Authors: James Patterson
Damon had come home from boarding school in Massachusetts as a special surprise. Nana was there, acting large and in charge of the festivities, along with my babies, Jannie and Ali. Sampson and his family were on hand; and of course Bree was there.
Only the people I loved most in the world were invited. Who else would you want to celebrate another year older and wiser with?
page 9
I even made a little speech that night, most of which I forgot immediately, but not the opening few words. "I, Alex Cross," I began, "do solemnly promise — to all those present at this birthday party — to do my best to balance my life at home with my work life, and not to go over to the dark side ever again."
"Nana raised her coffee cup in salute, but then she said, "Too late for that," which got a laugh. Then, to a person, everybody did their best to make sure I was aging with a little humility but also a smile on my face.
"Remember the time at Redskin stadium?" Damon cackled. "When dad locked the keys in the old car?" I tried cutting in. "To be fair —"
"Called me out of bed past midnight," Sampson said, and growled.
"Only after he tried breaking in for an hour because he didn't want to admit he couldn't do it," Nana said. Jannie cupped a hand around her ear. "'Cause he's what?" And everyone chorused back, "America's Sherlock Holmes!" It was a reference to a national-magazine piece from a few years ago that I will apparently never live down.
I swigged my beer. "Brilliant career — or so they say — dozens of big cases solved, and what am I remembered for? Seems to me, someone was supposed to have a happy birthday tonight."
"Which reminds me," Nana said, somehow taking the bait and cutting me off at the same time. "We've got a piece of unfinished business here.
Children?
"
Jannie and Ali jumped up, more excited than anyone. Apparently, there was a Big Surprise coming for me now. No one was saying what it was, but I'd already opened a pair of Serengetis from Bree, a loud shirt and two minis of tequila from Sampson, and a stack of books from the kids that included the latest George Pelecanos and a biography of Keith Richards.
Another
clue,
if I can call it that, was the fact that Bree and I had become notorious plan cancelers, with one long weekend after another falling by the wayside since we'd met. You might think that working in the same department, same division — Homicide — would make it easier for us to coordinate our schedules, but it was just the opposite most of the time.
So I had some idea, but nothing really specific, about what might be coming.
"Alex, you stay put," said Ali. He'd started calling me Alex lately, which I thought was all right but for some reason gave Nana the creeps.
Bree said she'd keep an eye on me and stayed back while everyone else snuck off to the kitchen.
"The plot thickens," I muttered.
"Even as we speak," said Bree with a smile and a wink. "Just the way you like it." She was on the couch, across from where I sat in one of the old club chairs. Bree always looked good, but I preferred her like this, casual and comfortable in jeans and bare feet. Her eyes started on the floor and worked their way up to mine.
"Come here often?" she asked.
"Once in a while, yeah. You?"
She sipped her beer and casually cocked her head. "Want to get out of here?"
"Sure thing." I jerked my thumb toward the kitchen door. "Just as soon as I get rid of those pesky, um —"
"Beloved family members?"
I couldn't help thinking that this birthday was getting better and better. Now I had two big surprises coming up.
Make that three.
The phone rang in the hall. It was our home line, not my cell, which everyone knew to use for work. I also had a pager up on the dresser where I could hear it. So it seemed safe to go ahead and answer. I even thought it might be some friendly soul calling to wish me a happy birthday, or at the very worst, someone trying to sell me a satellite dish.
Will I ever learn? Probably not in this lifetime.
"It's my birthday. Who died?" I asked. I was ticked off, mostly at myself for answering the phone in the first page 10
place.
"Caroline Cross," he said, and my heart nearly stopped. At that very moment, the kitchen door swung open and the family came out singing. Nana had an elaborate pink-and-red birthday cake on a tray, with an American Airlines travel folio clipped on top.
"Happy Birthday to you . . ."
"Bree held up a hand to quiet them. My posture and my face must have said something. They all stopped right where they were. The joyful singing ended almost midnote. My family remembered whose birthday this was:
Detective
Alex Cross's
.
Caroline was my niece, my brother's only daughter. I hadn't seen her in twenty years; not since just after Blake died. That would have made her twenty-four now.
At the time of her death.
The floor under my feet felt like it was gone. Part of me wanted to call Davies a liar. The other part, the cop, spoke up. "Where is she now?"
"I just got off the phone with Virginia State Police. The remains are at the ME's office in Richmond. I'm sorry, Alex.
I hate to be the one to tell you this."
"Remains?" I muttered. It was such a cold word, but I appreciated Davies not over-handling me. I walked out of the room, sorry I'd said even that much in front of my family.
"Are we talking homicide here? I assume that we are."
"I'm afraid so."
"What happened?" My heart was thudding dangerously. I almost didn't want to know.
"I don't have a lot of details," he told me, in a way that instantly gave me a hint —
he
was holding something
back.
"Ramon, what's going on here? Tell me. What do you know about Caroline?"
"Just take one thing at a time, Alex. If you leave now, you can probably be there in about two hours. I'll ask for one of the responding officers to meet you."
"I'm on my way."
"And Alex?"
I'd almost hung up the phone, my mind in splinters. "What is it?"
"I don't think you should go alone."
The Department of Forensic Science was housed in a new building on Marshall Street. Davies had arranged for Detective George Trumbull from the State Police CI Bureau to meet us there — Bree and me.
"The car's been towed to our lot up at division headquarters on Route One," Trumbull told us. "Otherwise, everything's here. The remains are downstairs in the morgue. All the obvious evidentiary material is in the lab on this level."
