The People vs. Alex Cross (Alex Cross 25)

“But they said—”

“I know what they’ve said,” I said, trying to keep my voice from breaking. “All I can say is it’s not true, son. Your dad is not a cold-blooded killer. It was self-defense. You have to believe me. You do believe me, don’t you?”

Ali studied my face for so long I thought I’d lost him, but then he nodded and hugged me so tight that tears welled up in my eyes and love choked my throat.

“Thank you, little buddy,” I said hoarsely. “I don’t think I can do this without you watching my back.”

CHAPTER

29

TWO HOURS LATER and sitting in my basement office, I was feeling depressed by my conversation with Ali. I suppose it’s always a blue day when your nine-year-old questions your personal and professional integrity.

I tried to get my mind off it by thinking about the things Neal Parks had told us the night before. The pimp said he’d seen a fully downloaded video from—

There was a sharp knock at the outer door to the basement. I glanced at my watch. My new client was five minutes early.

When I opened the outer door, I found a wrung-out, sandy-haired man with sad, sunken blue eyes and weathered looks that made it hard to judge his age. He was dressed in pressed jeans, a starched white shirt, and polished boat moccasins with no socks, and he wore a hammered-gold wedding ring, a Rolex watch, and a tiny gold crucifix on a chain around his neck.

“Mr. Lindel?” I said, holding out my hand.

“Alden Lindel,” he said, shaking my hand and training those sunken eyes on me. “So glad you could make time to see me, Dr. Cross.”

“Glad I could find an opening,” I said, even though he was my only appointment for the day.

I steered him toward my office. “Lindel. That’s an unusual name.”

“Not in Norway,” Lindel said.

“No, it’s just that I’ve heard it twice recently and—”

“Gretchen is my daughter, Dr. Cross,” Lindel choked out. “She goes to the same school as your son, yes?”

“Yes,” I said, seeing him new all over again. “Yes, of course she does. Ali and I and my entire family, we’ve all been praying for her safe return.”

“Thank you, Dr. Cross,” he said as his eyes reddened and he gazed toward the ground. “We need … I need …”

I’ve always found that if you ask a direct question, you get a direct answer, so I said, “How can I help, Mr. Lindel? Why are you here?”

Lindel hesitated and then looked at me while turning his palms upward. “To be honest, I’m here to see Dr. Cross the shrink because of my guilt and anxiety, and Dr. Cross the detective because of my dwindling faith in my daughter’s survival.”

I took a seat. “You do know that I’m suspended pending trial?”

“I read that,” Lindel said. “I also read that before your recent troubles, you were one of the best detectives in the country.”

“Whoever wrote that was being too kind,” I said. “And I know the FBI agents in charge of your daughter’s case. They’re top-notch.”

“When my mom bakes a cake, she says you can always use more frosting,” Lindel said. “Please say you’ll help me find Gretchen before it’s too late and …”

Tears dripped down his cheeks. “She, our daughter, our Gretchen, she’s everything to us, and now they’re torturing us with these unspeakable images.”

“I’m confused,” I said. “Who’s torturing you?”

Lindel took a tissue and wiped away his tears before reaching into his jeans pocket and coming up with a small blue flash drive in a plastic baggie.

“This was in the mailbox when I checked this morning before breakfast,” he said. “Go on, plug it in.”

CHAPTER