Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(48)

I knew better than to argue and waited while she got dressed. The city’s streets were virtually empty, and by a quarter to three we were parked and hustling up the sidewalk past a patrol car to a swank townhome in Foggy Bottom.

Sparkman was outside the front door, smoking a cigarette, his hands shaking, speaking to the uniformed officer on the scene. “I’m a wreck,” he said when he noticed us. “Look at me.” He broke down crying. “She always said I was so naive, that I didn’t begin to understand how cruel and ruthless DC could be. She told me she feared for her life, and I didn’t believe her. Is she still alive?”

“We don’t know,” Bree said. “Explain how you came to find her, Mr. Sparkman.”

He looked at me. I said, “Answer Chief of Detectives Stone, Clive.”

Sparkman got himself together and told her that what had started as a purely professional relationship with Higgins had changed in the past few weeks. It had been one-way up to then, Higgins teasing him, leading him on, and, when it suited her, feeding him informed dirt for his blog.

But then there’d been this one drunken night.

“She seemed embarrassed when she woke up, and she asked me to leave as discreetly as possible. I figured that was the end of it, you know, a mistake on both our parts. But she called me a few nights later. She sounded a little drunk. I went over. And, I don’t know, it became a secret thing between us. Pretty regular too.”

I said, “You don’t think you should have mentioned that when you told me to talk to her a few days ago?”

“It’s not like we were in love. It’s just … you know.”

“I don’t know, but I assume she called you earlier tonight?”

“Texted me. Around nine. Said she wouldn’t be done with work until after midnight, but she’d appreciate the company and to come in from the alley like I always do. Here, I have the text.”

Bree took the phone, looked at it, and nodded. “So you got here at what time?”

“Twenty to one?” he said. “The back door was unlocked. I went inside, expecting the place to be lit by candles and some music going. But there’d been one hell of a fight. She was in the kitchen, on her side, bleeding. I called 911 and held her while I waited for the EMTs.”

“She say anything?”

“Like I said, she was in and out. Made perfect sense and then no sense. But she knew me one time. Said my name and seemed like she wanted to tell me something, but she couldn’t get it out. Just kept saying, like, ‘Ahh-sigh. Ahh-sigh.’ ”

Bree wrote that down, said, “I know you said the place is trashed. Did you notice anything obviously missing that had been there on your previous visits?”

He frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“What about her computers?”

“Oh, I’m sure those are still there,” he said. “She keeps her laptops and backups in her safe at night, said there were all sorts of people who’d love to have a look at them, and even if they managed to get them, they wouldn’t find anything.”

“Encrypted?”

“Yeah, she used this privacy system called Thor or something.”

“Tor,” I said.

“That’s it. She said Tor was the only safe way for her to do business without getting … without getting killed.” He started to cry again. “Jesus, she looked awful. I just want to go home.”

“Not until you’ve been processed,” Bree said. “We need your clothes. We need you photographed.”

“Why?”

“So we can prove you weren’t part of it,” I said.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were the only one who knew the rear door was going to be unlocked.”

“But I’m not the only one who knew about the rear door.

Everyone who’s ever bought or sold dirt with Kelli had to come in from the alley. Discreet.”

“Duly noted,” Bree said. “I have a forensics crew on its way. It shouldn’t take too long, Mr. Sparkman.”

He started to argue, but then surrendered.

Bree looked at me. “Go inside?”

“I think I’ll leave that to you, Chief,” I said. “Your last official act. I’m going to the hospital.”





CHAPTER 53





I REACHED THE EMERGENCY ROOM at Georgetown Medical Center at three thirty and learned that doctors were still trying to stabilize Kelli Ann Higgins and determine the extent of her injuries.

I waited outside the trauma room until a doctor exited talking to a med student. “That woman is lucky to be alive,” the doctor said. “Skull fracture. Broken jaw. Several busted ribs. Probably a ruptured spleen.”

“Blunt-force wounds?” the med student asked.

“Yes, all of them.”

I stepped up and identified myself. “She conscious?”

“For a few minutes at a time.”

“Did she say anything about the attack?”

“Yes. She said, ‘Hit me.’ ”

The door to the trauma room opened and Higgins was wheeled out on a gurney. Her face was badly swollen on the right side, and she was being given a blood transfusion.

“Where’m I?” Higgins said, the words slurred.