Alex Cross, Run (Alex Cross 20)
“They’re just little gifts from God, aren’t they?” Mrs. Patten said. “How old?”
“She’s three weeks today,” Guidice said. “And yes, they really are. I fell in love the second I laid eyes on her.”
That much was true. Mrs. Patten smiled, the way women always did when men showed even a hint of softness. Like he’d just done her some kind of favor.
“Would you like to see the back?” she asked.
“Please.”
He followed her into a large eat-in kitchen, with a picture window over the formica table. Outside there was a wooden swing set at the back of the overgrown yard. It didn’t look fit to use, but he could fix it up. Beyond that, Guidice could see a horse paddock through the trees. Half a dozen brown mares were munching on the spring grass.
Emma Lee was going to love it here. They all were, even Lydia, once she got used to it.
“I hope you don’t mind vintage,” Mrs. Patten said, “if that’s what you call all this. Mr. Schiavo seemed to have stopped shopping quite a while ago.”
“It’s fine.”
“A pity, really, how he died so suddenly. But I think he’d be happy to know there was a young family moving in. What do you do, Mr. Henderson?”
“I’m a journalist,” Guidice said. “But I’m looking to take some time off.”
Like Grace, he had a new name here, too. He’d used pseudonyms before, never as a byline, but sometimes to cover his tracks when he was chasing down a story. Paul Henderson was the one he’d used the most often, and the one for which he had passable identification, including a rarely used credit card. It was enough to secure the house, in any case.
“How about your wife?” the rental agent asked brightly. “Will she be staying home as well?”
“My wife isn’t with us anymore,” Guidice said. “We lost her on the night Grace was born.”
Mrs. Patten stopped and put a hand to her mouth, covering the little O that had just formed there. “Oh my lord. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Of course,” Guidice said. “I’m just looking for somewhere quiet where my mother, my daughters, and I can put our lives back together in private.”
She looked like she might actually cry. Guidice hoped not.
“How old is your other daughter?” she asked.
“Emma Lee’s four and a half. She misses her mama, but she’s very excited about being a big sister.”
“And you have your mother as well. That’s a blessing. I’m sure she’s wonderful with the gi
rls.”
“Yes,” Guidice said. He glanced down at the soft little angel curls on the top of his daughter’s head. “Because there’s nothing more important than family. Isn’t that right, Grace?”
CHAPTER
45
LOCK SEVEN ON THE CHESAPEAKE AND OHIO CANAL IS ORDINARILY A LITTLE recreational area just off the Clara Barton Parkway. Today, it had a yellow tape fence around the entrance. Later on, this quiet spot was going to be all over the news.
Our latest victim had been found just before noon. His body was entangled in the old drop gate mechanism of what used to be an operating lock. The original purpose of the canal was to run material goods over a 184-mile stretch between Georgetown and Cumberland Park, Maryland. Now, it was mostly something to run, bike, or walk along, though very few people got this far up the tow path anymore. My guess was that the killer didn’t expect the body to be discovered so soon.
The Montgomery County detective assigned to the case was an older guy I knew and liked, Bob Semillon. He met Jacobs and me in the parking lot and walked us down through the woods.
“Our ME’s already gone, but I assumed you’d want one of your folks to take a look,” Bob said. “It all sounds like the same character you’ve been dealing with down there in the city. Pretty awful stuff.”
That was one way of putting it.
All indications were that the murder itself had taken place up here on the trail. A dark patch of dried blood in the dirt had been found about halfway down the hill, and there were some pretty clear drag marks between that spot and the canal.