Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(59)

He hit Return and the screen jumped to show a map of the greater DC area with the last known locations of the girls flagged in green and where their bodies were found in red.

“They’re being taken in and around Southeast and dumped randomly,” Bree said.

“I know, but are they random? That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I had this idea that if we could put on the map the location of everyone who’d been interviewed about these crimes, we might see a pattern, or a focus, anyway, by connecting them all.”

Sampson hit Return again and the map morphed to show a web of lines connecting all the red and green flags along with yellow ones, which indicated people who had been interviewed. Bree tried to see something significant in the clusters and weavings, but if it was there, she wasn’t seeing it.

“Now watch,” he said. “I’m going to add where the young women lived and take out where they vanished.”

Bree cocked her head as blue dots began to appear and connect. Something was different about the result. There were visible intersections where dozens of unflagged lines met.

“Can you show me what’s under those lines here and here?” she asked.

Sampson typed something into the computer. A satellite image of the DC area appeared. He zoomed in on the first of those intersections, which was in the Douglas neighborhood south of the Suitland Parkway, roughly five blocks from the rave party where Peggy Dixon said she was attacked.

“Looks like a warehouse,” he said. “I’ll flag the address and go look.”

“What are these other intersecting lines?” Bree asked.

Sampson zoomed in on an apartment building in Marshall Heights and made a note of the address. Then he looked at the third area, which was north of the Suitland Parkway between Garfield Heights and Naylor Park.

“Look at Harrison Charter High School,” Bree said. “There’s a yellow dot by it. Who was interviewed there?”

Sampson highlighted the yellow dot and hit Enter. A report came up detailing an interview a detective had with Randall Christopher eighteen months before.

“Why did they talk to him?” she said, looking over Sampson’s shoulder.

“He was concerned about his female students after Elizabeth Hernandez was taken. Elizabeth didn’t go to the school, but evidently, she lived nearby. After Maya was taken, he asked to help organize searches.”

“Show me where Maya and Elizabeth lived again,” Bree said. “All the girls, for that matter.”

Sampson typed. Up came the blue dots.

Elizabeth Hernandez and Maya Parker both lived within seven blocks of Harrison Charter, Peggy Dixon within ten blocks.

To Bree’s surprise, three of the other girls lived within six blocks of that apartment building in Marshall Heights and the three early victims lived within five blocks of that building in Douglas.

“My God, look at that, John,” Bree said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Do you know what this means?”

Sampson nodded. “We know his favorite hunting ground now.”





CHAPTER 66





Alabama



AFTER A BRIEF THUNDERSTORM, THE afternoon turned sultry and buggy. Mosquitoes whined at my ears and multiple times I wanted to scratch at something crawling up my leg, but I had not moved a muscle in nearly two hours in my hiding spot in the woods along the north shore of the cove.

Mahoney was waiting farther out on the timbered point, beyond where I’d seen the shooter crouching. At five thirty, as we’d planned, I hit the panic button on our second rental, an SUV, parked deep in the woods. I counted to three and then shut it off.

Soon after, Mahoney started throwing rocks into the water. I tugged on a fishing line that ran out to a cheap, blow-up kid’s raft that held a cooler and a mannequin wearing a bathing suit, sunglasses, and a wig.

We’d put a Bud Light can in the mannequin’s hands. From fifty yards away, you’d have sworn it was some slob out for a swim and a drink.

Althea Lincoln must have thought so too because there was a twig snap, a rustle of leaves, and there she was, sliding out of the forest, the hunting rifle already rising.

“FBI!” Mahoney shouted, leaping out on the shore with his pistol up. “Put the gun down, Ms. Lincoln! Now!”

She looked toward the road as her escape but saw me stepping out with my weapon drawn. Then it was as if she became more deer than human. In one fluid motion Althea Lincoln turned and vanished into the woods.

“Flank her!” Mahoney yelled and ran into the trees as well.

I charged and jumped and broke through branches and vines, trying to stay roughly parallel to what I figured was her line of travel. Every thirty or forty yards, I’d stop, listen for breaking branches, adjust my direction, and charge off again.

The ground climbed and the vegetation got thicker. When I’d gone three hundred yards, I stopped to listen once more.

I heard branches breaking but farther away. Rather than run toward the noise, I got out my phone and called Ned. He answered and I whispered for him to stop moving.

The noise I’d heard in the distance stopped.

“Where are you?” I asked quietly.

“Near the cove on the north side of the point.”

I couldn’t see water from where I was, but I didn’t have to. “I think she doubled back on us,” I said. “She’s out on that point somewhere.”