“We’d welcome contact of any kind from whoever is responsible for these shootings,” I said into the cameras. “You know where to find us.”

It wasn’t a great sound bite, and it wasn’t badass or anything else that some people out there might have wanted me to say. But within the investigation, we were all in agreement: there would be no goading, no lines in the sand, and no public characterizing of the killer — or killers — until we knew more about who we were dealing with, here.

“Next question. James!” Joyce called out, just to keep things focused and moving along.

It was James Dowd, one of the national NBC correspondents. He had a thick pad of notes in his hand, which he worked off of as he spoke.

“Detective Cross, is there any truth to the rumors about a blue Buick Skylark with New York plates — or a dark-colored, rusted-out Suburban — near the scene in Woodley Park? And can you tell us if either of those vehicles has been traced back to the killer?”

I was pissed and taken off guard all at once. The problem was, Dowd was good.

The truth was, I had an old friend — Jerome Thurman from First District — quietly following up on both of those leads from the night of the Dlouhy murder. So far, all we had was a mile-long list of matching vehicles from the DMV, and no proof that any of them were connected in any way to the shootings.

But more than that, we had a strong desire to keep this information under wraps. Obviously someone had spoken to the press, which was ironic given my lecture about discretion on the FIG call just a few minutes ago.

I gave the only answer I could. “I have no comment on that at this time.” It was like dangling a steak in front of a pack of wild dogs. The whole mass of them pressed in even closer.

“People!” Joyce tried again. “One at a time. You know how this works!”

It was a losing battle, though. I threw out at least four more “no comments” and stonewalled until someone finally changed the subject. But the damage was already done. If either of those vehicles did in fact belong to the snipers, they now had full warning, and we’d just lost an important advantage.

It was our first major leak of the investigation, but something told me it wasn’t going to be our last.

Chapter 31

LISA GIAMETTI LOOKED at her watch for maybe the tenth time. She was going to wait five more minutes and then take off. It was just amazing, the way some people didn’t think twice about wasting your time in this business.

Four and a half minutes into the five she’d allowed, a dark-blue BMW pulled up and double-parked in front of the house. Better late than never anyway. Nice car.

She checked her teeth in the rearview mirror, ran a hand through her short auburn hair, and got out to meet the client.

“Mr. Siegel?”

“Max,” he said. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m not used to the city traffic.”

His handshake was warm, and he was just tall, dark, and hot enough to forgive easily. Considering all the eye contact, she figured he liked what he saw as well. Interesting guy, and well worth the wait.

“Come on in,” she told him. “I think you’ll like this place. I know I do.”

She held the door open for him to go first. The place was a half-decent row house on Second in Northeast, a little overpriced for the current rental market but a good fit for the right tenant. “Are you new to Washington?”

“I used to live here, and now I’m back,” he said. “I don’t really know anybody in the city anymore.”

He was doing the code thing — new in town, alone, etc. No ring on the finger either. Lisa Giametti was not an easy mark, but she knew a hungry man when she saw one, and if something happened to happen here, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

She closed the door and locked it behind them.

“It’s a great block,” she went on. “You’ve got the back of the Supreme Court Building right across the street. Not exactly a lot of loud parties over there. And then a nice little yard in the back with off-street parking.”

They came through to the kitchen, where the garage was visible outside. “I don’t have to tell you how handy that can be around here.”

“No,” he said, looking somewhere south of her eyes. “That’s a very nice pendant you’re wearing. You have good taste — in apartments and jewelry.”

This guy didn’t waste any time, did he?

“And how about the basement?” he asked next.

“Excuse me?” she said.

Tags: James Patterson Alex Cross Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net