Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(5)

Agent Price took off his shades, his face softening. In a quieter voice, he said, “Please, sir, and no disrespect, but Kay Willingham is — was — our boss’s ex-wife.”

Agent Breit removed his sunglasses as well, revealing bloodshot eyes. “He’s crushed, the VP. I’ve never seen him like this. As soon as he heard, he asked us to come down. To find out what we could, Special Agent Mahoney. I know it’s crazy … but he still loves her.”

Mahoney hesitated for a moment, and then in a reasonable tone he said, “I’ll share what I can once I know where the vice president was last night, the entire night.”

“So, what, you think J. Walter killed them?” Agent Breit said. “Are you insane?”

“Answer the question,” Mahoney said.

Agent Price said, “The VP was seen last night by five hundred people at a ten-grand-a-plate fundraiser at the Hilton. He left at ten thirty-seven on the dot, and I personally drove him home to One Observatory Circle, where he went to bed and remained all night.”

“You have documentation?”

Breit nodded. “Every minute of that man’s day is accounted for.”

“Glove up,” Mahoney said. “You can take a look. Dr. Cross will brief you.”

“Alex Cross?” Agent Price said.

“That’s right,” I said, shaking his hand.

Agent Breit said, “The boss will be happy you’re on the case. He’s heard of you.”

“I’m flattered,” I said and shook his hand as well. “Do you want to take a look? Maybe you’ll see something we’ve missed.”

The Secret Service agents nodded and followed me to the blue Bentley. They both stopped and lost color when they saw Kay.

“Jesus,” Breit said.

Price said, “I don’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Too much?” I said.

“No,” Breit said. He walked closer, saw Christopher’s pants down. “What? Jesus.”

“She’s not wearing jewelry,” Price said. “That’s wrong.”

Breit nodded. “Kay was a jewelry nut, and she’s got no jewelry on. Look at the dress. She should be decked out in diamonds and pearls. And his watch is gone. Check his breast pocket.”

Mahoney did, then shook his head.

Sampson said, “No phones. Either of them.”

“Well,” I said. “That complicates things, doesn’t it?”





CHAPTER 7





WE SEARCHED THE CAR AND the bodies but found no cell phones anywhere. After the medical examiner removed the corpses from the scene, Special Agents Breit and Price left to brief the vice president, and forensic techs went to work on Kay Willingham’s Bentley.

An FBI blood-spatter expert soon determined they were shot from less than twenty feet. A tech who specialized in bullet trajectory said the killer probably stood ten or fifteen feet away from the front bumper and was tall enough to shoot over the intact windshield.

“Brass?” I asked.

The tech shook his head. “Smart shooter. Picked up after himself.”

“Does that say I’m a hophead? Killing two people to grab diamonds and pearls, money, and phones?” Sampson said.

“A hophead wouldn’t care about brass,” I said. “So scratch that killer profile. And even if Kay was wearing one of her really big necklaces, I’m having trouble seeing a pro killing her to get it.”

Mahoney nodded. “Why not just a holdup? Her boobs are out; his pants are down. They’d be compliant.”

“Right,” Sampson said. “So this is made to look like a robbery gone bad.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe a scavenger passed by after the killer left.”

“And maybe the scavenger saw the shooter,” Mahoney said.

“I like that maybe,” Sampson said, pointing at Ned. “I’m gonna work my sources on the street, find out where a scavenger would go to fence jewels in this hood.”

“Good,” Mahoney said, then he looked at me. “After Christopher’s office, I’ll need you at Kay Willingham’s place.”

I said, “Let’s not forget there’s another possible classic-killer profile here.”

“Which one?” Mahoney asked.

“The vengeful wife,” I said. “Where’s Mrs. Christopher in all this?”

Sampson left. Mahoney and I entered the high school and got the janitor to open the principal’s suite of offices, which were dark. We passed the secretary’s desk and went through a door into a nice large office with Christopher’s framed diplomas, citations, and family photographs on the walls between the bookcases. The desk was remarkably tidy.

A door stood ajar on one side. I found a switch, turned it on, and saw a much smaller second office that looked more used. There was a printer but no computer, although there was space for a laptop on the desk crowded with books and correspondence. This was where he’d really worked. “We’ll need agents to go through the mounds of stuff and find his computer.”

“Probably at his house — ” Mahoney started. His phone buzzed before he could finish. “Great. I have to brief the media.”

“How fun,” I said. “I’m going to go to Christopher’s home and talk to the wife, then I’ll go to Kay’s house in Georgetown.”