Families made him sick, but bigshot Cross tried to be such a perfect daddy. He was such a phony, a real scam artist. Worse than that, Cross had severely underestimated him and also “dissed” him several times.
Danny Boudreaux had been a classmate of Sumner Moore at Theodore Roosevelt. Sumner Moore had always been the perfect suck-up cadet, the perfect student, the perfect student-athlete asshole. Moore had been his goddamn tutor since the previous summer. Danny Boudreaux had to go to the Moore house twice a week. He’d hated Sumner Moore from day one for being such a condescending and stuck-up little prick. He’d hated the whole condescending Moore family. Well, he’d taught them a lesson. He’d turned out to be the tutor.
His first totally outrageous idea had been to make it look as if Sumner Moore, the perfect cadet, were the child killer. He’d logged into the Moores’ Prodigy account and led the cops right to their house. What a great frigging prank that had been—the best. Then he’d decided to get rid of Sumner. That was the second outrageous idea. He’d enjoyed killing Sumner Moore even more than the little kids.
He wanted to teach Cross a lesson now, too. Cross obviously didn’t think the so-called Sojourner Truth School killer was worth much of his precious time. Danny Boudreaux was no Gary Soneji in the eyes of Alex Cross. He was no Jack and Jill. He was Nobody, right?
Well, we’ll see about that, Dr. Cross. We’ll just see how I stack up against Jack and Jill and the others. Watch this one real closely, Doctor Hotshit De-fective. You just might learn something.
In the next hour or so, a lot of people would learn not to underestimate Danny Boudreaux, not to snub him ever again.
Danny Boudreaux crossed Fifth Street, careful to keep his body in tree shadows. He walked right into the well-kept yard that bordered the Cross house.
He was thirteen, but small for his age. He was five three and only a hundred and ten pounds. He didn’t look like much. The other cadets called him Mister Softee because he would melt into tears whenever they teased him, which was just about all the time. For Danny Boudreaux hell week had lasted the whole school year. No, it had lasted for his entire life so far. Christ, he had enjoyed killing Sumner Moore! It was like killing his whole goddamn school!
He smeared gray eye shadow over his face, his neck, and his hands as he waited across from the Cross house. He had on dark jeans and a black shirt, and also a dark camo face mask made by Treebark. He had to fit in with the African-American neighborhood, right? Well, no one had paid much attention to him on Sixth Street, or even walking along E Street on his way to Fifth.
Danny Boudreaux touched the butt of the Smith & Wesson semiautomatic in the deep pocket of his poncho. The gun held a dozen shots. He was loaded for bear. The safety was off. He started crying again. Hot tears were streaming down his face. He wiped them away with his sleeve. No more Mr. Softee.
He did perfect murders.
CHAPTER
84
NOTHING IN HEAVEN or on earth could save Alex Cross’s cute little family now. They were next in line to die. It was the move he had to make. The right move at the right time. Hey, hey, what do you say?
Danny Boudreaux inched his way up the back-porch steps of the house. He didn’t make a freaking sound.
He could be a damn good cadet when he needed to be. A fine young soldier. He was on maneuvers tonight, that’s all it was. He was on a nocturnal mission.
Search and destroy.
He didn’t hear any noises coming from inside the house. No late-night TV sounds. No Letterman, Leno, and Beavis and Butt-Head, NordicTrack commercials. No piano playing, either. That probably meant Cross was sleeping now, too. So be it. The sleep of the dead, right?
He touched the doorknob and immediately wanted to pull his fingers away. The metal felt like dry ice against his skin. He held on, though. He turned the knob slowly, slowly. Then he pulled it toward him.
The goddamn door was locked! For some crazy reason he’d imagined it wouldn’t be. He could still get in the house through this door, but he might make some noise.
That wouldn’t do.
That wasn’t perfect.
He decided to go around front and check the situation there. He knew there was a sun porch. A piano on the porch. Cross played the blues out there—but the blues were only just beginning for the good doctor. After tonight, the rest of his life would be nothing but the blues.
Still no sound came from inside the house. He knew Cross hadn’t moved his family out of harm?
?s way. That showed more disrespect on his part. Cross wasn’t afraid of him. Well, he ought to be afraid. Dammit, Cross ought to be scared shitless of him!
Danny Boudreaux reached out to try the door to the sun porch. The young killer broke out in a sweat. Boudreaux could hardly breathe. He was seeing his worst nightmare, and his nightmares were really bad.
Detective John Sampson was staring right at him! The black giant was there on the porch. Waiting for him. Sitting there, all smug as hell.
He’d been caught! Jesus. They’d set a trap for him. He’d fallen for it like a true chump.
But, hey, wait a damn minute. Waitaminute!
Something was wrong with this picture… or rather something was very right with the picture!