Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

“What are you up to, Alex?” I heard the familiar scuff of her slippers. I turned and saw her standing there, hands on hips, ready for battle, or whatever.

“I don't know. The ghost of breakfast past? How are you feeling, old woman?” I said. “Talk to me. You okay?”

She winked and nodded her tiny head. “I'm just fine. How 'bout yourself? You okay? You look tired. Hard work taking care of this house, isn't it?” she said, then cackled, and liked the sound of it so much that she cackled again.

I went across the kitchen and picked her up in my arms. She was so light under a hundred pounds. “Put me down!” she said. “Gently, Alex. I might break.”

“So tell me about yesterday. You going to make an appointment at Dr. Rodman's? Of course you are.”

“I must have needed a little extra sleep, that's all it was. It happens to the best of us. I listened to my body. Do you?”

“Yes I do,” I said. “I'm listening to it now and it's voicing some serious concerns about you. Will you make an appointment with John Rodman, or do I have to make it for you?”

“Put me down, Alex. I'm already seeing the doctor later this week. Regular visit, no big thing. Now. How do you want your eggs this morning?”

As if to show me how fine she was, Nana said that I should go back to Fort Bragg with Sampson and finish up my business there. She insisted. I did need to go to Bragg at least once more, but not before I got Aunt Tia to come and stay with Nana and the kids. Only after I was sure that everything was under control did I set out for North Carolina.

On the ride I told Sampson what had happened with Nana, and also gave a blow by blow of my day with the kids.

“She's eighty-two, Alex,” he said, but then added, “She'll probably only be with us for another twenty years or so.” We both laughed, but I could tell John was worried about Nana, too. By his own admission, she's been like a mother to him.

Finally we arrived at Fayetteville, North Carolina, around five in the afternoon. We had to see a woman about an alibi that could maybe save Sergeant Cooper.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Four

We drove to the Bragg Boulevard Estates, less than half a mile from Fort Bragg. The jets were still flying non-stop overhead and the artillery kept pounding away.

Just about everyone at Boulevard Estates worked on the base and lived in what is known as Basic Allowance Housing. BAH is based on rank and pay grade, the size and quality of the residence improving dramatically with rank. Most of the places we saw were small ranch houses. Several of them looked like they needed serious maintenance work. I had read somewhere that over sixty percent of the current Army was married and had children. It looked like that statistic was about right.

Sampson and I walked up to one of the brick ranch houses, and I knocked on the battered and bent aluminum front door. A woman in a black silk kimono appeared. She was heavy-set, attractive. I already knew that her name was Tori Sanders. Behind her, I could see four small children checking out who was at the door.

“Yes? What is it?” she asked. “We're busy. It's feeding time at the zoo.”

“I'm Detective Cross and this is Detective Sampson,” I told her. “Captain Jacobs told us you're a friend of Ellis Cooper's.”

She didn't respond. Didn't even blink.

“Mrs. Sanders, you called me at my hotel about a week ago. I figured your house had to be within walking distance of the base if Sergeant Cooper stopped here on the night of the murder. I did a little checking. Found out he was here that night. Can we come in? You don't want us standing out here where all your neighbors can see.”

Tori Sanders decided to let us in. She opened the door and ushered us into a small dining area. Then she shooed her kids away.

“I don't know why you're here, or what you're talking about,” she said. Her arms were crossed tightly in front of her body. She was probably in her late thirties.

“We have other options. I'll tell you what we can do, Mrs. Sanders,” Sampson spoke up. “We can go out and ask around the neighborhood about you and Sergeant Cooper. We can also involve CID. Or you can answer our questions here in the privacy of your home. You do understand that Cooper is going to be executed in a few days?”

“God damn you. Both of you!” she suddenly raised her voice. “You got this all wrong. As usual, the police have it wrong.”

“Why don't you straighten us out then,” Sampson said,

softening his tone some. “We're here to listen. That's the truth, Mrs. Sanders.”

“You want to be straightened out, well then here it is. You want it real? I did call you, Detective Cross. That was me. Now here's what I didn't say on the phone. I wasn't cheating on my husband with Sergeant Cooper. My husband asked me to make the call. He's a friend of Ellis's. He happens to believe the man is innocent. So do I. But we have no proof, no evidence that he didn't commit those murders. Ellis was here that night. But it was before he went drinking, and he came to see my husband, not me.”

I took in what she had said, and I believed her. It was hard not to. “Did Sergeant Cooper know you were going to call me?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. You'll have to ask Ellis about that. We were just trying to do the right thing for him. You should do the same. The man is on death row, and he's innocent as you or I. He's innocent. Now let me feed my babies.”

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Five

We were getting nowhere fast and it was frustrating as hell for both of us, but especially Sampson. The clock was ticking so loud for Ellis Cooper I could hear it just about every minute of the day.

Around nine that night, John and I had dinner at a popular local spot called the Misfits Pub, out in the Strickland Bridge shopping center. Supposedly, a lot of non-com personnel from Fort Bragg stopped in there. We were still nosing around for any information we could get.

“The more we know, the less we seem to know.” Sampson shook his head and sipped his drink. “Something's definitely not right here at Bragg. And I know what you're going to say, Alex. Maybe Cooper is the heart of the problem. Especially if he put the Sanders up to calling you.”

I nursed my drink and looked around the pub. A bar dominated the room, which was crowded, loud and smoky. The music alternated between country and soul. “Doesn't prove he's guilty. Just that he's desperate. It's hard to blame Cooper for trying anything he can,” I finally said. “He's on death row.”

“He's not stupid, Alex. He's capable of stirring the pot to get our attention. Or somebody else's.”

“But he's not capable of murder?”

Sampson stared into my eyes. I could tell he was getting angry. “No, he's not a murderer. I know him, Alex. Just like I know you.”

“Did Cooper kill in combat?” I asked.

Sampson shook his head. “That was war. A lot of our people got killed too. You know what it's like. You've killed men, ”he said. “Doesn't make you a murderer, does it?”

“I don't know, does it?”

I couldn't help overhearing a man and woman who were sitting next to us at the bar. “Police found Vanessa in the woods near 1-95. Only disappeared last night. Now she's dead, she's gone. Some freaks did her with a hunting knife. Probably Army trash,” the woman was saying. She had a thick Southern accent, and sounded angry, but also frightened.

I turned and saw a florid-faced, redheaded woman in a bright blue halter top and white slacks. “Sorry, I couldn't help over-hearing. What happened?” I asked. “Somebody was murdered outside town?”