Target: Alex Cross (Alex Cross #26) - James Patterson Page 0,3
it so he could move fast back through the house.
After Lawlor slipped out the rear gate, he turned off the scope and pocketed it. Hearing the wailing of sirens already, he ducked his head and set off into the storm.
Too bad, he thought again. Husband. Five children. Six grandkids. A real shame.
CHAPTER
3
BREE AND I arrived in Georgetown shortly after dawn that first day of February. It was snowing at a steady pace with five inches on the ground already.
DC Metro patrol cars had blocked both ends of the street on Thirty-Fifth. We showed our IDs to the officer.
He said, “There’s U.S. Capitol Police, FBI, and Secret Service already up there.”
“I’d imagine so,” Bree said, and we went through the barrier and up the street, noticing many anxious residents looking out their windows.
FBI criminologists were setting up a tent around the victim and the crime scene. Yellow tape had been strung from both sides of the town house, across the street, and around the Suburban, where a big man in a black parka was engaged in a shouting match with a smaller man in an overcoat and ski cap.
“This is our case,” the big man said. “She died on my goddamned watch.”
“U.S. Capitol Police will be part of the investigation,” the smaller man barked. “But you will not, Lieutenant Lee. You are compromised, and you will be treated as such.”
“Compromised?” the big guy said, and for a second I thought he was going to deck the smaller man.
Then FBI special agent Ned Mahoney appeared from behind the tent.
“That’s enough,” Mahoney said. “Agent Reamer, please do not assume in any way that you are in charge of this investigation. The FBI has complete jurisdiction.”
“Says who?” Agent Reamer said.
“President Hobbs,” Mahoney said. “Evidently, your new boss doesn’t have much faith in the Secret Service these days. He talked with the director, and the director talked to me. And here we are.”
Agent Reamer looked furious but managed to keep his voice somewhat under control as he said, “The Secret Service will not be cut out of this.”
“The Secret Service will not be cut out, but it will do what it is told to do,” Mahoney said, and then he saw us. “Alex, Chief Stone. I want you both part of this.”
Quick introductions were made. U.S. Secret Service special agent Lance Reamer had worked Treasury investigations for the past ten years. The big guy was U.S. Capitol Police lieutenant Sheldon Lee. Lieutenant Lee had served on the victim’s security team for six years.
With the snow and the wind, Lee hadn’t heard the shots or the sound of sixty-nine-year-old U.S. senator Elizabeth “Betsy” Walker falling to the ground behind him.
“I ran ahead and opened the rear door of the Suburban like I always do,” Lee said. “I looked back and there she was. Lying in the snow, bleeding to death.”
His voice choked. “My God, I had to go wake poor old Larry, her husband, to tell him. He’s in there calling his children and … who the hell would do this? And why? That woman was a great person, treated everyone just right.”
That was true. The senator from California could be tough when she was fighting for a cause, and she had a first-rate mind, but she was one of those genial and compassionate women who had never met a stranger. Walker was also the second-most-senior member of the GOP in the Senate and a highly respected politician.
“Can we see the scene?” I asked as the snow slowed to flurries.
Agent Reamer said, “Why exactly are you here, Dr. Cross?”
“Because I asked him to be here,” Mahoney growled. “Dr. Cross used to be with the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico, and he has more than two decades of exceptional service as an investigator. He’s under contract to advise us on cases like these because the FBI thinks highly of him.”
Bree nodded. “So does DC Metro.”
CHAPTER
4
REAMER LOOKED LIKE he’d tasted something disagreeable and threw his hands up in disgust.
Mahoney called by radio and was told we could look at the crime scene from the flaps of the tent. We went as a pack of five past Lieutenant Lee’s Suburban and around the other side of the shelter.
Inside, a team of Quantico’s finest were working in baggy white jumpsuits pulled over their winter gear. Senator Walker lay twisted on her side in the snow. Her hood was half off her head, revealing a bullet hole beneath her right cheekbone.