Sampson finally spoke. “Here’s what I know, and what I can prove. You were having sex with a fourteen-year-old in your own house.”
Giametti shook his head. “She’s not fourteen. She’s a little whore. Anyway, I have something for you, something to trade. It’s about a friend of yours—Alex Cross. You listening, Detective? Hear this. I know who killed his wife. I know where he is now too.”
Chapter 39
JOHN SAMPSON GOT OUT of his car slowly, and he trudged along the familiar stone walkway, then up the front stairs of the Cross family house on Fifth Street.
He hesitated at the door, trying to collect his thoughts, to calm himself down if he could. This wasn’t going to be easy, and no one would know this more than he did. He knew things about Maria Cross’s murder that even Alex didn’t.
Finally, he reached forward and rang the bell. He must have done this a thousand times in his life, but it never felt like it did now.
No good would come of this visit. Nothing good whatsoever. It might even end a long friendship.
A moment later, Sampson was surprised that it was Nana Mama who came to the door. The old girl was dressed in a flowery blue robe and looked even tinier than usual, like an ancient bird that ought to be worshipped. And in this house, she surely was, even by him.
“John, what’s the matter now? What is it? I’m almost afraid to ask. Well, come inside, come inside. You’ll scare all the neighbors.”
“They’re already scared, Nana,” Sampson drawled, and attempted a smile. “This is Southeast, remember?”
“Don’t try to make a joke out of this, John. Don’t you dare. What are you here for?”
Sampson suddenly felt like he was a teenager again, caught in one of Nana’s infamous stern glares. There was something so damn familiar about this scene. It reminded him of the time he and Alex got caught stealing records at Grady’s while they were in middle school. Or the time they were smoking weed behind John Car
roll High School and got busted by an assistant principal, and Nana had to come to get them released.
“I have to talk to Alex,” Sampson said. “It’s important, Nana. We need to wake him up.”
“And why is that?” she tapped one extended foot and asked. “Quarter past three in the morning. Alex doesn’t work for the city of Washington anymore. Why can’t everybody just leave him be? You of all people, John Sampson. You know better than to come around here now, middle of the night, looking for his help again.”
Sampson didn’t usually argue with Nana Mama, but this time he did. “I’m afraid it can’t wait, Nana. And I don’t need Alex’s help this time. He needs mine.”
Then Sampson walked right past Nana and into the Cross house—uninvited.
Chapter 40
IT WAS ALMOST 4:00 A.M., and Sampson and I were riding back to the First District station house in his car. I was wide awake now, and wired. My nervous system felt like it was vibrating.
Maria’s murderer? After all these years? Was it even a faint possibility that the killer could be caught so many years after my wife was shot down? The whole thing felt unreal to me. Back then, I’d been all over the case for a year, and I’d never completely given up the chase. And now we might suddenly find the killer? Was it possible?
We arrived at the station house on Fourth Street and hurried inside, neither of us talking. A precinct house during the night shift can be a lot like an emergency room: You never know what to expect when you step inside. This time, I didn’t have a clue, but I couldn’t wait to talk to Giametti.
It seemed unusually quiet when we walked in the front door—but that all changed in a hurry. It was obvious to both Sampson and me that something was wrong when we got down to the holding cells. Half a dozen detectives and uniforms were standing around. They looked way too alert and anxious for this time of morning. Something was definitely up.
Sampson’s new partner, Marion Handler, spotted us and hustled over to John. Handler ignored me, and I did my best to pay him no mind, either. I’d talked to him a couple of times, and I thought the detective was a showy punk. I wondered why John put up with him the way he did.
Maybe he saw something in Handler that I didn’t, or maybe Sampson was finally mellowing just a little.
“You’re not gonna believe this shit. It’s off the charts,” he said to Sampson. “Somebody got to Giametti. I shit you not, Sampson. He’s over there dead in his cell. Somebody got to him in here.”
I was feeling numb all over as Handler led us back to the last holding cell on the block. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. First we had a lead on Maria’s killer’s whereabouts, and then the man who gave us that lead was murdered? In here?
“He even had a private room,” Handler said to Sampson. “How could they get to him in here? Right under our noses?”
Sampson and I ignored the question as we stepped inside the last cell on the right. There were two evidence techies working around the body, but I could see all I needed to. An ice pick had been driven right up Gino Giametti’s nose. It looked like the pick had been used to gouge out his eyes first.
“See no evil,” said Sampson in his deep, flat voice. “Has to be the mob.”
Chapter 41