She pecked me on the cheek and put her key in the door.

I noticed that morning’s Washington Post on our porch slider, unfolded the paper, and found myself looking at a picture of Kay Willingham.

“Damn it!” I groaned as I scanned the story that went with it. “I can’t believe this.”