Other than blood relation, neither instance showed any additional level of connection—no hookup to my role with the Bell brothers. And most of what I found involved two or more family members partnering for concurrent work.
There was also the ongoing mystery about the woman in Baltimore. Who the hell was she? And what had happened to her after the car chase? Did DCAK have an accomplice? And possibly a mentor in Kyle Craig?
I logged on to my department e-mail to send around some of what I’d learned.
When it opened, I found a new message waiting for me. Not a nice one either.
What do I want, Detective Cross? That’s it? Frankly, I’m surprised you have to ask. But let me spell it out for you as clearly as I can.
I WANT you to pay for what you did to my brother. That’s reasonable, don’t you think?
I WANT you to think about how you never really tried to understand him before you killed him. Just like you don’t understand me, and never will.
I WANT to show you that you’re not nearly as good at this game as you think you are. None of you forensic shrinks ever are. Or the profilers, who are such incredible frauds, as even you probably know.
And I WANT you to understand one more thing: this is never going to be on any terms but mine.
That’s how it will end. The way I want it to, when I decide.
Any more questions?
—T.B. . . . or not T.B.?
The first thing I did was forward the message to Anjali Patel with a request for a fast turnaround, which she said wouldn’t be a problem, despite the hour. She was working on nothing but DCAK.
Then I called Bree and read her the note twice.
“So, do you buy it?” she asked after I finished. “The payback thing?”
“No, not really. You?”
“Why should we? Everything else he’s done is a lie. And what about the way he signed it?”
That kept coming up, the way we didn’t really know which parts of DCAK were Tyler Bell and which parts were some kind of theater. Who was Tyler Bell? Specifically, who had he been before all this started, or at least before we got into the loop?
“I’d sure like to see that cabin of his,” I said, my mind latching on to the idea as I said the words out loud. “Snoop around.”
“I was thinking the same thing, but there’s no way, is there? We’ve got this case slamming right now. But I agree with you—I’d like to look around that cabin.”
“We could leave Friday,” I said. “Be back by Sunday.”
Bree didn’t answer. I think she felt I might be joking at fir
st. Then she laughed. “Are you going to tell me this is how we get a weekend away together?”
Chapter 103
KYLE CRAIG WAS FINALLY BACK in Washington. Was this great, or what? He was all rested and ready to go too. Everything was on a collision course, and he couldn’t wait for the final crash to happen. Or, rather, the crashes.
What would the Vegas odds have been against him when he was put away in that Colorado hellhole? Well, he’d beaten all the odds, all the predictions; he’d been doing it his entire life.
He had bought a used car in Maryland before he got to DC. The Buick was a surprisingly quick little whip too. Plus, it had the advantage of not sticking out in a crowd. DC’s car thieves wouldn’t particularly covet it, which was worth something.
For a couple of hours in the early morning, four to six to be exact, he drove around the capital, played the sightseer, the tourist, remembered being an agent in this town. He went down First Street, past the Supreme Court Building, the House and Senate, the Capitol Building, even giving a salute to the Statue of Freedom on its dome. Glorious city! Still one of his favorites, though not quite up to the standards of Paris. At least, not in his opinion. He had always admired the French and their justifiable disdain for Americans, for everything about us.
Finally Kyle drove over to Pennsylvania Avenue and went right past the Hoover Building—FBI headquarters. Here was the scene of so many of his triumphs when he was an agent, then a director in charge—chasing down dastardly murderers, with an emphasis on pattern killers. Ironically, no one had a better closure record than him, not even Alex Cross.
And here he was again, ready to do some damage, feeling the old venom coursing through his body, ready to rip up the town again. Just like in the old days.