Four Blind Mice (Alex Cross 8)

As I was getting up, I caught sight of Harris out of the corner of my eye. He was moving toward me fast. This could be trouble. No more friendly little game.

His right arm suddenly shot forward and he slapped me five.

“Nice play,” he said. “You got us that time, partner. Be ready for you next time. Hell, we’re all on the same team anyway, right? H and K all the way.”

Jesus, he actually seemed like a nice guy.

For a killer.

Chapter 83

“YOU RUN PRETTY good for a washed-up cop in his early forties,” Sampson said as we walked through a dusty lot filled mostly with minivans and trucks. We’d seen enough at the company picnic. After our show of respectability, we’d lost the softball game by seven runs — and it could have been even worse.

“At least I don’t have to bunt to get on base,” I said.

“Last thing they expected, sugar. Worked, didn’t it? Pissed’m off too.”

“We lost the game.”

“But not the war,” said Sampson.

“This is true. Not the war. Not yet anyway.”

I drove from the picnic site, out to the Falling River Walk development. I parked right around the corner from Thomas Starkey’s house. The house was redbrick with white trim on the windows, black shutters. The lot looked to be about an acre and was landscaped with rhododendron, hemlock, and mountain laurel. It was well kept. We walked past a mess of yellow chrysanthemums to the side door.

“This how it’s going to be from here on?” he asked. “Breaking and entering in broad daylight?”

“They probably know who we are,” I said, “know we’re here for them.”

“Probably. Rangers are the premier light-infantry unit in the army. Most are good guys too. ‘Rangers lead the way.’ That’s been their motto since Omaha Beach, D-Day. Tip of the spear.”

“How about in Vietnam?” I asked.

“Lots of Rangers over there. They performed the heavy recon missions. Seventy-fifth Infantry. Exemplary soldiers, the best. Most of them. Probably had the best military assassins too.”

It took me less than a minute to get inside the side door of the Starkey house, which led into a small laundry room that reeked of bleach and detergent. We didn’t hear any alarm going off, but that didn’t mean we hadn’t tripped one coming inside.

“Could the three of them still be in the army? Special assignment?” I asked.

“The thought has crossed my mind. I hope this isn’t about something the army is trying to hide.”

“But you think it might be?”

“Like I said — I hope it’s not. I do like the army, sugar. Hoo-rah!”

The house was only a few years old, and it was immaculate and strikingly orderly inside. Two fieldstone fireplaces on the first floor, vaulted ceilings, a game room with a wet bar and a pool table. I figured the house was probably around five thousand square feet and cost maybe four hundred thousand. Thomas Starkey lived pretty well for a salesman. So did Griffin and Harris, from the look of their new houses.

Everything was neat and clean; even the kids’ toys were stacked and arranged on shelves. Starkey and his wife sure ran a tight ship.

The kitchen was high-tech with a big Sub-Zero refrigerator. Shiny, stainless-steel All-Clad pots and pans hung above the workstation. A giant cast-iron skillet had a place of pride on the right back burner of the stove.

Off the master bedroom was a small room that turned out to be Starkey’s den. Lots of army souvenirs and pictures. I looked at the photographs on the walls, saw Harris and Griffin in several. But none of the men whom they had set up. I didn’t really expect to see Ellis Cooper in a picture on Thomas Starkey’s wall, but that didn’t stop me from hoping.

Sampson was opening desk drawers and examining the contents of several cabinets built into the wall. He came to a closet with a padlock on it. He looked over at me.

I shrugged. “Go for it. That’s what we’re here for.”

“No turning back now.”