Patterson, James - Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel

NOW, AS TO YOUR QUESTION ABOUT THE FOUR HORSEMEN. THE GAME, AND IT IS A FANTASY GAME, DETECTIVE, IS HIGHLY UNUSUAL IN THAT ALL OF THE PLAYERS ASSUME THE ROLE OF GAMEMASTER. THAT IS TO SAY, EACH OF US CONTROLS OUR OWN FATE, OUR OWN STORY. G.S'S STORY IS EVEN MORE DARING AND UNUSUAL. HIS CHARACTER, THE RIDER ON THE PALE HORSE - DEATH - IS DEEPLY FLAWED. ONE MIGHT EVEN SAY EVIL. THE CHARACTER IS SOMEWHAT LIKE THE PERSON ON TRIAL IN WASHINGTON, OR SO IT SEEMS TO ME.

HOWEVER, I MUST MAKE A FEW IMPORTANT POINTS. THE APPEARANCE OF ANY MURDER FANTASIES IN OUR GAME ALWAYS OCCURRED DAYS AFTER REPORTS OF MURDERS IN THE NEWSPAPERS. BELIEVE ME, THIS WAS THOROUGHLY CHECKED BY US ONCE G.S. WAS ACCUSED. IT WAS EVEN BROUGHT TO THE ATTENTION OF INSPECTOR JONES AT THE SECURITY SERVICE IN LONDON, SO I'M SURPRISED YOU WEREN'T INFORMED BEFORE NOW. THE SERVICE HAS BEEN TO SEE ME ABOUT G.S. AND THEY WERE COMPLETELY SATISFIED I ASSUME, SINCE THEY HAVEN'T BEEN BACK.

ALSO, THE OTHER PLAYERS - WHO HAVE BEEN CHECKED OUT BY SECURITY - ARE ALL REPRESENTED BY POSITIVE CHARACTERS IN THE GAME. AND AS I'VE SAID, AS POWERFULLY INVOLVING AS HORSEMEN IS - IT IS ONLY A GAME. BY THE WAY, DID YOU KNOW THAT BY SOME SCHOLARLY ACCOUNTS THERE IS A FIFTH HORSEMAN? MIGHT THAT BE YOU, DR. CROSS?

FYI - THE CONTACT AT THE SERVICE IS MR. ANDREW JONES. I TRUST HE WILL VOUCH FOR THE VERACITY OF MY STATEMENTS. IF YOU WISH TO CONVERSE FURTHER, DO SO ATYOUR OWN RISK. I AM SIXTY-SEVEN YEARS OF AGE, RETIRED FROM INTELLIGENCE (AS I LIKE TO PUT IT), AND A RATHER FAMOUS WINDBAG. I WISH YOU MUCH LUCK IN YOUR SEARCH FOR TRUTH AND JUSTICE. I MISS THE CHASE MYSELF.

CONQUEROR

I read the message, then reread it. Much luck in your search? Was that as loaded a line as it sounded? And was I a player - the Fifth Horseman?

Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel

CHAPTER Eighty-Three

I went to court every day of the following week, and like so many other people, I got hooked on the trial. Jules Halpern was the most impressive orator I had ever watched in a courtroom; but Catherine Fitzgibbon was effective as well. It would depend on who the jury believed more. It was all theater, a game. I remembered that as a kid I used to regularly watch a courtroom drama with Nana called The Defenders. Every show began with a deep-voiced narration saying something to the effect that 'the American Justice System is far from perfect - but it is still the very best justice system in the world'.

That might be true, but as I sat in the courtroom in Washington, I couldn't help thinking that the murder trial, the judge, the jury, the lawyers, and all the rules were just another elaborate game; and that Geoffrey Shafer was already planning his next foray, savoring every move that the prosecution made against him.

He was still in control of the game board. He was the gamemaster. He knew it, and so did I.

I watched Jules Halpern conduct smooth examinations that were designed to give the impression that his monstrous, psychopathic client was as innocent as a newborn baby. Actually, it was easy to drift off during the lengthy cross-examinations. I never really missed anything, though, since all the important points were repeated over and over ad nauseam.

'Alex Cross...'

