The People vs. Alex Cross (Alex Cross 25)

But not fitter than Sampson, who blew by me.

When Flint was forty yards from the woods, he hit tall, tangled grass. It slowed him. But it didn’t slow John, whose long legs had him leaping after the sadist. Flint looked back in desperation and then lunged for the woods.

Sampson ran up a hummock in the weeds and dived after him.

CHAPTER

74

SAMPSON’S SHOULDER AND his two hundred and twenty pounds drove into the back of Fl

int’s legs, flattening him in the deep wet grass. I ran up, gasping, as John straddled the sadist and kept his shoulders pinned.

“My knee.” Flint moaned. “Something snapped. And I got broken ribs.”

Sampson dug out zip cuffs and wrenched Flint’s arms up behind him, which provoked another round of howling.

“My ribs!”

“Screw your ribs,” Sampson said. “And screw your knee. You’re lucky I don’t kick out your front teeth.”

I helped Sampson up and then pulled Flint to his feet. His left leg buckled, and he began to whimper.

“I can’t help it, man. I got a mental sickness. I tried to stop. I did, but—”

“Save it for a judge,” Sampson said.

“Where are the blond women?” I said. “Which building?”

He didn’t react at first. Then he looked confused. “What blond women?”

“The ones you made those movies of,” Sampson said. “Fake executions. Uploaded them to the Killingblondechicks site.”

“No,” he said. “I watched some free videos on that site, but that’s not me.”

“All the recent uploads have been coming from your IP,” Sampson said.

Flint shook his head. “I’ve never submitted to that site. Never. I do animals for animal sites. Not humans. I’d never do humans.”

“Try telling that to a jury after they’ve seen your barn,” I said.

“I’m telling the truth,” he said. “Maybe I deserve punishment for what I’ve done, who I am. But if those blonde videos came through my IP, man, someone frickin’ hacked and hijacked my computer! I’m being framed!”

Part Four

IN DEFENSE OF ALEX CROSS

CHAPTER

75

SHORTLY BEFORE DARK, Sampson dropped me off at the entrance to the alley that runs behind my house. With my trial starting up again in the morning, there were bound to be more journalists in front of my house.

There’d been other journalists gathered at the bottom of Carter Flint’s road when we left. After Sampson called the local sheriff to tell them we’d made a citizen’s arrest, we’d waited until Flint was in custody and the three animals mercifully euthanized before we helped in the search for the girls. We’d found enough disturbing evidence to put Flint behind bars or in a psychiatric institution for years but no trace of Gretchen Lindel or Delilah Franks or the four other missing women.

I used the back gate to our yard, happy for the darkness, and went in the side door. My dad and Jannie were watching a tape of her race at Hopkins. Bree was in the kitchen with Nana Mama.

“How was fishing?” my dad said.