Pop Goes the Weasel (Alex Cross 5)

“The Wizards kicked butt,” Damon said with a straight face. “Rod Strickland had a double-double.”

“Shhhh.” Nana gave us both a mighty look of irritation. “CNN carried stories from London. The media there is already comparing this to that unfortunate nanny case in Massachusetts. They say that Geoffrey Shafer is a decorated war hero and that he claims, with good reason, that he was framed by the police. I assume that means you, Alex.”

“Yes, it does. Let’s watch CNN for a few minutes,” I said. Nobody objected, so I switched the channel. A hard knot was forming in my stomach. I didn’t like what I was seeing and hearing on TV.

Almost immediately, a reporter came on the screen from London. He introduced himself and then proceeded to give a pompous, thirty-second summary of the previous evening’s events.

The reporter looked gravely into the camera. “And now, in a dramatic turnabout, we have learned that the Washington Police Department is investigating a bizarre twist. The senior detective who arrested Geoffrey Shafer might himself be a suspect in the murder case. At least that’s what has been reported in the American press.”

I shook my head and frowned. “I’m innocent,” I said to Nana and the kids. They knew that, of course.

“Until proven guilty,” said Jannie, with a little wink.

Chapter 75

THERE WAS A LOUD HUBBUB out in front of the house, and Jannie ran

to the living-room window to look. She hurried back to the kitchen with wide eyes, loud-whispering, “It’s TV cameras and the newspapers outside. CNN, NBC—lots of them, like that other time, with Gary Soneji. Remember?”

“Of course we remember,” said Damon. “Nobody’s retarded in this house except you.”

“Oh, good Lord, Alex,” Nana said, “don’t they know decent people are eating breakfast?” She shook her head, rolled her eyes. “The vultures are here again. Maybe I should throw some meat scraps out the front door.”

“You go talk to them, Jannie,” I said, and looked back at the TV. I don’t know why I was feeling so cynical, but I was. My remark quieted her down for a half second, but then she figured it was a joke. She pointed a finger at herself. “Gotcha!”

I knew they wouldn’t go away, so I took my mug of coffee and headed toward the front door. I walked out into a beautiful fall morning, temperature probably in the low sixties.

Leaves rustled merrily in the elm and maple trees, dappled sunshine fell on the heads of the TV crew and print journalists gathered at the edges of our front lawn.

The vultures.

“Don’t be absurd and ridiculous around here,” I said, and then calmly sipped my coffee as I stared at the noisy press mob. “Of course I didn’t kill Detective Patsy Hampton, or frame anyone for her murder.”

Then I turned on my heel and walked back inside without answering a single question from any of them.

Nana and the kids were right behind the big wooden door, listening. “That was pretty good,” Nana said, and her eyes sparkled and beamed.

I went upstairs and got dressed for work. “Go to school. Now!” I called back to Jannie and Damon. “Get straight A’s. Play nicely with your friends. Pay no attention to the craziness everywhere around you.”

“Yes, Daddy!”

Chapter 76

ON ACCOUNT OF HIS REQUEST for diplomatic immunity, we weren’t allowed to question Geoffrey Shafer about Detective Hampton’s murder or anything else. I was incredibly frustrated. We had the Weasel, and we couldn’t get to him.

Investigators were lying in wait for me that morning at the station house, and I knew it was going to be a long and excruciating day. I was interviewed by Internal Affairs, by the city’s chief counsel, and also by Mike Kersee from the district attorney’s office.

Pay no attention to the craziness everywhere around you, I reminded myself over and over, but my own good advice wasn’t working too well.

Around three o’clock, the district attorney himself showed up. Ron Coleman is a tall, slender, athletic-looking man; we had worked together many times when he was coming up in the D.A.’s office. I had always found him to be conscientious, well informed, and committed to rationality and sanity. He’d never seemed very political, so it had come as a shock to almost everyone when Mayor Monroe appointed him the D.A. Monroe loves to shock people, though.

Coleman made an announcement: “Mr. Shafer already has an attorney, and he is one of the bright stars of our galaxy. He has retained none other than Jules Halpern. Halpern’s probably the one who planted the story that you’re a suspect—which you aren’t, as far as I know.”

I stared at Coleman. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “As far as you know? What does that mean, Ron?”

The D.A. shrugged. “We’re probably going to go with Cathy Fitzgibbon on our side. I think she’s our best litigator. We’ll back her up with Lynda Cole and maybe Stephen Apt, who are also top-notch. That’s my take on it as of this morning.”

I knew all three prosecutors, and they had good reputations, particularly Fitzgibbon. They were on the young side, but nonetheless tireless, smart, dedicated—a lot like Coleman himself.