The most recent of those pictures showed the family and Alcott without her husband for the first time. Bree thought the widow looked stoic.
She turned and glanced at the messy desktop. One of the buttons on the multiline phone was still lit.
Caller ID was on as well, slowly streaming across the screen:
Paladin … Paladin … Paladin …
CHAPTER 67
Washington, DC
“PALADIN,” A WOMAN ANSWERED before the phone could ring a second time. “How may I direct your call?”
“Ryan Malcomb, please,” I said. “Tell him Dr. Alex Cross needs a favor.”
“I will, Dr. Cross. How are you?”
I flashed on the woman who worked at the company’s front desk. “Riggs?”
“In the flesh,” Riggs said, sounding pleased. “Hold on, Doc.”
The line fell into a soft buzz. Several moments later, Riggs came back. “Dr. Cross, I’m afraid Mr. Malcomb’s in the middle of a call he can’t break. Can Steve Vance help you?”
“That works,” I said.
There was a click and Vance came on. “Dr. Cross? How are you?”
“Fine,” I said. “How was the Italy trip?”
“Too short. And I’m still a bit jet-lagged.”
“I’m calling about something Ryan found in that first big data dump we gave him.”
“Okay.”
I described how Malcomb and his analysts had determined that cellular and data service had stopped for a brief period in the areas around each of the Family Man’s crime scenes.
“We’ve had another incident and I’d like to see if there was a similar blackout around the Potomac address, which I can e-mail or text you.”
“Text works. And since we’ve already received authorization for the Family Man case from the FBI director’s office, I’m sure we can get right on it. Anything else?”
“Same thing around a Georgetown address. Seems like cell and data services were shut down in that area around the same time as the Potomac address.” I also asked Paladin to see if there were similar black holes around Tull’s rental home at the times of the other Family Man killings.
“Since we’ve already got the data loaded for those cases, this should go quickly,” Vance said. “We’ll get back to you ASAP.”
“I appreciate it, Steve.”
“Anything for law enforcement. And again, sorry I missed you last week.”
“Next time.”
“I look forward to it, sir,” Vance said, and the line went dead.
I pocketed the phone and donned latex gloves, blue booties, and a hairnet before returning to the Kane crime scene. Bodies were being removed in black bags. Dozens of cameras were recording it. Reporters were yelling questions at me, all of which I ignored.
The fact of the matter was that we had no real suspect other than Tull. And I certainly was not going to mention his name to the media. Not without serious corroborating evidence, which, at the moment, we did not have.
Inside the house, the black bags containing the children were brought down the stairs amid a hushed silence. Anger appeared in the faces of every agent, detective, and forensics expert on hand, including me.
Who shoots children like that? Executes them? With no emotion? And why? Goddamn it, why?
I couldn’t answer any of those questions and that made me even more frustrated.
“I feel like there’s something we’re missing,” I told Sampson and Mahoney after the bodies of the Kane children had been taken outside. Before they could respond, Lara Mendelson, the FBI crime scene supervisor, came down the stairs. She held a small plastic evidence bag.
“We found these light brown hairs in the nap of the carpet on the landing,” she said. “The Kanes all had black hair.”
Sampson said, “Could belong to a friend? Their maid? Mrs. Kane’s mother?”
“She has gray hair,” Mahoney said. He returned his attention to the crime scene tech. “Thanks, Lara, let’s get these out to Quantico for DNA analysis ASAP.”
Mendelson nodded and went outside.
“What’s the chance he’s finally made a mistake?” I said, watching her go.
“Been sterile up to now,” Sampson said. “But there’s bound to be something at some point that will go in our favor.”
Mahoney said, “Who knows? Maybe he had an itchy scalp and pulled back his hood to scratch it before he coldly executed a young family of four.”
“Stranger things have put people behind bars,” I said.
CHAPTER 68
Hunting Valley, Ohio
BREE RETURNED TO HER seat in Theresa May Alcott’s office when the light on the phone went out and the caller ID streaming on the screen ended.
Paladin. Is that someone’s name? Or is it that data-mining company Alex has working on the Family Man cases?
The door opened and Alcott rushed in. “I’m sorry, Chief Stone, but I am informed that I have much to attend to in the next couple of hours. Have I answered all your questions? Do you understand why I wanted to keep Olivia’s name out of it if I could?”
Bree wanted to ask a few more questions but she got to her feet and tried to be gracious. “Of course I understand. If there are other examples that can be used, why sully Olivia’s reputation unnecessarily?”
The billionaire beamed with gratitude. “Bless you and thank you, Chief Stone. Where did you park your car?”
“Uh, on the road behind your house.”
“On the lane beyond the back hedge?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, dear. I hope it’s there when you return. The local constable is quite zealous about towing away cars that are parked there.”
“I’ll be going, then.”
Alcott stood aside.
Bree smiled and walked back down the short hall and through the kitchen, where Marie was listening to music and rinsing dishes. Before exiting, she glanced over her shoulder, saw Alcott standing at her office window, and waved. The billionaire smiled impatiently and returned the gesture.
It had started to drizzle. Bree hurried down the hill and past the garden, noticing Arthur standing in the door to the greenhouse, watching her go. Crossing the lawn toward the hedge, she fought the urge to look back and study the windows of the house to see if Theresa May Alcott was still watching her. But then it began to rain in earnest, and she ran to the hedge and found a way through onto the road. To her relief, her rental car was still there on the opposite shoulder, undisturbed.
After getting inside, starting the car, and cranking up the heat, Bree got out her phone, checked the forty-two-minute-long recording, and found much of it audible thanks to the little microphone necklace. Then she checked the time of the next flight to DC. Three hours.
After confirming a seat, she got out a notebook and started scribbling down her impressions, details she wanted to remember about her visit to the Alcott estate, certain things the billionaire had said to her, and questions she wanted answered. She would check it all against the recording later.
TMA is smooth, Bree wrote. Polished. Pleasant, but hard to read. How old is she?
Why did it feel a little creepy when I left? Like I was being watched?
Who is Arthur?
If the Paladin on her phone is the company Alex is dealing with, what is TMA’s connection? Seems so random. Is it important?