The People vs. Alex Cross (Alex Cross #25)(49)

“No,” he said. “It’s all deception, sleight of hand, smoke, light, and mirrors.”

Ali nodded. “I think so too.”

“You want lunch?”

“I’ll come down in a bit,” Ali promised. He watched his dad duck his head going out the door and listened to him drop to the second floor, then the first.

Ali felt a moment of guilt before launching the Internet browser again. He didn’t like lying to his father or directly disobeying him, but someone had to figure out what was wrong with the videos.

He hit Play again and decided not to fast-forward, to watch them all from the beginning. He focused on the middle camera, the north one, looking back across the width of the factory floor with the bottoms of the three spotlights on the roof of the southern alcoves visible. Ali froze the screen and zoomed in.

He’d hoped to see some shadow there behind the spotlights, the suggestion of a silhouette, but he saw none. He hit Play again and noticed a tiny blue pinpoint light flash. And then it was gone.

It took Ali three attempts to freeze the middle video feed on that tiny blue light. He zoomed in on it but couldn’t tell what the light was attached to. Frustrated, he hit Play again. He focused on the third feed, the one showing the length of the factory room, with the spotlights aimed toward the mural.

He zoomed in on the spotlights, but saw no one behind them.

Who was running the lights? And where was that blue pinpoint? Try as he might, he couldn’t spot it.

“Ali!” Nana Mama yelled up the stairs. “I’ve got your bacon, lettuce, and tomato down here waiting.”

“Coming, Nana,” he cried. He cleared the browser’s history to cover his tracks, then shut down the web page.

Ali got up and headed toward the stairs, only vaguely aware of the stacks of evidence boxes he passed. Indeed, he was thinking so intently about that pinpoint blue light that he barely noticed that the box on the filing cabinet closest to the door was labeled AUTOPSIES.





CHAPTER


65


WE WERE FINISHING up lunch when I heard a knock at our side door.

“Who’s that now?” Nana Mama grumbled. “A damn reporter again?”

“If it is, I’m calling a real cop,” I said, grinning and tousling Ali’s hair because he seemed lost in thought.

I put my dishes on the counter, crossed to the side door, and opened it. A distressed Alden Lindel stood there.

“Mr. Lindel?” I said, stepping out and closing the door.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Cross,” the father of the kidnapped girl from Ali’s school said. “I know you’ve got your own issues, but I didn’t know where else to turn.”

I took a deep breath and then gestured to the basement door.

In my office, Lindel reached into his jacket pocket and came out with another flash drive in a baggie. “This time they hanged Gretchen.”

He dropped into the chair, hid his face in his hands, and sobbed. “God damn it, they hung my daughter, or made it look that way, and they’re selling tickets to the show on the Internet.”

I flashed on Jannie and felt sick to my stomach. I walked over, put my hand on Lindel’s shoulder, and said, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. “My wife and I barely talk. I can’t work. My boss has threatened to fire me. Some days Gretchen’s all I think about. And then, just for a while, she slips my mind. I get a little rest, and then something like this shows up in the mailbox. What do they want, Dr. Cross? Why are they doing this?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But you need to take the drive straight to the FBI. I’ve been cut out of the loop because of my trial.”

He continued to look at me, his face wretched. “You can’t help me?”

“I want to,” I said, sitting down across from him and leaning forward, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped. “Mr. Lindel, I want to help find your daughter and the other missing women in the worst way. I really do. But the ugly truth is, given my situation, I’m afraid I’d be more of a hindrance than a help to you. I hope you understand, sir. I’m not much good to you at the moment.”

He didn’t understand, not really. He got up, looking abandoned.

“You were our last chance,” Lindel said, defeated. “But I wish you luck in your trial.”

Feeling helpless, I shook his hand. “Don’t give up. They’re keeping Gretchen alive, which means there is hope you’ll see her again. But the FBI can’t find her if you’re not turning over things like this flash drive.”

He nodded. “I’ll take it straight to their office.”

When Lindel left, I went back into my office and collapsed on the couch. I felt bad, but what choice did I have? I couldn’t have gotten Rawlins or Batra to expedite an analysis of the flash. They thought I was a killer.

My cell phone rang. It was Anita Marley.

“Alex,” she said. “I’ve got bad news. Judge Larch is in the hospital. Possible stroke.”

“What?” I said, shocked. “When?”

“She was taken to GW last night,” Marley said. “They got drugs into her fast, so they’re hopeful, and they’re running more tests.”