There was that terrible word again.
Remains
.
"What did you bag?" Bree asked him.
"Troopers found some women's clothing and a small black purse wrapped in a mover's blanket in the trunk. Here. I pulled this to show you."
He handed me a Rhode Island driver's license in a plastic sleeve. The only thing I recognized at first was Caroline's name. The girl in the photo looked quite beautiful to me, like a dancer, with her hair pulled back from her face and a high forehead. And the big eyes — I remembered those, too.
Eyes as big as the sky
. That's what my older brother Blake had always said. I could see him now, rocking her on the old porch glider on Fifth Street and laughing every time she blinked up at him. He was in love with that baby girl. We all were. Sweet Caroline.
Now both of them were gone. My brother to drugs. And Caroline? What had happened to her? I handed the driver's license back to Detective Trumbull and asked him to point us toward the investigating ME's office. If I was going to get through this at all, I had to keep moving. page 11
The medical examiner, Dr. Amy Carbondale, met us downstairs. When we shook hands, hers was still a little cool from the latex gloves she'd been wearing. She seemed awfully young for this kind of work, maybe early thirties, and a little unsure of what to do with me, what to say.
"Dr. Cross, I've followed your work. I'm very, very sorry for your loss," she said in a near whisper that carried sympathy and respect.
"If you could just give me the facts of the case, I'd appreciate it," I told her. She adjusted her glasses, silver wire rims, working up to it. "Based on the samples I took, there was apparently a ninety-six percent morselization of the body. A few digits did survive, and we were able to get a print match to the name on the license that was found."
"Excuse me —
morselization?
" I'd never heard the word before in my life. To her credit, Dr. Carbondale looked me right in the eye. "There's every reason to believe a grinder of some sort was used — likely a wood chipper."
Her words took my breath away. I felt them in my chest.
A wood chipper?
Then I was thinking:
Why keep her
clothes and driver's license?
As proof of Caroline's identity? A souvenir for the killer? Dr. Carbondale was still talking. "I'll do a full tox screen, run a DNA profile, and of course we'll sieve for bullet fragments or other metals, but actual cause of death is going to be hard to prove here, if not impossible."
"Where is she?" I asked, just trying to focus.
Where were
Caroline's remains?
"Dr. Cross, are you sure right now is the time —"
"He's sure," Bree said. She knew what I needed, and she gestured toward the lab. "Let's get on with it. Please, Doctor.
We're all professionals here."
We followed Dr. Carbondale through two sets of swinging doors into an examination room that resembled a bunker. It had a gray concrete floor and a high tiled ceiling, mounted with cameras and umbrella lights. There were the usual sinks and stainless steel everywhere, and a single white body bag on one of the narrow silver tables.
Right away, I could see something was very strange. Wrong.
Both
. The body bag bulged in the middle and lay flat against the table at the ends. I was dreading this in a way I couldn't have imagined beforehand.
The remains.
Dr. Carbondale stood across from us and pulled back the zipper. "The heat sealing is ours," she said. "I closed it back up after my initial exam earlier."
"Inside the body bag
there was a second bag
. This one looked like some kind of industrial plastic. It was a frosted white translucent material, just clear enough to show the color of meat and blood and bone inside. I felt like my mind shut down for a few seconds, which was as long as I could deny what I was seeing. It was a dead person in that bag but not a body.
Caroline but not Caroline.
"You have got to go to bed." Bree took me by the hand and led me out of the kitchen. "If for no other reason than so you can think clearly about this tomorrow."
"You mean today," I said.
"I mean tomorrow. After you rest."
I noticed she hadn't said
sleep.
We dragged ourselves upstairs, took off our clothes, and fell into bed. Bree held my hand and wouldn't let go.
An hour or so later, I was still staring at the ceiling, hung up on the question that had been dogging me ever page 12
since we left Richmond: Why?
Why had this happened? Why to Caroline?
Why a goddamn wood chipper? Why remains instead of a body?
As a detective, I should have been thinking about the physical evidence and where it could lead me, but I didn't exactly feel like a detective, lying there in the dark. I felt like an uncle, and a brother. In a way, we'd lost Caroline once before. After Blake died, her mother didn't want anything more to do with the family. She'd moved away without so much as a parting word. Phone numbers were changed. Birthday presents were returned. At the time, it seemed like the saddest possible thing, but since then, I'd learned — over and over — what a staggering capacity the world has for misery and self-inflicted wounds. Somewhere around four thirty, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. My heart and mind were not to be eased.
Bree's voice stopped me. "Where are you going? It's still night."
"I don't know, Bree," I said. "Maybe the office. Try and get something done. You should go back to sleep."
"I haven't been asleep." She sat up behind me and put her arms around my shoulders. "You're not alone on this. Whatever's happening to you is happening to me."
I let my head hang and just listened to her soothing voice. She was right — we were in this together. It had been like that ever since we'd met, and that was a good thing.
"I'm going to do anything it takes for you and for this whole family to get through this," she said. "And tomorrow, you and I are going to go out there and we're going to start to find out who did this terrible thing. You hear me?"
For the first time since Davies's phone call, I felt a warm spot in my chest — nothing like happiness or even relief, but gratitude, anyway. Something to be glad for. I'd lived most of my life without Bree, and now I couldn't imagine how.
"How did I find you?" I asked her. "How did I get so lucky?"
"It's not luck." She held on to me even tighter. "It's love, Alex."