Return of the Spider, page 17
part #33 of Alex Cross Series
It occurred to him that he could cut her off if he was willing to gamble. The two-track trail she was on headed northeast through the state forest for a mile then jogged back to the northwest another solid mile before meeting a gravel road.
He left the trail and bushwhacked through the woods straight north.
It began to drizzle as he dodged trees, jumped over logs, and forced his way through thorns and bracken. Every fifty yards he paused to listen, hearing Bunny off to his right, three, maybe four hundred yards out, still calling.
It made her easy to track and goaded him into an all-out sprint through stands of beech and scrub pine.
The drizzle became a steady rain, which deadened sound, including Bunny’s calls for aid. Soneji was soaked when he finally reached the base of the forested ridge he’d been navigating toward. He didn’t care. He’d rest and dry off later.
He charged up the back of the ridge, ignoring the cuts on his hands, grabbing saplings and brush to keep from falling into the slick dead leaves. None of it mattered.
He at last reached the rim of a forested bowl on the back of the ridge and looked down through the trees to where the two-track crossed a flat about one hundred and fifty yards below.
Soneji went over to a tree stump about three feet tall, lay the .308 across the top, hunched down, and practiced aiming through the gun’s ancient peep sight. He kept both eyes open as he did, catching movement to his right, close to where the two-track left a pine thicket.
He lifted his head, looked to where he thought he’d seen the movement, and caught a flicker of motion, then another. Two deer had broken from the pines and were stiff-legging across his line of sight.
Bunny had to be pushing them ahead of her. He adjusted his position and pointed the gun toward the two-track where it exited the pines.
“Help!” Soneji heard her calling faintly over the drumming of the rain. “Please!”
He pushed the rifle’s safety forward. He had no choice. He had to protect himself. Nothing else mattered.
And here was Bunny, running out from the pines, checking behind her a second, then forging on, looking anguished, wiping at the rain on her face.
There’s nothing wrong with her knees, Soneji thought as he swung the .308 along with her stride. Cheek tight to the stock, head down, both eyes open, he kept pace with her, seeing the peep and the front bead in his right eye track across the back of her jean jacket, her left shoulder, the front of …
He squeezed the trigger.
The rifle barked. Bunny hunched and fell to her hands and knees.
Soneji sprinted down the hill through the trees to the two-track. Bunny was moaning, trying to crawl down the trail, still calling for help.
She glanced over her shoulder when she heard him coming and was instantly terrified. Seeing how close he was, she stopped crawling and began sobbing.
“Please, Gary! I never did anything to you! I’m engaged! I’m gonna be married. And I have a son! You remember, I have a little boy!”
“Face it, Bunny, you were never much of a mom,” he said. “And you’re not exactly marriage material. Plus you lied to me. You said you wouldn’t run. Too bad. We could have had fun, you and me.”
Before she could reply, he threw the .308 to his shoulder and shot her dead.
CHAPTER 60
STANDING INSIDE THE DOOR of our house around ten on Tuesday morning, Maria held Damon in her arms and peered up into my eyes. “After what you went through last night, Alex, why are you going in to work at all?”
I shrugged wearily, feeling a little daunted by the prospect myself.
“John and I are on temporary leave because we were in a gunfight and people died. We have to make statements, write reports, and explain what happened from our perspective before some other narrative can take over.”
Maria didn’t like it, but she nodded. “You’ll be talking to someone? A counselor?”
“Only way I can go back on duty,” I said. I kissed her forehead and then Damon’s. He was sucking his thumb, a habit he’d gone back to after the terror of the shooting outside the church.
Maria hugged me tight. “When you’re done making statements, will you please come get me at work? I’ve got enough overtime I can leave when I want.”
“I promise,” I said and kissed her again before leaving.
It was drizzling and I didn’t feel like driving or taking the Metro, so I hailed a taxi on Independence Avenue. At headquarters, a phalanx of satellite trucks and reporters was already gathered in response to the gunfight in Davidsonville. I’d known it was going to be a zoo, so I’d told the driver to take me to the garage entrance.
