Deadly Cross (Alex Cross #28)(72)

“Rex Dawson,” I said.

“You got his shooter?”

“We did,” I said.

Sparkman started laughing when I told him Edmunds was attending a school designed to promote peace and explained his bizarre rationale for the shootings.

“This is crazy,” Sparkman said, and I could hear the blogger tapping on his keyboard. “Good, but crazy.”

“I thought it would appeal to your sense of irony,” I said. “He’ll be arraigned first thing tomorrow morning in federal court in Alexandria. Expect a drama. I have to go now, spend some time with my family.”

“Wait,” he said. “What about Higgins? And Kay Willingham?”

“Still working on both,” I said, and I hung up.

Thunderstorms swept in soon after, which kept us all inside watching a Redskins preseason game against the Browns, and then a baseball game between the Nationals and the Cardinals. I couldn’t remember the last time we had all just hung out together, and it was nice.

Later in the afternoon, Nana Mama roasted a leg of lamb in a garlic sauce that filled the entire house with wonderful aromas. Sampson came over with Willow before dinner started.

Once Willow was settled with Jannie and Ali, he took me and Bree aside. “The past few days I’ve been staring a lot at my map. Like, a lot a lot.”

Bree and I glanced at each other. He caught it.

“I’m not losing it,” Sampson said gruffly. “Anyway, for some reason staring at the map this morning made me realize that Billie’s death kept me from trying to figure out what happened to the jewelry taken off Christopher and Willingham.”

Before either of us could reply, Nana Mama called us to dinner, which was miraculously good. She’d soaked the lamb in buttermilk for a full day before roasting it. The meat fell off the bone, and the bone was all that was left when we were done.

The kids started the dishes. Nana Mama went in to watch Sixty Minutes, one of her Sunday-evening rituals.

Sampson was starting to talk about the Maya Parker case again when my phone rang. It was Rawlins, the FBI contractor and cybercrime expert.

I went out on the porch again and answered.

“It took me a week,” Rawlins said. “But I got into Kelli Ann Higgins’s computer. My God, I’ve never seen so much dirt on so many people in my life.”

“Anything on Kay Willingham or Randall Christopher?” I asked.

“Both of them,” he said, and he described what he’d found.

“Wow,” I said soberly when he’d finished. “It’s a lot to wrap your head around.”

“Wait until you read some of the other files. I’ll e-mail you what you need for now.”

“I appreciate the effort,” I said.

“Glad to be of service,” Rawlins said and hung up.

I sat in the glider trying to make sense of what Rawlins had told me. I decided that some secrets people keep are beyond comprehension. Then, in rapid succession, I saw the possible links between what I’d just learned and what we’d learned earlier —

My phone buzzed. I turned it over, expecting it to be Sparkman calling with a follow-up question or Rawlins letting me know he’d e-mailed me the files from Higgins’s computers.

Instead, I saw a text from Ned Mahoney:

VP requested briefing. Tomorrow, 7:25 a.m. Be at Naval Observatory gate at 7:15 a.m. Bring multiple forms of identification.

My mind was still buzzing with what I believed I’d discovered, but then I read the text a second time and thought, Okay, then. Game on.





CHAPTER 83





U.S. SECRET SERVICE AGENTS Donald Breit and Lloyd Price were waiting in an idling Chevy Suburban when we cleared security at the Naval Observatory on a dismal, rainy Monday morning in the nation’s capital.

“Gentlemen,” I said, climbing in after Mahoney. “Good to see you both.”

Breit, the bigger of the two, said, “Wish the rain would let up, but they’re saying downpour all day today and all day tomorrow. It’s going to put the VP in a sour mood. He was scheduled to play at Congressional later in the day.”

“We’ll try not to keep him too long,” Mahoney said.

“You couldn’t keep him long if you tried,” Price said, putting the SUV in gear and driving to the residence with the windshield wipers slapping. “Barnes keeps him on a tight leash. I think she’s given you fifteen minutes.” I glanced at Mahoney, who said, “More than enough time.”

“Got anything?” Price asked.

“A few things, nothing definitive on who killed Kay Willingham yet.”

Breit puffed out a breath and shook his head. “Damn shame. He’ll be sorry to hear that.”

“How’s he doing these days?” I asked.

“He’s still mourning her, if that’s what you mean,” Breit said.

Price nodded and said, “I suspect he always will. She was the love of his life.”

We pulled up in front of the vice president’s residence, got out, and followed the two Secret Service agents inside, where we were greeted with the smell of bacon cooking and coffee brewing. We went to the same dining room as we had last time, which was set the same way, with the same server, Graciela, bustling about, smiling, and asking if we wanted coffee.