Patterson, James - Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

of course. You and Nana and those sweet children."

“Does Luu know anything?”I asked.

“Oh, absolutely. He's very well read. Speaks three languages fluently. I like Luu very much. We're dear friends. I also like Ted Kaczynski; Yu Kikimura, the Japanese terrorist; and Ramon Matta, formerly with the Medellin cartel. Interesting inmates, fascinating lives, though more conservative than I would have expected. Not Ted, but the others.”

I'd had enough. Of Kyle Craig. Luu. Florence.

“I'm going,” I said. I started to walk away.

“You'll be back,” Kyle whispered. “Or maybe I'll come and visit you next time. At any rate, best of luck with your fascinating murder case.”

I turned back. “You'll be in here for the rest of your life. Not too long, I hope.”

Kyle Craig laughed heartily. More than ever, he gave me the creeps.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Seventy-Four

As John Sampson drove into Bay Head, New Jersey, he felt his spirits rise dramatically, and the very pleasant sensation inside made him smile to himself. He was doing a lot of that lately. Hell, he was going to ruin his tough guy image if he kept this shit up much longer.

He drove along Route 35, past sprawling beach houses, Central Market, and a couple of picturesque, whitewashed churches. This part of the Jersey shore was quiet and undeniably pretty. He couldn't help but appreciate the serenity and the well-preserved beauty. A slight breeze from the ocean blew through the open windows of his Cougar. Geraniums and rose hips bloomed along the side of the road, obviously planted by the village itself.

What was not to like? He was glad to be here again.

Long ways from DC, he found himself thinking. And it's not all bad. For a change of pace anyway. For a break from all the murders.

During the drive up from DC, Sampson had tried to convince himself that this excursion to the Jersey shore was all about Ellis Cooper and the other murders, but that wasn't the whole truth. Coop was definitely a big part of it, but this was also about Billie Houston.

He thought about her all the time. What was it about that wisp of a woman?

Actually, he knew at least part of the answer. From the moment he'd met her, he was completely comfortable. She was the female friend he'd been hoping to meet for a long time. It was hard to describe the feeling, but he knew he'd never had it before. He felt that he could tell Billie things about himself that he'd held inside for a long time. He trusted her already. When he was with her he could come outside of himself, leave the castle he had constructed to guard the person he really was from being hurt.

On the other hand, John Sampson had never had a successful long-range relationship with any woman. Never been married, not even seriously tempted. So he wasn't going to delude himself, or get too soppy and sentimental about Billie. He had good reasons to be here in Jersey. A few more questions had to be asked about her husband's time in Vietnam. He and Alex had learned things from Owen Handler that needed filling in. He was going to solve these murder cases. Somehow, some way.

Well, hell, that cynical little introspection had sure dampened his spirits, and any burgeoning romance in his soul.

Then he happened to see her up ahead on East Avenue.

Yep, it was her!

Billie was climbing out of her light green convertible with an armful of groceries. He'd called ahead and said he might be coming.

Now who had she been shopping for? Did she expect him to stay for dinner? Oh brother, he needed to calm himself down. Slow down. You're on the job, that's all. This is just police business.

Then Billie saw his car and waved her free arm, and he found himself leaning out of the window of the Cougar, calling up the street. “Hey there, little one. ”Hey there, little one?

What the hell had happened to smooth and cool and detached John Sampson? What was happening to him?

And why did he feel so good about it?

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Seventy-Five

Billie understood that she and John Sampson needed to talk about her husband and his murder. That was why he'd come back, probably the only reason. She made a pitcher of sweetened iced tea, and they went out to the ocean side porch. Might as well be comfortable. Try not to make an ass out of herself.

“Another perfect day in paradise,” he said, and smiled brilliantly. Billie couldn't keep herself from staring a little at the policeman. He was strong and good-looking and his smile was dazzling whenever it came. She had the sense that he didn't smile enough, and wondered why that was. What had happened to him growing up in Washington? And then living and working there? She wanted to know everything about him, and that natural curiosity was something that had been missing since Laurence had died.

Don't make this into something it isn't, she reminded herself. He's a policeman on a murder case. That's all this is. You just have a silly crush on him.

“Average day in paradise,” she laughed. Then she got a little more serious. “You wanted to talk some more about Laurence. Something else happened, didn't it? That's why you're back here.”

“No, I came to see you.” There was that amazing smile of his again.

Billie took a little swing at the air with her hand. “Sure you did. Anyway your murder case?”

He told her about the recent deaths of Robert and Barbara Bennett in West Point, and then the shooting of Colonel Owen Handler. He shared his and Alex's theory that three men might be responsible for at least some of the murders. “Everything seems to point back to Vietnam. Something incredible happened, something so bad that it's probably the root cause of all these murders in the present. Your husband may have been involved in some way. Maybe he didn't even know it, Billie.”

“He didn't like to talk about his experiences over there.” She repeated what she'd told him during his first visit. “I always respected that. But then something strange happened. Several years ago, he brought home books about the war. Rumors Of War was one that I remember. He rented the movie Platoon, which he'd always insisted he wouldn't watch. He still didn't want to talk about the war, though. Not to me anyway.”

Billie sat back in the navy blue wicker rocker she'd chosen. She stared out at the ocean. Several gulls floated over the tall dunes. Picture pretty. Miles away, she could see the blurred outline of an ocean liner on the horizon.

"He always drank, but during those last years, he drank much more. Hard liquor, wine. He wasn't ever abusive, but I felt he was drifting farther and farther away.

"One night around dusk he took off down the beach with his fishing pole and a pail for anything he might catch. It was early September, and the bluefish were running. He could have caught them with his pail.

"I waited for him to come back, but he didn't. Finally, I went out looking for him. Most of these houses on the beach empty out after Labor Day. That's the way it is here. I walked south a mile or so. I was getting a little scared.

"I had brought a flashlight, and as I headed back, I turned it on and worked my way up closer to the dunes and the deserted beach houses. That was where I found him.

"Laurence was laying in the sand beside his fishing pole and the bait bucket. He'd finished off a pint of whiskey. Looked like a street bum who'd lost his way and wound up sleeping it off on the beach.

“I lay down beside him and held him in my arms. I asked him to please tell me why he was so sad. He couldn't. It broke my heart that he couldn't tell me. All he said was that ”you can't outrun your past“. It looks like he was right.”