“The joke’s on me,” I said to Justine. “But I’ll make it quick.”
I caught the call on the third ring.
“Morgan. We’ve got problems with those pukes from Sumar,” the captain said. “They have diplomatic immunity.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He gave me the bad news in detail, that Gozan Remari and Khezir Mazul were both senior diplomats in Sumar’s mission to the UN.
“They’re on holiday in Hollywood,” Warren told me. “I think we could ruin their good time, maybe get them recalled to the wasteland they came from, but the ladies won’t cooperate. I’m at the hospital with them now. They wouldn’t let the docs test for sexual assault.”
“That’s not good,” I said. I put up a finger to let Justine know I would be just a minute.
“Mrs. Grove is very grateful to you, Morgan,” the Captain was telling me. “I, uh, need a favor. I need you to talk to her.”
“Sure. Put her on,” I said.
Justine turned off the water. Pulled a towel off the rack. “She’s in a room with her daughter,” Warren said. “Listen, if you step on the gas, you could be here in fifteen minutes. Talk to them face-to-face.”
I told Justine not to wait up for me.
By way of an answer, she screwed in her earbuds and took her iPod to the kitchen. She was intensely chopping onions when I left the house.
It was a twenty-minute drive to Ocean Memorial and it took me another ten to find the captain. He escorted me to a beige room furnished with two beds and a recliner.
Belinda Grove was sitting in the recliner, wearing the expensive clothes I’d last seen strewn around bungalow six: a black knit dress, fitted jacket, black stiletto Jimmy Choos. She’d also brushed her hair and applied red lipstick. And although I’d never met her before today, now that she’d cleaned up, I recognized her from photos in the society pages.
This was Mrs. Alvin Grove, on the board of the Children’s Museum, daughter of Palmer Tiptree, of Tiptree Pharmaceuticals, and mother of two.
Now I understood. She would rather die than let anyone know what had happened to her daughter and herself.
WHO IS ALEX CROSS?
PERSONAL LIFE
Alex Cross was born in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. His mother died of lung cancer when he was nine; his father, a heavy drinker, the year after. He was sent to Washington, DC to live with his grandmother, Regina Cross Hope (Nana Mama), an English teacher and assistant principal. He has three brothers (two deceased) not raised by Nana Mama.
Damon and Janelle (Jannie) are Cross’s children from his first marriage to Maria, a social worker, who was killed in a drive-by shooting that was never solved.
Cross has another son, Alex Jr. (Ali). His mother, Christine Johnson, was principal at the Sojourner Truth School. They never married.
Alex Cross now lives on Fifth Street in DC with wife Brianna (Bree) Stone – a rising star in the MPD – Nana Mama, Ali, Jannie and Rosie the cat. Damon is away at prep school in Massachusetts.
HOBBIES
The piano: Cross loves to play Gershwin and classical music. He is an avid reader of fiction and non-fiction. He used to box in his youth and now enjoys teaching his children.
Alex volunteers at the St. Anthony’s soup kitchen, where he is known as ‘Peanut Butter Man’ and ‘Black Samaritan’. He offers free therapy sessions.
FAVOURITE FOOD
White bean soup. Least favourite: grape jelly omelette. Enjoys fine wine and beer.
FAVORITE VACATION SPOT
Caribbean.
EDUCATION