James PATTERSON - The Big Bad Wolf

‘It’s just the way I work.’

I had asked around about Monnie and heard the same thing everywhere: she was bright, an incredibly hard worker, woefully under-appreciated by the powers at Quantico. I’d also found out that Monnie was a single mother of two, and struggling to make ends meet. The only ‘complaint’ against her was that she worked too hard, brought stuff home just about every night and weekends.

Monnie shuffled together a thick batch of pages for me. I could tell she was obsessive by the way she evened out all the pages. They had to be just so.

‘Anything pop out at you?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘I’m just a researcher, right? More corroboration. Upscale, white women who’ve been reported missing in the last year or so. The numbers are out of whack, way too high. A lot of them are attractive blondes. Blondes do not have more fun in these instances. No particular regional skew, which I want to look into more. Geographic profiling? Sometimes it can pinpoint the exact locus of criminal activity.’

‘No obvious regional discrepancies so far. That’s too bad. Anything in terms of the victims’ appearances? Any patterns at all?’

Monnie clucked her tongue, shook her head. ‘Nothing sticks out. There are women missing in New England, the South, Far West. I’ll check into it more. The women are described as very attractive for the most part. And none of them have been found. They go missing, they stay missing.’

She looked at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. There was sadness in her eyes. I sensed that she wanted out of this cubicle.

I reached down for the pages. ‘We’re trying. I made a promise to the Connelly family.’

There was a flicker of humor in her light green eyes. ‘You keep your promises?’

‘Try,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the pages. Don’t work too hard. Go home and see your kids.’

‘You too, Alex. See your kids. You’re working too hard already.’

Nana and the kids, not to mention Rosie the cat, were lying in wait for me on the front porch when I got home that night. Their cranky body language and the sullen looks on their faces weren’t good signs. I figured I knew why everybody was so happy to see me. You always keep your promises?

‘Seven-thirty. It’s getting later and later,’ Nana said and shook her head. ‘You mentioned we might go see Drumline at the movies. Damon was excited.’

‘It’s orientation,’ I told her.

‘Exactly,’ Nana said and the frown on her face deepened. ‘Wait until the real stuff starts up. You’ll be coming home at midnight again. If at all. You have no life. You have no love life. All those women who like you, Alex – though God knows why. Let one of them catch you. Let somebody in. Before it’s too late.’

‘Maybe it’s too late already.’

‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘You’re tough,’ I said and plopped down on the porch steps next to the kids. ‘Your Nana is tough as nails. Still light out,’ I said to them. ‘Anybody want to play hoops?’

Damon frowned and shook his head. ‘Not with Jannie. No way that’s gonna happen.’

‘Not with the big superstar Damon!’ Jannie smirked. ‘Even though Diana Taurasi could kick his butt at O-U-T.’

I got up and headed inside. ‘I’ll get the ball. We’ll play O-U-T.’

When we returned from the park, Nana had already put little Alex to bed. She was back sitting on the porch. I’d brought a pint of Pralines and Cream and a pint of Oreos and Cream. We ate, then the kids wandered up to their rooms to sleep, or study, or mess around on the Internet.

‘You’re becoming hopeless, Alex,’ Nana pronounced as she sucked the last ice cream off her spoon. ‘That’s all I can say to you.’

‘You mean consistent. And dedicated. That’s getting harder to find. You like that Oreos and Cream, don’t you?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Maybe you ought to catch up with the times, son. Duty isn’t everything anymore.’

‘I’m here for the kids. And even for you, old woman.’

‘Never said you weren’t. Well, not lately anyway. How’s Jamilla?’

‘We’ve both been busy.’

Nana nodded her head, up and down, up and down, like one of those dolls that people keep on the dashboards of their automobiles. Then she pushed herself up and started to gather the ice-cream dishes the kids had left around the porch.

‘I’ll get those,’ I told her.

‘Kids should get them. They know better too.’

‘They take advantage when I’m around.’

‘Right. Because they know you feel guilty.’

‘For what?’ I asked. ‘What did I do? What am I missing here?’

‘Now that is the main question you have to answer, isn’t it? I’m going in to bed. Goodnight, Alex. I love you. And I do like Oreos and Cream.’

Then she muttered, ‘Hopeless.’

‘Am not,’ I said to her back.

‘Are too,’ she spoke without turning. She always gets the last word.

I eventually moseyed up to my office in the attic and made a phone call I’d been dreading. But I’d made a promise.

The phone rang and then I heard a man’s voice say, ‘ Brendan Connelly .’

‘Hello, Judge Connelly, this is Alex Cross,’ I said. I heard him sigh, but he said nothing, so I continued. ‘I don’t have any specific good news about Mrs Connelly yet. We have over fifty agents active in the Atlanta area, though. I’m calling because I told you I’d keep in touch and to reassure you that we’re working.’

Because I made a promise .

Something about the abductions wasn’t tracking for me. The early kidnappings had been committed carefully, then suddenly the abductors began to get sloppy. The pattern was inconsistent. Why? What did it mean? What had changed about the abductions? If I could figure that out, we might have a break.

The next morning, I got to Quantico about five minutes before the Director touched down in a big, black Bell helicopter. The news that Burns was on the grounds circulated quickly. Maybe Monnie Donnelley was right about one thing, this was the Information Age, even inside the Bureau, even at Quantico.

Burns had ordered an emergency meeting, and I was informed that I was to come. Maybe I was back on the case? The Director acknowledged a couple of agents when he entered the conference room in the Admin. Building. His eyes never made contact with mine, and, once again, I wondered what he was doing here. Did he have news for us? What kind of news would warrant a visit from him?

He sat in the first row as the Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief, Dr Bill Thompson, walked to the front of the room. It was becoming clear that Burns was here as an observer. But why? What did he want to observe?

An administrative assistant to Dr Thompson passed out stapled documents. At the same time, the first slide of a PowerPoint presentation was projected on a wall screen. ‘There’s been another kidnapping,’ Thompson announced to the group. ‘It occurred Thursday night in Newport, Rhode Island. There’s been a sea change here. The victim was a male . To our knowledge, he’s the first male that they’ve taken.’

Dr Thompson gave us the details, which were also projected on the wall screen. An honor student at Providence College, Benjamin Coffey, had been abducted from a bar called The Halyard in Newport. It appeared that the abductors were both males.

A team .

And they had been spotted again .

‘Anyone?’ asked Thompson once he had given us the basics. ‘Reactions? Comments? Don’t be shy. We need input. We’re nowhere on this.’