I heard my name mentioned and refocused my attention on Jules Halpern. He produced a blown-up photograph that had appeared in the Post on the day after the murder. The photo had been taken by another tenant at the Farragut and sold to the newspaper.

Halpern leaned in close to the witness on the stand, a man named Carmine Lopes, a night doorman at the apartment building where Patsy Hampton was murdered.

'Mr. Lopes, I show you Defendant's Exhibit “A”, a photograph of my client and Detective Alex Cross. It was taken in the tenth-floor hallway soon after the discovery of Detective Hampton's body.'

The blow-up was large enough for me to see most of the detail from where I was sitting in the fourth row. The photo had always been a shocker to me.

Shafer looked as if he had just stepped out of the pages of GQ. In comparison my clothes were tattered and dirty. I had just come off my crazy marathon run from the zoo; I had been down in the garage where I found poor Patsy.

My fists were clenched tightly and I seemed to be roaring out anger at Shafer. Pictures do lie. We know that. The photograph was highly inflammatory, and I felt it could cause prejudice in the minds of the jurors.

'Is this a fair representation of how the two men looked at ten thirty that evening?' Halpern asked the doorman.

'Yes, sir. It's very fair. That's how I remember it.'

Jules Halpern nodded as if he were receiving vital information for the first time. 'Would you now describe, in your own words, what Detective Cross looked like at that time?' he asked.

The doorman hesitated and seemed slightly confused by the question. I wasn't. I knew where Halpern was going now.

'Was he dirty?' Halpern jumped in and asked the simplest possible question.

'Er, dirty... sure. He was a mess.'

'And was he sweaty?' the defense lawyer asked.

'Sweaty... yeah. We all were. From being down in the garage, I guess. It was a real hot night.'

'Nose running?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Were Detective Cross's clothes ripped, Mr. Lopes?'

'Yes, they were. Ripped and dirty.'

Jules Halpern looked at the jury first, then at his witness. 'Were Detective Cross's clothes bloodstained?'

'Yes... they sure were. That's what I noticed first, the blood.'

'Was the blood anywhere else, Mr. Lopes?'

'On his hands. You couldn't miss it. I sure didn't.'

'And Mr. Shafer, how did Mr. Shafer look?'

'He was clean, not mussed at all. He seemed pretty calm and collected.'

'Did you see any blood on Mr. Shafer?'

'No, sir. No blood.'

Halpern nodded, then he faced the jury. 'Mr. Lopes, which of the two men looked more like someone who might have just committed a murder?'

'Detective Cross,' the doorman said, without hesitation.

'Objection!' the district attorney screamed, but not before the damage had been done.

Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel

CHAPTER Eighty-Four

That afternoon, the defense was scheduled to call Chief of Detectives George Pittman. The assistant district attorney, Catherine Fitzgibbon, knew that Pittman was on the docket and she asked me to meet with her for lunch. 'If you have an appetite before Pittman goes on,' she added.

Catherine was smart, and she was thorough. She had put away nearly as many bad guys as Jules Halpern had set free. We got together over sandwiches at a crowded deli near the courthouse. Neither of us was thrilled about Pittman's upcoming appearance. My reputation as a detective was being ruined by the defense, and it was a hard thing to watch and do nothing.

She bit down into a hefty Reuben sandwich that squirted mustard onto her forefinger and thumb. Catherine smiled. 'Sloppy, but worth it. You and Pittman are really at odds, right? More like you hate each other's guts?'

'It's serious dislike, and it's mutual.' I told her. 'He's tried to do me in a couple of times. He thinks I'm a threat to his career.'

Catherine was attacking her sandwich. 'Hmmm, there's a thought. Would you be a better chief of detectives?'

'Wouldn't run, wouldn't serve if elected. I wouldn't be good cooped up in an office playing political ping-pong.'

Catherine laughed. She's one of those people who can find humor almost anywhere. 'This is just fricking great, Alex. The defense is calling the chief of detectives as one of their goddamn witnesses. They've listed him as hostile, but I don't think he is.'

Catherine and I finished off the rest of her sandwich. 'Well, let's find out what Mr. Halpern has up his sleeve today.'