Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

That night at home I was up long after midnight. At one particularly low point I went out to the sun porch and sat at the piano playing a pretty pathetic "Someone To Watch Over Me', thinking about Jamilla Hughes, romanticizing like hell, loving every painful second of it.

I wondered what was going to happen to the two of us. Then I remembered something Sampson had once said. Don't ever be Alex's girlfriend. It's dangerous. Unfortunately, he had been right so far.

A few minutes later, I became aware of banging on the screen door out front. I went around and found Sampson leaning against the doorjamb. He didn't look real good. Actually, he looked awful.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Thirty-Nine

He was unshaven, his clothes wrinkled, his eyes red and swollen. I had the feeling he'd been drinking. Then I opened the door and smelled liquor all over him, as if he'd taken a bath in the stuff.

“Figured you'd be up,” he slurred out a few words. “Knew you would be.”

Yeah, he'd been drinking a lot. I hadn't seen John like this in a long time, maybe ever. He didn't look real happy either.

“C'mon inside,” I said. “Cmon John.”

“Don't need to go anywhere,” he said loudly. “Don't need, any more help from you. You helped enough, man.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, and tried to guide him inside the house again.

He shook loose, his long, powerful arms flailing. “What did I say? I don't need your help!” he yelled at me. “You already fucked up enough. The great Dr. Cross! Yeah, right. Not this time. Not for Ellis Cooper.”

I took a step back away from him. “Keep your voice down. Everybody's sleeping inside. You hear me?”

“Don't tell me what the hell to do. Don't you fucking dare, ”he snarled. “You fucked up. We fucked up, but you're supposed to be so smart.”

Finally I told Sampson, “Go home and sleep it off.” I shut the door on him. But he pulled it open again, almost took the damn thing off its hinges.

“Don't walk away from me either! ”he yelled.

Then he shoved me hard. I let it go, but Sampson pushed again. That was when I lunged at him. I'd had enough of his drunken shit. The two of us tumbled down the wood steps and onto the lawn. We wrestled on the ground and then he tried to throw a punch. I blocked it. Thank God he was too messed-up to throw a straight punch.

“You fucked up, Alex. You let Cooper die!” he yelled in my face as we both struggled to our feet.

I refused to hit him, but he struck out at me again. The punch connected with my cheek. I went down as if I didn't have any legs. I sat there, stunned, my eyes glazing over.

Sampson pulled me up, and by this time he was gasping and wheezing. He tried for a headlock. Christ, he was strong. He connected with a short, hard punch to the side of my face. I went down again but struggled back up. We were both groaning. I hurt where he'd hit me on the point of my cheekbone.

He threw a roadhouse punch that missed by an inch. Then a hard blow caught my shoulder and made it ache. I warned myself to stay away from him. He had me by four inches and forty pounds. He was drunk, angry, insane as I'd ever seen him.

But he wouldn't stop coming at me. Sampson was filled with rage. I had to take him down if I could. Somehow. But how?

Finally I hit him with an uppercut to the stomach. I jabbed his cheek. Drew blood. Then I fired a short right hand into his jaw. That one had to hurt.

“Stop it! Stop it right now! Both of you, stop!”

I heard the voice ringing in my ear. “Alex! John! Stop this disgraceful behavior. Stop it, you two. Just stop it!”

Nana was pulling the two of us apart. She was wedged in between us like a small but determined referee. She'd done it before, but not since I was twelve years old.

Sampson straightened up and looked down at Nana. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I'm sorry, Nana.” He looked ashamed.

Then he stumbled away without saying a word to me.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Forty

I came down to breakfast the next morning at a little before six. Sampson was sitting there eating eggs and his personal favorite, farina. Nana Mama was across from him at the table. Just like old times.

They were talking quietly, as if sharing a deep secret that no one else should know.

“Am I interrupting?” I asked from the doorway.

“I think we have it sorted out now,” Nana said.

She motioned for me to come sit at the breakfast table. I poured coffee first, popped in four slices of whole-wheat toast, and then finally sat across from Nana and Sampson.

He had a big glass of milk propped in front of him. I couldn't help remembering back to when we were kids. Two or three mornings a week he'd show up at around this time to break bread with Nana and me. Where else could he go? His mom was a junkie. In a way, Nana had always been like a mother or grandmother to him too. He and I had been like brothers since we were ten. That's why the fight the night before was so disturbing.

“Let me talk, Nana,” he said.

She nodded and sipped her tea. I'm pretty sure why I chose psychology for a career, and who my original role model was. Nana has always been the best shrink I've seen. She's wise, and compassionate for the most part, but tough enough to insist on the truth. She also knows how to listen.

“I'm sorry, Alex. I didn't sleep last night. I feel awful about what happened. I was way over the line,” Sampson said. He was staring into my eyes, forcing himself not to look away.

Nana watched the two of us as if we were Cain and Abel sitting at her breakfast table.

“You were over the line all right,” I said. “That's for sure. You were also crazy last night. How much did you drink before you came over?”

“John told you he was sorry,” Nana said.

“Nana,” he turned to her, then back to me. “Ellis Cooper was like a brother to me. I can't get over the execution, Alex. In a way, I'm sorry I went to see it. He didn't kill those women. I thought we could save him, so it's my fault. I expected too much.”

He stopped talking.

“So did I,” I said. “I'm sorry we failed. Let me show you something. Come upstairs. This is about payback now. There's nothing left but payback.”

I brought Sampson to my office in the attic of the house. I had notes on Army murder cases pinned all over the walls. The room looked like the hideout of a madman, one of my obsessive killers. I took him to my desk.

“I've been working on these notes since I met Ellis Cooper. I found two more of these remarkable cases. One in New Jersey, the other in Arizona. The bodies were painted, John.”

I took Sampson through the cases, sharing everything. “During the past year more than sixty soldiers have been murdered.” I finished up.

“Sixty?” Sampson said, and shook his head. “Sixty murders a year?”

“Most of the violence has to do with sex and hate crimes,” I said. “Rapes and murders. Homosexuals who've been beaten or killed. A series of vicious rapes by an Army sergeant in Kosovo. He didn't think he'd get caught because there was so much rape and killing going on there anyway.”

“Were any other bodies painted?” he wanted to know.

I shook my head. “Just the two cases I found, New Jersey and Arizona. But that's enough. It's a pattern.”

“So what do we really have?” Sampson shook his head and looked at me.

"I don't know yet. It's hard to get information out of the Army. Something very nasty going on. It looks like soldiers may have been framed for murders. The first was in New Jersey, the latest seems to be Ellis Cooper. There are definite similarities, John. Murder weapons found a little too conveniently. Fingerprints and DNA used to convict.