Alex Cross, Run

“It’s Larissa,” she said.

“Right. Sorry. It’s just that…you look so much like my daughter. Almost exactly, really.”

He put away his pointer and stepped over to the clipboard on the counter behind her. There, he opened a drawer and took out a number eighteen blade. It was perfect for deep cutting, and the custom handle made it feel like an extension of his own arm.

He probably should have stuck with the same cheap steak knife as before, he knew. In fact, it was right there in the drawer where he’d left it half an hour ago. But with skin like this girl had, that would have been like taking a chain saw to porcelain.

He’d just have to go back and rough up his work a bit afterward, to cover his tracks.

“So, what do you think, Josh?” Creem turned to face his friend. “Have you heard enough, or should I keep going?”

“Keep going,” Bergman said right away. His eyes were focused on the scalpel in Dr. Creem’s hand. He was sitting perfectly still by now, and his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “By all means, Elijah. Keep going. Please.”

“Are you okay to keep going, too, Justine?” Creem asked.

“Um…Larissa,” the girl said again.

“Shh,” Creem told her. “It doesn’t matter, Justine. Just stand nice and still for me like a good girl. We’ll be done here before you know it.”

CHAPTER

28

WHEN IT WAS OVER, CREEM AND BERGMAN HAD NO TROUBLE GETTING THE GIRL wrapped up and ready to go. They used latex gloves and a white nylon disaster bag to move her down the hall, a straight shot into the garage and then Bergman’s waiting trunk.

It really was like spring break, 1988, all over again, Creem thought. One of those sweet little fillips of time, where the normal rules of the world didn’t apply.

Not that they’d been better off with their piece of shit cars and four-digit bank accounts, trawling Fort Lauderdale for thrills. But it had, in fact, been a golden time.

“What’s better than gold?” Creem said.

“Platinum, I guess,” Bergman said. “Why?”

“That’s what this is, Josh. These are our platinum days.”

He held up his glass in a toast. They were leaning against the hood of Bergman’s Audi now, drinking sixteen-year-old Hirsch Reserve, while Creem enjoyed a cigar.

“I’ll drink to that,” Bergman said.

“You’ll drink to anything,” Creem said, and his friend shrugged at the truth of it. “What are you going to do with her, anyway?”

“Rock Creek Park,” he said. “I know a place.”

Creem tapped the ash of his Romeo y Julieta, watching it float down like snow onto the concrete garage floor. He felt calm and contemplative, not at all worked up the way Josh was. It pleased him to see Bergman so happy, but it made him a bit nervous, too, the way he seemed to enjoy this. Almost too much, if there were such a thing.

“Just be careful,” Creem said. “We’re not twenty-two anymore, Josh. We’re better than that.”

“I’m always careful,” Bergman said.

“No,” Creem said. “In fact, you’re not.”

“That’s true,” Bergman said, and they both laughed. “But I will be, Elijah. Cross my heart. We started this together, and when it’s time, we’ll end it together. That’s a promise.”

Creem wasn’t entirely sure what Bergman meant. Maybe it was the bourbon talking. Or maybe it meant nothing at all. But for reasons of his own, he let it lie where it was. When the time was right, he’d pick it back up again.

In the meantime, he finished his drink and stood up, indicating it was time for Josh to leave. He was tired. He wanted to go to bed.

And tonight, he was going to sleep like a baby.

CHAPTER

29

WHEN THE PHONE RINGS AT TWO IN THE MORNING IN MY HOUSE, THERE’S A better than average chance that someone’s dead. The only question is whose phone—mine or Bree’s. She’s with the Violent Crimes Branch at MPD, and I’m with Major Case Squad.

On this particular night, the wake-up call came from my side of the bed. I got the details from Sergeant Huizenga before I was even fully awake. Another body had turned up, in Rock Creek Park this time. White. Female. Multiple stab wounds. Hair all cut off.

Another Darcy Vickers.

“I’ll be right there,” I told Huizenga, and stood up with a Gordian knot in my stomach. If this homicide was what it sounded like, we’d just opened up a whole new dimension on an already-complicated case.

As I headed down the stairs a few minutes later, I was surprised to see the light of the TV, flashing into the hall from the living room. Nana had her own set in her room, and as far as I knew, the kids were all tucked in.

What I found was Ava, asleep on the couch. She was slumped in a sitting position, with the remote in her hand, and her chin on her chest. The TV was muted while an episode of Hoarders played silently on the screen. She was still dressed, too, including the new suede boots Bree had just bought her.

Or maybe she was dressed again. Had she snuck out in the night?

“Ava, you need to go to bed,” I said, with a hand on her shoulder from behind.

She didn’t move.

“Ava?” I came around and gave her a shake. “Ava!” She stirred then, but barely. Her eyes opened halfway, and she looked at me like I was some kind of stranger.

“Wassup?” she said in a half slur that sent my heart sinking.

“Ava, are you high?” I said. When I turned on the lamp next to the couch, she put a hand up to shield her face. “Let me see your eyes.”

“I ain’t high,” she said, and turned farther away.

But I wasn’t messing around now. I sat down and squared her off by the shoulders to face me. “Look at me,” I said. “Right now.”

Her eyes weren’t bloodshot, like I expected, but her pupils looked small, which was maybe even worse.

“Ava, what did you take?” I said.

“Nothin’.”

“Was it Oxy? Something else?”

OxyContin is expensive, but there are also plenty of cheap, and more dangerous, knockoff drugs floating around out there. Ava was fourteen now, more than old enough to cross paths with any number of controlled substances on the street, especially considering her background. The few friends I knew about were street kids, who she used to crash with around Seward Square. Was that where she’d been tonight?

“What’s going on in here?” Nana said, suddenly appearing in the archway from the hall. Her room is on the first floor of the house, and she’s also the world’s lightest sleeper.

Ava scooted away from me, to the far end of the couch. “He’s saying I done something I didn’t do. Why he’s always gotta think I’m doing something bad? Damn!”

“Watch your mouth,” Nana said. She parked herself on the cushion between us and turned to face Ava. “What is it you didn’t do, honey?”

“He’s saying I’m high, but I ain’t.”

“I’m not,” Nana corrected her, probably because she couldn’t help herself.

“And why are you up this late?” I asked. “Did you sneak out?”

“See?” Ava said, pointing at me. “I can’t do nothing right for him.”

I looked at Nana, feeling more than a little frustrated. I had a crime scene to get to, and it couldn’t wait.

“I’m going to get Bree,” I said.

“No. Let her sleep. I’ll put Ava to bed in my room and keep an eye on her,” she said, eyeballing the keys and necktie in my hand. “You obviously have somewhere to be.”

Nana hates my job, a lot of the time. But why was I suddenly feeling like the bad guy here?

“Nana,” I said.

“Just go.”

I looked Ava over one more time. Was she just sleepy—or something else?

“I’ll be back first thing in the morning,” I said. “We’ll talk about this then.”

She rolled her eyes at me but didn’t answer. It wasn’t until I was almost all the way out of the house that I heard her speak up at all, somewhere behind me.