“Benjamin.”
“Benjamin, do you know anything about a man they call the Tiger? Was he here?” Alex had told her about the Tiger during their phone call. Supposedly the killer was in Africa now, but maybe Alex’s information was wrong.
The boy nodded slowly. “I know, yes.” Then he said, “More than one, though. Not just one Tiger.”
That certainly stunned Bree—and she assumed it would surprise the hell out of Alex too.
“Many men are called the Tiger?” she asked. “You’re sure about that?”
Another nod from the boy.
“Here in Washington?”
“Yes. Maybe two or three.”
“And in Nigeria?”
“Yes.”
“How many Tigers, Benjamin? Do you know?”
“They do not tell me, but dere are many. Bosses of gangs are all Tigers.”
Bree looked over her shoulder at Sampson, then back again at the boy. “Benjamin, do you want to hear a secret?”
The question seemed to confuse him. His eyes went from side to side; he looked down again, checking his escape route.
And when he did that, Bree moved. Fast! Much faster than Benjamin thought she could.
Chapter 65
SHE REACHED IN through the bars and got her hand around the lookout’s skinny wrist.
“Sampson, go!”
“Let go of me!” the boy yelled at her.
He tried to step away, and his weight wrenched her arm against the bar. There was no leverage from this angle. She could only try to ignore the pain, and hold on until Sampson got to the boy from below. Hurry, John, I’m losing him!
“Benjamin, we can keep you safe. You need to come with us.”
He screamed at her. “No, fuckin’ bitch! You lied to me!”
His transformation was startling. The scared eyes had gone fierce. He clawed at her hand and drew blood. Had he lied to her? Was he one of the killers?
Finally, Bree could hear Sampson’s feet pounding somewhere outside. Faster, John!
Just when she thought her arm might break—the kid twisted free. He dropped to the porch roof and all but bounced another eight feet to the ground.
Two quick strides and then he was scrambling up a small ash tree, barely big enough to support his weight, much less an adult’s.
Just as Sampson came running around the back, the boy flipped sideways over the top of a high cedar fence into a service alley beyond.
Seconds later, Bree came out the front door.
There was no gate to the alley. They had to sprint back through the house, out another door, and around the block, just to find out what they already knew: The boy named Benjamin was long gone.
The so-called lookout for the murders had gotten away from them.