I was under orders not to talk, and I understood why.
The story had made all the network morning shows and dominated the local papers and news programs, though they had few angles other than what chief of detectives George Pittman had fed them at an impromptu midnight press conference near the entrance to Patrice Prince’s property. I had to admit that Pittman was a master of communication—he dispensed only the information he wanted them to have and locked down the rest.
As of now, all the media knew was that a gun battle had taken place between LMC 51 and Los Lobos Rojos and gone on to involve an interdepartmental law enforcement detail assigned to round up members of the Haitian gang for interrogation.
The media had also been informed that twenty-one men had died, eleven had been wounded, and seven others were in custody.
They did not know, however, that there had been an undercover officer trying to infiltrate the Haitian gang or that she had been taken hostage. And they had zero inkling of Guillermo Costa’s vengeful motivation for the attack or of his role in Officer Nancy Donovan’s rescue—and mine and Sampson’s, for that matter.
But that would change. These things would come out in court.
I knocked on Pittman’s doorjamb, and he told me to come in. “Costa and the others arrested at the scene will be arraigned later this morning after their transfer to federal court,” Chief Pittman said, tossing a pen on his desk in frustration.
“Why federal?”
“Because kidnapping Donovan and bringing her across state and District lines immediately makes it FBI,” Pittman grumbled. “The nature and number of weapons involved brings in the ATF. And the gangs attract Immigration like flies. The feds have got their claws in this now. We’re there to assist and nothing more. It’s been taken out of our hands, even though we were the ones who decided to lean on LMC in the first place.”
I could see it was gnawing at Pittman that he’d lost control of the investigation and the story of the battle. An event of this magnitude should have had him in front of the cameras for the next three news cycles at least.
He sighed. “At least Donovan’s okay. They’ve got her at GW running tests, but other than the trauma of being held hostage, it seems like she’s going to be okay. And you and Sampson are good. So, you know what? I’m good.”
I realized that I’d been a bit cynical in my thinking about Pittman. The chief clearly liked the attention, but I could tell that he actually cared about us. I saw it in the way his eyes glazed with emotion as he swiveled to get a folder from the credenza behind him.
“There are a few things that are not entirely out of our hands, Chief,” I said.
Pittman turned back. “Like what?”
“Even though it all came out under extreme duress, we now know that it was Patrice Prince and Valentine Rodolpho who killed Tony Miller and Shay Mansion, and we know why. The FBI can’t and won’t stop you from announcing that.”
He brightened. “That’s a very good idea.”
I smiled. “I do have good ideas now and then.”
Pittman studied me. “I was your biggest supporter and yet I still managed to underestimate you, Dr. Cross. And Detective Sampson.”
It was the first time he’d called me Dr. Cross without a hint of sarcasm, and I nodded. “We aim to please, Chief.”
“Go make your statements to the FBI and I’ll let you know when we’re going to talk to the mothers of Shay Mansion and Tony Miller. I want you and John there. You’ve both got three weeks paid leave coming your way until Internal Affairs and the department shrink say you’re good to go, so enjoy yourself. You earned it.”
CHAPTER 61
ON THURSDAY MORNING, WHEN Gary Soneji left the Dupont Circle Metro station and headed to Georgetown and his first day at Washington Day School, he still felt like he’d been beaten to a pulp.
He was relatively athletic, but he’d never had to drag a dead body through the woods for almost two miles. Soneji had dug graves in the past, of course, but it was tough digging in the sand and shale soil he’d encountered trying to bury Bunny Maddox near Joyce Adams’s final resting place. The rain had made it worse, and so did his cut hands. It took him hours with a pick and shovel.
When the chore was finally done and he’d covered Bunny’s grave with forest duff, he returned to the cabin, took a long, hot shower, dressed his wounds, and went to sleep. He’d woken up nearly fourteen hours later.
