James PATTERSON - The Big Bad Wolf

He had been there at Sterling’s office building in Dallas when the FBI team rushed inside. More than a dozen of them came calling. A strange assemblage to be sure: some dressed in dark business suits, others in dark blue windbreakers with FBI boldly imprinted on the back. Who did they really expect to find here? The Wolf? Others from the Wolf’s Den?

They had no concept of what they were getting themselves into. Their dark sedans and vans were parked in plain view on the street. Less than fifteen minutes after they had entered the office building, they came out with Lawrence Lipton in handcuffs, pathetically trying to shield his face. What a scene. They wanted to make a show of this, didn’t they? Why do that? he wondered. To prove how tough they were? How smart? But they weren’t smart. I will show you how tough and smart you need to be. I will show you how lacking you are in every way.

He instructed his driver to start the car. The wheelman did not look around at his boss in the backseat. He said nothing. He knew not to question orders. The Wolf’s ways were strange and unorthodox, but they worked.

‘Drive past them,’ he ordered. ‘I want to say hello.’

The FBI agents were casting nervous looks around the street as they led Lawrence Lipton toward a waiting van. A black man walked beside Sterling. Tall and strangely confident. Pasha Sorokin knew from his informant in the Bureau that this was Alex Cross, and that he was held in high regard.

How was it possible that a black man was given command of the raid? he wondered. In Russia, the American negro was looked down upon. The Wolf had never gotten past his own prejudice; there was no reason to in the US.

‘Get me close!’ he told the driver. He lowered the rear-passenger side window. The second Cross and Lipton had passed his car Sorokin thrust out an automatic weapon, and aimed it at the back of Sterling’s head. Then, an amazing thing – something he hadn’t anticipated – happened.

Alex Cross threw Lipton down on to the pavement, and they both rolled behind a parked car. How had Cross known? What had he seen to alert him?

The Wolf fired anyway, but he didn’t really have a clear shot. Still, the gunshot rang out loudly. He had delivered a message. Sterling wasn’t safe. Sterling was a dead man.

We transported Lawrence Lipton to the Dallas field office and were holding him there. I threatened to transfer him to Washington if there was any interference from the local police or even the press. I struck a deal with them. I promised Dallas detectives they’d have their turn with Lipton. As soon as I was done.

At eleven o’clock that night I slumped into a windowless interview room. It was sterile and claustrophobic, and I felt as if I’d been there a couple of hundred times before. I nodded to Lawrence Lipton. He didn’t respond; he looked just awful. Probably I did too.

‘We can help you, your family. We’ll keep them safe. Nobody else can help you now,’ I said. ‘That’s the truth.’

Lipton finally spoke to me. ‘I don’t want to talk to you again. I already told you, I’m not involved in any of the shit you say I am. I’m not going to talk any more. Get my lawyer.’ He waved me away.

For the past seven hours he’d been questioned by FBI agents and Dallas detectives. This was my third session, and it wasn’t getting easier. His lawyers were in the building, but they’d backed off. They had been informed that he could be formally charged with kidnapping and conspiracy to commit murder and immediately transported to Washington. His father was also in the building but had been denied access to his son. I’d interviewed Henry Lipton, and he’d wept and insisted his son’s arrest was a mistake.

I sat down across from him. ‘Your father is in the building. Would you like to see him?’ I asked.

He laughed. ‘Sure. All I have to do is admit that I’m a kidnapper and murderer. Then I can see my father and ask his forgiveness for my sins.’

I ignored the sarcasm. He wasn’t very good at it. ‘You know we can confiscate the records of your father’s company, shut it down? Also, your father is a likely target for the Wolf. We’re not here to hurt your family members,’ I added. ‘Not unless your father is involved in this too.’

He shook his head, kept his eyes lowered. ‘My father has never been in trouble.’

‘That’s what I keep hearing,’ I said. ‘I’ve read a lot about you and your family in the past day or so. Gone all the way back to your schooldays at Texas. You were involved in a couple of scrapes in Austin. Two date rapes. Neither case went to trial. Your father saved you then. It won’t happen this time.’

Lawrence Lipton didn’t respond. His eyes were dead, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His blue dress shirt was as wrinkled as a used Kleenex tissue, soaked with perspiration at the underarms. His hair was wet, dripping little rivers of moisture down to his shirt collar and sideburns. The skin under his eyes sagged and had a purplish tint in the harsh, interrogation-room light.

He finally said, ‘I don’t want my family hurt. Leave my father out of this. Get him protection.’

I nodded. ‘Okay, Lawrence. Where do we start? I’m ready to put your family in protective custody until we catch him.’

‘And afterward?’ he asked. ‘It doesn’t stop with them.’

‘We’ll protect your family.’

Lipton sighed loudly, then said, ‘All right, I’m the moneyman. I’m Sterling. I might be able to get you to the Wolf. But I need the promises in writing. Lots of promises.’

I was heading into the deepest darkness again, attracted to it as most people are attracted to sunlight. I kept thinking about Elizabeth Connelly, still missing, and feared dead.

Lipton’s father visited a couple of times and the two men wept together. Mrs Lipton was allowed to see her husband. There was a lot of crying among the family members and most of the emotions seemed genuine.

I was in the interrogation room with Sterling until a little past three in the morning. I was prepared to stay later, as long as it took to get the information I needed. Several deals were struck with his lawyers during the night.

At around two, with most of the lawyering done, Lipton and I sat down to talk again. Two senior agents from the Dallas field office were in the room with us. They were only there to take notes and tape-record.

This was my interview to conduct.

‘How did you get involved with the Wolf?’ I asked Lawrence Lipton after a few minutes in which I emphasized my concern for his family. He seemed more clear-headed and more focused than he’d been a few hours before. I sensed that a weight had been lifted from him. Guilt, betrayal of his family – especially his father? His school records revealed he was a bright, but troubled, student. His problems always centered on an obsession with sex, but he’d never received a day of treatment. Lawrence Lipton was a freak.

‘How did I get involved?’ he said, seeming to be asking the question of himself. ‘I have a thing for young girls, you see. Teens, pre-teens. There’s lots of it available these days. The Internet opened new sources.’

‘For what? Be as concrete as you can, Lawrence.’

He shrugged. ‘For freaks like myself. Suddenly we can get what we want, when we want it. And I know how to search for the nastiest sites. At first I settled for photos and movies. I especially liked real-time films.’

‘We found some. In your office at home.’

‘One day a man came to see me. He came to the office, just like you did.’

‘To blackmail you?’ I asked.

Lipton shook his head. ‘No, not blackmail. He said he wanted to know what I really wanted. Sexually. And then he would help me get it. I threw him out. He came back the next day. He had records of everything I’d bought on the Internet. “So what do you really want?” he asked again. I wanted young girls. Pretty ones, with no strings attached, no rules. He supplied me two or three a month. Exactly what I fantasized. Color of hair, shape of breasts, shoe size, freckles, anything I desired.’