The People vs. Alex Cross (Alex Cross 25)

“Dark web,” Sampson said. “Encrypted. Completely out of our league.”

“Are all the videos like this?” I asked. “Blocked at the moment of crisis?”

“Yup,” Sampson said.

“Think he killed her?”

“That’s the point. You’ve got someone with a high-def GoPro camera mounted on a chest harness, wearing gloves, and carrying that knife. He turns loose the screaming woman, chases her down, and takes her right to the point of complete terror before the screen locks. You’re left hanging, wanting to see the ending.”

“And how do you do that?”

“I don’t know. There’s no promo offer anywhere on the site that I can see, but Fox found references to the site and comments about it on an open bulletin board for hackers and coders. They’re extensive, and disturbing.”

Sampson called up the hackers’ website, and it was quickly apparent there was a significant cheering section for Killingblondechicks4fun.

I want in to that site, read one comment from Lone Star Blondes Must Die. I can contribute. Help. Break some skulls, even.

Death to all blondes, read a post by Brunette Lover. Platinum damages the brain.

Scalp every one of them bitches, read another by 1889B1.

There were, according to Sampson, more than two hundred posts on the hackers’ b

oard in that vein from ninety unique posters, all callous, merciless, and hateful. Why? Because of a woman’s hair color? What the hell was that all about?

I said, “Any idea who built it? Owns it?”

“None,” Sampson said. “But don’t you know a cyberwizard at the FBI?”

“I know a cyberwitch at the FBI,” I said. “I can call her if you—”

I heard the door at the top of the basement stairs open.

“Alex?” Bree called. “Are you down there?”

Sampson shut his laptop. I got up fast and called out, “Still with a client, hon. I’ll be up soon.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought you’d be done by now.”

The door shut and clicked. I didn’t like deceiving Bree, but I didn’t want to get John in trouble on his third day back on the job, and it felt so good to be on a case with him again.

“I’m sliding out of here,” Sampson whispered, getting up.

“It’s dark out, and I’ll turn off the outside light over the stairwell.”

“It’ll be like I was never here,” he said. He stopped at the door to gaze at me. “That felt good in there—you know, natural, me and you.”

I smiled. “It did feel good. It does.”

“You’re gonna beat this, Alex. We’ll get back to the routine again.”

“Natural you and natural me,” I said, and we bumped fists. Then I opened the door and the best friend I’ve ever had slipped off into the night.

Part Two

A KILLER’S SON

CHAPTER