All day Wednesday, Soneji had been focused on where else he might have been sloppy, his inner voice goading him about everything he had to do to be clean and confident.
He returned to the ridge where he’d first shot at Bunny and retrieved his shell casing. He went back to Bunny’s grave and threw more forest debris on it. He cleaned up the shards of the snow globe. He used bleach to wipe dried blood off the rifle stock and the shovel and the pick handles. He burned the clothes he’d been wearing.
Soneji had finally left the cabin late Wednesday afternoon in the white van. He looped to the interstate, dropped south, and, under cover of darkness, returned the van to the shed on Diggs’s grandmother’s farm and retrieved his black Saab.
Then, after driving to a motel in Takoma Park, Maryland, where he often stayed when he was in the DC area, he’d broken his rule about mixing drugs and alcohol. He drank seven shots of bourbon, took two Vicodin, and passed out cold.
But not before he’d set the alarm. When it whooped at him at five that morning, Soneji roused himself enough to stand under a cold shower until he could almost believe he was sober, then put on his frumpy teacher disguise.
Now, sipping black coffee and getting closer to Washington Day with every step, he felt almost normal enough to play the affable, nerdy Gary Soneji, math and computer science teacher.
Half a block shy of the school, he saw a pay phone and looked at his watch. He still had twenty minutes. He decided he’d better check in with Missy.
Soneji called collect. Missy answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, Missy,” Soneji said after she’d accepted the charges. “I know I’ve been a shit lately. But I just called to say I love you. And I love Roni.”
There was a long silence on the other end. “Don’t you think it’s time you showed us, and the world, exactly how much you love us?”
He knew what she was referring to—the wedding—but he said, “Tell you what, I’ll be home for dinner tomorrow. I’d like to give you something very special.”
“Okay?”
“Missy,” he said. “I guarantee it’s going to make you happy.”
“You’re sure?”
“I am,” he said. “Kiss Roni for me. I’ve got an early appointment. Love you.”
After another pause, Missy said, “I love you too, Gary.”
He hung up and hurried to the Washington Day campus, showed his ID to the security guard, and went to Bright Hall, where the computer lab occupied a large room on the third floor.
Heading up the stairs, Soneji felt blessed to be there. The school was wall to wall with scions of wealth, of power, of fame. From here, he could—
“Mr. Soneji?”
He pivoted to find the Washington Day headmaster, Charles Pendleton Little, coming up behind him, grinning. “Big day,” the headmaster said, sticking out his hand.
Soneji’s own hands were bandaged, but he took Little’s hand and shook it loosely.
“What happened to you?” Little asked.
Soneji tried to act sheepish. “I went over the front of my mountain bike and cartwheeled a few times down a steep trail the day before yesterday.”
Little’s eyebrows went up. “Ouch.”
“Tell me about it.” He sighed. “Could’ve been worse. I was lucky.”
“Yes, you were,” Little said. “By the way, I wanted to let you know we have a new student joining our seventh-grade class today. Cheryl Lynn Wise. She’s the daughter of the president’s new chief of staff.”
Soneji flashed on the Lindbergh kidnapping. The daughter of the White House chief of staff. Well, that would certainly do it, wouldn’t it? All the fame you could ever want for snatching someone like that, and she’ll be right there in my class.
“I very much look forward to welcoming Cheryl Lynn to Washington Day.”
“Cheryl Lynn will be accompanied initially by our in-house U.S. Secret Service agent. Her name is Jezzie Flanagan.”
Soneji had to force his enthusiasm this time. “Wonderful. I can’t wait to meet Agent Flanagan as well.”
CHAPTER 62
GARY SONEJI HAD SPENT the day getting to know his students at Washington Day, including dear Cheryl Lynn Wise, a little string bean of a girl, and Special Agent Jezzie Flanagan, a stunning blonde who was built like a swimmer and seemed to know everything about him already—everything he’d submitted to Headmaster Little, anyway.
