He held up the photos for her to see—one at a time. “These are all people I’ve met twice. You and I, of course, have only met once. Whether or not we meet again is entirely up to you. Do you follow? Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes.”
He stood up and walked around to her side of the bed, gave her a few seconds to process what he was saying. She covered herself with a sheet. “Do you understand me, Lisa? Truly? I know it can be a little hard to concentrate right now. I imagine it would be.”
“I won’t say—anything,” she whispered. “I promise.”
“Good, I believe you,” he said. “Just in case, though, I’m going to take this, too.”
He held up the address book. Flipped it open to B. “Here we go. Tom and Lois Brandt. Is that Mom and Dad? Vero Beach, Florida. Supposed to be very nice down there. The Treasure Coast.”
“Oh, God, please,” she said.
“Entirely up to you, Lisa,” he said. “Of course, if you ask me, it would be a shame after all this for you to end up like those others in the photographs. You know—in parts, sewn up. Whatever I was in the mood to do.”
He lifted up the sheet and looked her over one more time. “They’d be pretty parts in your case, but parts all the same.”
And with those last words, he left Lisa Brandt alone with her memories of him.
Chapter 52
“THIS IS WHY I DON’T WEAR TIES.”
John Sampson pulled at the constricting knot around his neck and ripped the damn thing off. He tossed it and what remained of his coffee into the trash. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t thrown away the coffee. He and Billie had been up half the night with little Djakata and her flu. A truckload of caffeine was exactly what he needed right now.
When the phone on his desk rang, he was in no mood to talk to anybody about anything. “Yeah, what?”
A woman’s voice came on the other end. “Is this Detective Sampson’s line?”
“Sampson here. What?”
“This is Detective Angela Susan Anton. I’m with the Sex Assault Unit, assigned to the Second District.”
“Okay.” He waited for her to connect some dots for him.
“I was hoping to pull you in on a disturbing case, Detective. We’re running into some serious dead ends over here.”
Sampson fished in the wastebasket for the coffee container. All right! It had landed right-side up.
“What’s the case?”
“A rape. Happened in Georgetown last night. The woman was treated at GUH, but all she’ll say is that she was attacked. She won’t ID the guy. Won’t describe him at all. I was with her all morning and got nowhere. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, Detective. The level of fear the woman is exhibiting.”
Sampson crooked the phone to his ear and scribbled some notes on a tablet that said “Dad Pad” at the top, a Father’s Day knickknack from Billie. “Okay so far. But I’m curious why you’re calling me, Detective.”
He sipped the bad coffee again, and suddenly it seemed not so bad.
Anton took a beat before answering. “I understand that Alex Cross is a friend of yours.”
Sampson set down his pen and leaned back in his desk chair. “Now I see.”
“I was hoping you could—”
“I hear you loud and clear, Detective Anton. You want me to pimp the deal for you?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Rakeem Powell tells me you two are seriously good when you work serials together. I’d like to have you both in on this. Hey, I’m just being honest.”
Sampson stayed quiet, waiting to see if she’d get out of this one or hang herself some more.