Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

“Girl who comes in here sometimes. Vanessa. Somebody cut her up,” the redhead said, and shook her head back and forth. The man she was with wore a black silk shirt, cowboy hat, and looked like a failed country and western singer. He didn't like it that the woman was talking to me.

“My name is Cross. I'm a homicide detective from Washington. My partner and I are working a case down here.”

The woman's head shot back. “I don't talk to cops,” she said, and turned away. “Mind your own business.”

I looked at Sampson, then spoke in a lowered voice. “If it's the same killer, he's not being too careful.”

“Or the same three killers,” he said.

Someone elbowed me hard in the back. I whirled around and saw a heavy-set, well-muscled blond man in a checkered sport shirt and khakis. He had a 'high and tight'. Definitely military.

“Time you two got the hell out of Dodge,” he said. Two other men stood behind him. Three of them. They were dressed in civilian clothes, but they sure looked like Army. Time you stopped causing trouble. You hear me?"

“We're talking here. Don't interrupt us again,” Sampson said. “You hear me?”

“You're a big load, aren't you? Think you're a real tough guy?” the front man asked.

Sampson broke into a slow smile that I'd seen before. “Yeah, I do. He's a tough guy, too.”

The muscular blond tried to shove Sampson off his stool. John didn't budge. One of the blond's buddies came at me. I moved quickly and he swung and missed. I hit him hard in the gut and he went down on all fours.

Suddenly, all three men were on us. “Your asshole friend's a killer!” the blond yelled. “He killed women!”

Sampson hit him on the chin and he sunk down on one knee. Unfortunately, these guys didn't stay down once they were hit. Another bruiser joined in and that made four against two.

A shrill whistle sounded inside the bar. I whirled around and looked toward the door. The military police had arrived. So had a couple of eager-looking deputies from the Fayetteville police. They all had batons at the ready. I wondered how they'd gotten here so fast.

They waded in and arrested everybody involved in the bar fight, including Sampson and me. They weren't interested in who'd started it. Our heads bowed, we were escorted out in handcuffs to a black-and-white and shoved down into the squad car.

“First time for everything,” Sampson said.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Six

We didn't need this crap not now, especially. We were taken out to the Cumberland County Jail in a small, blue bus that sat ten. Apparently there were only a couple of cells at the jail in Fayetteville. At no time were we offered any professional courtesy because we were homicide detectives from Washington, who just happened to be working on behalf of Sergeant Ellis Cooper.

In case you're ever looking for it, the booking facility at the County Jail is located in the basement. It took about half an hour for the local police to do our paperwork, fingerprints, and take our photographs. We were given a cold shower, then 'put in the pumpkin patch'. That was the guards' clever way of describing the orange jumpsuit and slippers prisoners were made to wear.

I asked what had happened to the four soldiers who'd attacked us and was told it was none of my goddamn business, but that they'd been' transported to the stockade at Bragg7.

Sampson and I were put in a misdemeanor block in a dormitory cell, which was also in the basement. It was built for maybe a dozen prisoners, but there were close to twenty of us crowded in there that night. None of the prisoners were white and I wondered if the jail had other holding cells, and if they were segregated, too.

Some of the men seemed to know each other from previous nights they had spent here. It was a civil enough group. Nobody wanted to mess with Sampson, or even me. A guard walked by on checks twice an hour. I knew the basic drill. The prisoners were in charge the other fifty-eight minutes an hour.

“Cigarette?” a guy to my right asked. He was sitting on the floor with his back against a pitted concrete wall.

“Don't smoke,” I said to him.

“You're the detective, right?” he asked after a couple of minutes.

I nodded and looked at him more closely. I didn't think I'd met him, but it was a small town. We had shown our faces around. By this time a lot of people in Fayetteville knew who we were.

“Strange shit going down,” the man said. He took out a pack of Camels. Grinned. Tapped one out. Today's Army, man. “An army of one.” What kind of bullshit is that?"

“You Army?”I asked,“ I thought they took you guys to the stockade at Fort Bragg.”

He smiled at me. “Ain't no stockade at Bragg, man. Tell you something else. I was in here when they brought. Sergeant Cooper in. He was nuts that night. They printed him down here, then took him upstairs. Man was a psycho killer for sure that night.”

I just listened. I was trying to figure out who the man was, and why he was talking to me about Ellis Cooper.

“I'm going to tell you something for your own good. Everybody around here knows he did those women. He was a well-known freak.”

The man blew out concentrated rings of smoke, then he pushed himself off the floor and shuffled away. I wondered what in hell was going on. Had somebody arranged the fight at the bar? The whole thing tonight? Who was the guy who had come over to talk to me? To give me advice for my own good?

A short while later, a guard came and took him away. He glanced my way as he was leaving. Then Sampson and I got to spend the night in the crowded, foul-smelling holding cell. We took turns sleeping.

In the morning, I heard someone call our names.

“Cross. Sampson.” One of the guards had opened the door to the holding cell. He was trying to wave away the stink. “Cross. Sampson.”

Sampson and I pushed ourselves stiffly up off the floor. “Right here. Where you left us last night,” I said.

We were led back upstairs and taken to the front lobby, where we got the day's very first surprise. Captain Jacobs from CID was waiting there. “You all sleep well? ”he asked.

“That was a setup,” I said to him. “The fight, the arrest. Did you know about it beforehand?”

“You can go now,” he said. That's what you should do. Get your stuff and go home, Detectives. Do yourselves a big favor while you still can. You're wasting time on a dead man's errands."

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The awful strangeness and frustration continued the day I got back to Washington. If anything, it got even worse. An e-mail was waiting for me in my office at home. The message was from someone who identified himself as Toot Soldier'. Everything about it was troubling and impossible for me to comprehend at this point.

It began: For Detective Alex Cross,

Your general interest: The Pentagon is currently taking steps to prevent some of the more than one thousand deaths each year in the 'peacetime Army'. The deaths come from car crashes, suicides and murders. In each of the past three years, at least eighty Army soldiers have been murdered.

Specifics to think about, Detective: An Army pilot named Thomas Hoff stationed at Fort Drum near Watertown, New York, was convicted of the slaying of a homosexual enlisted man on post. The convicted man claimed his innocence right up until the moment of his execution. In his defense, Hoff wasn't actually stationed at Drum until three months after the murder was committed. He had visited a friend at Hood prior to the murder, however. His prints were found at the murder scene. Hoffs service record was clean before his conviction for murder. He had been a 'model soldier' until the supposed murder.