He’d also gotten up to speed on Sandy Ravisky’s lesson plans for the various grades that came to the computer lab. All in all, Soneji thought his first day had gone smashingly well, and he returned to the motel in Takoma Park with a bag of Chinese takeout feeling like a barracuda that’s discovered a bay filled with yummy fish.
He spent Friday out of disguise, tending to his list of heating-oil clients and landing two new companies that wanted Atlantic Heating as their bulk fuel supplier. That made his brother-in-law Marty very happy. He’d called him with the contract particulars before he drove home.
Soneji reached the Colonial gingerbread house just as it was getting dark. He went inside carrying his suitcase and a stuffed bunny for Roni.
I can play Fun Daddy, he thought as he scooped his daughter up and gave her the toy along with a dozen loud cheek kisses that made Roni laugh with delight. Missy watched from the kitchen, her arms folded, her expression fixed.
“I have to give Mommy something too,” he told Roni loudly. He kissed her again, returned to the Saab, and retrieved a bouquet of roses, a bottle of champagne, and a box of Missy’s favorite dark chocolates.
“What’s going on here?” his wife said suspiciously when Soneji came through the door with the presents. “It’s not Valentine’s Day.”
“Every day’s Valentine’s Day when you’re in love with a beautiful woman,” Soneji said. He kissed Missy and gave her the flowers.
She took them but still regarded him warily. “What’s come over you, Gary Murphy?”
He shrugged and set the chocolates and the champagne on the counter. “I’ve had time to think about things the past couple of days on the road. I guess it finally dawned on me just how good I have it. With my job. With Roni. And, mostly, with you. I’m sorry if I haven’t been too pleasant to be around while I’ve been figuring all this out.”
Missy squinted. “Yeah, it hasn’t been pleasant, Gary.”
“I know,” he said, holding his still-bandaged palms out toward her. “And I promise I’ll make it up to you. Later, after Roni’s gone to bed. In the meantime, I’m going to play with my daughter and read her a story or two before dinner.”
His wife finally softened a little. “That would be nice. She’d like that.”
“And if the weather holds, maybe tomorrow we can all go for a hike in that park you’re always trying to get me to go to. Maybe catch the last of the fall foliage.”
“That would be nice too,” she said, softening a little more. “I’ll finish dinner.”
For the first time in a long while, Soneji was as good as his word. He got down on his hands and knees and played with Roni while telling her the story of the Magic Kingdom of Miss Bunny Maddox, a fantastical tale of a rabbit and a unicorn. It mesmerized his daughter even more than the two Dr. Seuss books he read to her before they were both called to the table.
Missy had made a nice meal of salmon, little red potatoes, and Caesar salad. It really was great, and he made sure to say so multiple times. Soneji insisted on doing the dishes, giving Roni her bath, and reading one more book to her after she was tucked in her little bed.
“Good night, Daddy,” Roni said. “I love you.”
Her eyes were glistening. To his surprise, it touched him a little. “I love you too, little girl.” He kissed her on the cheek, got up, and turned to find Missy standing in the doorway, tears welling in her eyes as well.
“Good night, Mommy,” Roni said.
His wife went to their daughter and kissed her good night. When they were out in the hallway with the door shut, Missy said in a voice hoarse with emotion, “Thank you for that.”
“What?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “All of it. Everything she’s been missing.”
“And you’ve been missing,” Soneji said, wiping a tear off her cheek. “Now, come along, Miss Missy. I’ve got champagne and one more special present that I think is going to be an answer to all your prayers.”
Soneji had Missy sit in her favorite chair in the family room while he popped the champagne and poured them each a glass. He brought the flutes out and handed one to her. “A toast,” he said, raising his glass.
“What are we toasting?” Missy asked.
“A new beginning,” he said. “A restart.”
Then he put his glass on the table beside her, fished in his pocket, and pulled out a ring box. He went down on one knee and opened the box to reveal a beautiful, sleek, art deco–style ring with two small rectangular diamonds flanking a larger emerald-cut diamond. Missy gasped.
