He leaned down and stroked his daughter’s sweet little cheek. Brushed her sand-colored hair away from her eyes. Kissed her forehead.
Halfway out of the room, he changed his mind. He could just as easily work in here. He parked himself in the white-painted rocker by the door instead and listened to the metronome of Emma Lee’s even breathing.
Once his laptop was powered up, Guidice plugged his earbuds into the computer’s audio jack and started opening Windows. There were notes to transcribe from the day, sites to check, listservs to monitor—but first, he wanted to make sure everything was up and running at Alex’s house.
With the family out to dinner that night, there had been plenty of time to install an Infinity transmitter on each level of the Cross home. Each one was hardwired behind an existing outlet so there would be no issues with battery life or losing power. There were also three corresponding match-head-size microphones tucked into the kitchen, the master bedroom, and Alex’s office on the third floor. If anything, Guidice was going to net more information than he would ever have time to weed through, but too much was definitely preferable to not enough.
He opened all three channels now, and let them stream simultaneously in his ears while he worked. Mostly it was quiet over there. Someone was watching TV, and it seemed that maybe Alex was in his office, just from the sound of shuffling pages and the occasional clearing of a throat.
It was a bizarre mash-up, really—sitting here gathering source material from the privacy of his daughter’s bedroom. A peaceful moment in the middle of the storm.
There was still Lydia to worry about, but so far she was more use to him than she was trouble. In a way, it was like his mother knew which questions she could get away with, and which ones to leave alone. Like how they were affording to live, for starters.
Guidice’s reporting hadn’t brought in any appreciable income for quite a while now. Not since everything had changed—and not since the cash settlement, after the cops had stolen his life away from him.
As if a wad of money could make up for what they’d done!
It was nothing more than routine incompetence, the way Theresa had been allowed to die that night, right there on the sidewalk like a common criminal.
And not just Theresa, either. No one else had known it at the time, but their unborn child had died that night, too, along with the only woman he’d ever loved. Both of them, murdered in cold blood.
And all on Alex Cross’s watch.
CHAPTER
19
ELIJAH CREEM PREFERRED TO SECTION HIS OWN GRAPEFRUIT IN THE MORNING. He liked the way the membranous flesh gave so easily, but how it also demanded a certain element of precision from the blade of his knife.
He took his time with it that morning, lingering over his fruit, steak, and egg breakfast while he read the Post. One story in particular had caught his attention there, and he perused it twice through as he ate.
“Kate?” he called out to the housekeeper.
/>
“Sir?” she said, poking her head through the swinging kitchen door into the dining room.
“Would you bring me my phone, please? I think it’s in the hall.”
“Certainly,” she said, and disappeared again.
According to the paper, a boy from Northwest DC had been shot, stabbed, and dropped into the Potomac, where his body had been found floating just the day before. The Post’s coverage, at least, indicated that the police had no leads whatsoever on who might have done this.
“Oh, I heard about that,” Kate said, suddenly back with his phone and looking over Dr. Creem’s shoulder. “It was on every channel last night.”
“Was it?” Creem said. “Apparently, the boy died quite horribly.”
He liked that she didn’t turn away. Instead, she leaned closer to get a look at the black and white picture of the victim. Also, close enough for Creem to rest a hand gently on the curve of her ass.
“So young,” she said, though she was barely older.
She hadn’t flinched at his touch, either. Kate, with her green card problems and sick father, certainly knew which side her bread was buttered on.
“That’s all, for now,” Creem said, and winked at her as she freshened his coffee. She smiled pleasantly.
He watched her go and waited until she was back in the kitchen, out of earshot. Then he picked up his phone and called Josh Bergman.
“Elijah?” Bergman answered. “Is something wrong?”