Double Cross (Alex Cross 13)

“First of all, Detective, I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to. DCAK’s not an idiot, okay? Haven’t you figured that out for yourselves by now? And second, I’m not fifteen years old. You’ll have to do better than you’re doing. A lot better.”

“Do you mean like a subpoena for your home system?” Bree asked. “We can do that.”

Thompson adjusted his glasses and sat back now, beginning to like the position he was in. I could see why. I wasn’t sure that we could get a subpoena for his home system, much less arrest him. “Actually, no. Assuming you don’t have your subpoena with you—probably because you were just too damn eager to get over here—I can make sure that my server doesn’t have anything more than Peanuts cartoons on it by the time you get there. And I don’t even have to leave this chair to do it.”

He looked up at us, calm as could be now. “You obviously don’t know much about information transfer.”

“Do you know what the hell is going on out there in the real world?” I finally said. “Do you have any interest in seeing someone like that murderer stopped?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped back. “Stop insulting my intelligence and think about it for a second. The big picture? Constitutional rights—your rights, my rights—hinge on exactly this kind of thing. I have the right to do everything I did, and I don’t just mean that morally. It’s your job to uphold the Constitution, Detectives, and it’s our job, as citizens, to make sure that you do. See how it works?”

“See how this works?” Sampson lunged, but we caught him in time. Everything on one side of Thompson’s desk went flying.

Brady stood up, a bit brazen even, as Sampson stared at him. “I think we’re done here,” he said.

But Sampson wasn’t. “You know what—”

“Yes,” Bree said. “We’re done, Brady. For the moment, anyway. We’re leaving.”

As we turned to go, Thompson spoke again, more conciliatory than before. “Detectives? You obviously think my little posting is real or you wouldn’t be here. Will you just tell me if it has something to do with the iconography?”

This guy was a true fan, a real freak. He couldn’t help himself, could he?

Bree couldn’t help herself either. With the door halfway open and a small crowd of office workers gathered behind her, she turned to face Braden Thompson.

“I can’t comment on that, sir. Not at this time. But let me reassure you that we won’t mention your Web site, SerialTimes.net, anywhere outside this office unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Bree smiled at Braden Thompson, then lowered her voice. “Keep on living, fucker.”

Chapter 53

PISSED OFF AT THE WORLD in general, and at Braden Thompson in particular, the three of us showed up at the Daly Building. We didn’t get very far before Superintendent Davies headed us off. “Over here,” he barked, then turned and walked back to his office. “The three of you, now.”

We looked at one another, not liking the vibe.

“Why do I feel like I’m about to get detention and miss football practice?” Sampson muttered.

“Yeah,” Bree said, “and cheerleading practice too. Oh, wait, I wasn’t ever a cheerleader.”

Bree and I wiped the smirks off our faces before we went in.

“Can you explain this?” Davies flipped a newspaper around on his desk.

There was a story above the fold in the Post’s metro section, “Audience Killer Copycat Theory Surfaces.”

I wasn’t surprised by the headline so much as reminded about how fast these stories can spread and get out to the press.

Bree answered for the group. “We just learned about it this morning ourselves. Even right now we’re coming from—”

“Don’t give me a lot of explanations, Detective Stone. In my book, that’s only a step up from an excuse. Just do something about it.” He twisted his neck a few times, as if he were trying to undo the pain we’d put there.

“Excuse me, sir,” Bree said. “This isn’t the kind of information we can control. Not once it’s been—”

Davies cut her off again. “I don’t need a lesson in damage control. I need you to take care of the mess. This is Major Case Squad. Your superiors aren’t a safety net. You need to respond to the problems before I ask you to respond to them. Do you understand me?”

“Of course I understand you,” Bree said. “I don’t need a lesson in damage control either. Apparently, neither does DCAK.”

Suddenly, Davies smiled, and it was totally unexpected. “You see why I like her?” he asked Sampson and me.