The People vs. Alex Cross (Alex Cross #25)(6)

Sampson grinned, grabbed the chief’s hand, and pumped it wildly. “Thank you, Chief. You won’t regret this.”

“I know I won’t,” Michaels said. “You’re an inspiration to many of your fellow officers. I want you to know that.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll be needing a new partner,” the chief said, his face falling a bit.

There was an awkward moment before Sampson said, “I’m ready for that.”

Chief Michaels studied him a moment and then said, “I hate that there’s a gorilla in the room.”

“Yes, sir. But I believe the gorilla will win out eventually.”

Michaels softened. “I hope so. How is he?”

“Hung out his shingle to pass time until the trial,” Sampson said.

“Give Alex my best. I mean that.”

There was a sharp knock at the door, and in stepped an angular and highly agitated redheaded woman with a detective’s badge on a chain around her neck.

“Fox?” Michaels said, irritated. “I hadn’t asked you in here yet.”

Fox glanced at Sampson, then back at the chief. “I apologize, sir, but Detective Sampson and I, we just pulled a bad one. Kidnapping and shooting at Washington Latin.”

“Latin?” Sampson said. “Ali Cross goes to that school.”





CHAPTER


5


ALI WAS BADLY shaken but physically okay when Sampson found him on the steps of the Washington Latin Public Charter School, his backpack between his knees, wiping away his tears. A patrolman said Ali had seen the entire brutal incident. So had five other students involved in an after-school debate program.

“You okay, buddy?” Sampson said, folding his huge frame down beside Ali and putting an arm around the boy’s shoulders. It was mid-October, chilly with night falling, and he was shaking.

“My dad’s coming,” Ali said in a flat tone. “So is Bree.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Before he could, Detective Ainsley Fox said, “Detective Sampson? Could I have a word?”

She was standing at the bottom of the steps, frowning at him.

“Hang tight,” Sampson said. He patted Ali on the back, got up, and climbed down the steps to her.

In a low, scolding voice, Fox said, “You may have forgotten during your leave that we have rules against physical contact with minors.”

Sampson squinted at her. “The kid’s like my own, Fox.”

“But he’s not your own, and the rules are the rules. Shot in the head or not, you’ve got to play by them or suffer the same kind of consequences your old partner now faces.”

Sampson gritted his teeth, said, “Fox, there are five other kids to interview by the rules. They’re right over there.”

Fox hesitated, put off, but then lifted her chin and strode toward the cluster of other upset children. Sampson returned to Ali in time to see Alex Cross and Bree Stone running past the crime scene tape. Alex grabbed up Ali and hugged him fiercely. Ali hugged his dad back just as intensely and started to cry.

When they’d both calmed down, Sampson again asked Ali to describe what he’d seen.

Ali said it was dark out when he exited the charter school behind a group of his friends on the debate team. He was the youngest and shortest by far, so his view was blocked when the screaming started. Then they all started running in different directions. Ali didn’t follow them. He stood his ground and got out his cell phone.

“You called 911?” Bree asked.

“No, I videoed them.”

“You videoed them?” Sampson said, impressed.

“I wasn’t going to fight them,” Ali said, pulling out his phone and starting the video.

The footage was shaky at first, but then steadied, showing three men in dark coveralls and masks dragging a screaming blond teenage girl across the terrace in front of the charter school toward Second Street.

“That’s Gretchen Lindel, Dad,” Ali said. “She’s, like, a junior.”

On the screen, the kidnappers almost had Gretchen Lindel to the sidewalk. A woman came barreling into view from the left. She was spitting mad and went straight at the masked men.

“Ms. Petracek,” Ali said softly. “Our debate coach.”

On-screen, one of the men let Gretchen Lindel go, pivoted, and, with zero pause, shot Ms. Petracek in the face at point-blank range. Sampson pulled back at the coldness of it.

The courageous teacher of English and public speaking at Washington Latin died in a heartbeat. Her body fell hard. The gunman turned to Gretchen, who was being forcibly held between two parked cars.

Ali said, “Here’s the worst of it.”

Siren wailing, blue lights flashing, a Metro DC patrol car came screeching up in front of the kidnappers. The men yanked open the cruiser’s doors, threw Gretchen in the back, and jumped in themselves, and then the patrol car, tires squealing and siren still wailing, sped out of sight.





CHAPTER


6


SHORTLY AFTER SHE took me in following the death of my mother down south, Nana Mama caught me sad and lazing around on her front porch, doing just about nothing.

I was ten. Nana asked me what I was doing, and I told her the truth.