Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

I grew up with have been torn down.

Town houses are going up which look very Capitol Hill to me. There's also a flashy new gym called Results. Some houses sport hexagonal blue ADT security signs courtesy of the huge Tyco Corporation. Certain streets are becoming gentrified. But the drug dealers are still around, especially as you travel toward the Anacostia.

If you could put on HG Wells time machine glasses, you would see that the original city planners had some good ideas. Every couple of blocks there is a park with clearly delineated paths and patches of grass. Some day the parks will be reclaimed by the people, not just the drug dealers. Or so I like to think.

A Washington Post article the other day proclaimed that some people in the neighborhood actually protect the dealers. Well, some people think the dealers do more good things for the community than the politicians like throwing block parties and giving kids ice-cream money on hot summer days.

I've been here since I was ten and we'll probably stay in Southeast. I love the old neighborhood not just the memories, but the promise of things that could still happen here.

When I got home from my run the kitchen lights still weren't on. An alarm was sounding inside my head.

Pretty loud, too.

I went down the narrow hallway from the kitchen to check on Nana.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Two

I edged open the door and saw her lying in bed, so I quietly moved into the room. Rosie the cat was perched on the windowsill. She meowed softly. Some watch-cat.

I let my eyes roam. Saw a familiar framed poster depicting jazz musicians by Romare Bearden; it's called "Wrapping it up at the Lafayette'.

On top of her armoire were dozens of hat boxes. Nana's collection of hats for special occasions would be the envy of any milliner.

I realized I couldn't hear Nana's breathing.

My body tensed and suddenly there was a loud roaring sound inside my head. She hadn't gotten up to make breakfast only a handful of times since I was a kid. I felt the fears of a child as I stood perfectly still in her room.

Oh God, no. Don't let this happen.

When I got close to her bed, I heard shallow breaths. Then her eyes popped open.

“Alex?” she whispered. “What's happening? Why are you in here? What time is it?”

“Hi there, sweetheart. You okay?”I asked.

“I'm just kind of tired. Feeling a little under the weather this morning.” She squinted her eyes to look at the old Westclox on her night table. “Seven? Oh my. Half the morning's gone.”

“You want a little breakfast? How about breakfast in bed this morning? I'm buying,” I said.

She sighed. “I think I'll just sleep in a little longer, Alex. You mind? Can you get the kids ready for school?”

“Sure. Are you positive you're okay?”

“I'll see you later. I'm fine. Just a little tired this morning. Get the children up, Alex.” Rosie was trying to get in bed with Nana, but she wasn't having any of it. “Scat, cat,” she whispered.

I got the three kids up, or so I thought, but then I had to rouse Jannie and Damon a second time. I put out their favorite cereals, some fruit, and then I made scrambled eggs overdoing it a little to compensate for Nana's not being there. I warmed Alex's milk then fixed his breakfast and spoon-fed it to him.

The kids marched off to school and I cleaned up after they were gone. I changed Alex's diapers for the second time that morning, and put him in a fresh onesie covered with fire trucks. He was liking this extra attention, seemed to think it was funny.

“Don't get used to this, little buddy,” I told him.

I checked on Nana, and she was still resting. She was fast asleep, actually. I listened to her breathing for a couple of minutes. She seemed all right.

Her bedroom was so peaceful, but not old lady rosy.

There was a fuzzy, very colorful orange and purple rug at the foot of the bed. She said it gave her happy feet.

I took little Alex upstairs to my room, where I hoped to get some work done that morning. I called a friend at the Pentagon. His name's Kevin Cassidy. We had worked a murder case together a few years back.

I told him about the situation at Fort Bragg, and how little time Sergeant Cooper had on death row. Kevin listened, then cautioned me to be extremely careful. “There are a lot of good folks in the Army, Alex. Good people, well intentioned, honorable as hell. But we like to clean up our own mess. Outsiders aren't usually welcome. You hear what I'm saying?”

“Ellis Cooper didn't commit those murders,” I told him. “I'm almost certain of it. But I'll take your advice to heart. We're running out of time, Kevin.”

“I'll check into it for you,” he said. “Let me do it, Alex.”

After I got off the phone with the Pentagon, I called Ron Burns at the FBI. I told him about the developing situation at Fort Bragg. The director and I had gotten fairly close during the troubles with Kyle Craig. Craig was a former senior agent I'd helped put away. I still didn't know exactly how many murders he had committed but it was at least eleven, probably much more than that. Burns and I had believed Kyle was our friend. It was the worst betrayal in my lifetime, but not the only one.

Burns wanted to get me over to the Bureau and I was thinking about it.

“You know how territorial local cops can be,” he said.

“The Army is even worse, especially when it comes to a homicide.”

“Even if one of their own is innocent and wrongly accused? Even if he's about to be executed? I thought they didn't leave their own out there to die.”

“If they believed that, Alex, the case would have never gone to trial. If I can help, I will. Let me know. I don't make offers that I don't keep.”

“I appreciate it,”I said.

After I got off the phone, I brought little Alex downstairs for some more milk. I was becoming faintly aware of just how much work was involved every day, every hour of every day, at the house. I hadn't even done any cleaning or straightening up yet.

I decided to check on Nana again.

Gently I opened the door. I couldn't hear anything.

I moved closer to the bed.

Finally, I could hear the sound of her breathing. I stood stock-still in her bedroom and, for the first time that I could remember, I worried about Nana.

She was never sick.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nana finally got up around noon. She shuffled into the kitchen holding a thick new book, The Bondswoman's Narrative. I had a hot lunch ready for her and the baby.

She didn't want to talk about how she was feeling and didn't eat much, just a few spoonfuls of vegetable soup. I tried to get her over to Dr. Rodman's, but she wasn't having any of it. She did let me cook the meals for the rest of the day, and take care of the kids, and clean the house from top to bottom per her explicit instructions.

The next morning I was up before Nana for the second day in a row. It was unheard of in all our years together.

While I waited for her to come to the kitchen, I took in the familiar sights. Paid attention, that is.

The room is dominated by her old Caloric gas stove. It has four burners and a large space she uses to hold goods cooked earlier or cooling. There are two ovens side by side. A large black skillet sits on top of the stove at all times. The refrigerator is also an older model that Nana refuses to give up for a newer one. It's always covered with notes and schedules about our life together: Damon's choir and basketball schedules; Jannie's 'whatever' schedule; emergency phone numbers for Sampson and me; an appointment card for little Alex's next pediatrician checkup; a Post-it on which she has written her latest sage advice: You will never stumble while on your knees.