Jamilla was interesting to me for a lot of reasons, but the main one was probably that I saw so much of my own experience in hers. We were both committed to police work. We had full lives—friends and family—and yet, in a way, we were loners. Why was that?
“You okay?” she asked. Her eyes communicated concern. I usually can intuit good people, and she was one of them. No doubt about it.
“I just went away for a minute,” I said. “I’m back now.”
“Where do you go when you take these little mind excursions?”
“Florence,” I said. “It’s probably the most beautiful city on earth. My favorite, anyway.”
“And you were just in Florence, Italy?”
“Actually, I was thinking about some of the similarities in our lives.”
She nodded. “I’ve thought about it
too. What the heck is to become of us, Alex? Are we both doomed to repeat the same mistakes?”
“Well, hopefully we’re going to catch two real bad killers here in New Orleans. How’s that?”
Jamilla reached over and patted my cheek, then she said ruefully, “That’s what I think too. We are doomed.”
Chapter 65
THE MASTERMIND watched Alex Cross get out of the car. He had him in his sights.
Cross and the lovely Inspector Jamilla Hughes had returned from a dinner break and were back on surveillance duty. Were they getting closer? Would Alex and Jamilla become lovers in New Orleans? That was an obvious flaw in Cross’s character; he needed to be loved, didn’t he?
But now Cross was out of the car again.
Something is bothering the great Cross. Maybe he needs to walk a little after the meal. Or maybe he needs to think about the case some more and wants to be alone. He is a loner, just like I am.
This was amazing; this was no good.
He followed Cross down a dark side street filled with modest homes of two styles—the double shotgun and the Creole cottage; both were staples in this part of New Orleans.
The fragrance of honeysuckle, jasmine, and gardenias was heavy in the air. He sucked in a breath. Pleasant. A hundred years before, the scents had masked the odors of the nearby slaughterhouses. The Mastermind knew his history, knew lots about most things, and the facts flowed easily through his mind as he continued to follow Cross at a safe distance. He retained information and knew how to use it.
He could hear the rattle and hum of the St. Charles Avenue streetcar as it raced along its tracks a few blocks away. It helped to cover any slight sound of his own footsteps.
He was enjoying this walk with Cross immensely, and he thought that maybe this would be the night. Just the idea sent adrenaline pumping through him.
He continued to move closer to Cross. Yes, this was it. Right here, right now.
He partly expected Cross to spin around and look at him. That would be good, so rich, ironic, fitting. Proof of Cross’s instincts, and that he was a worthy adversary.
He ducked into some lurks and he circled. He was only a few yards away from Cross now. He could close the distance in an instant.
Cross came to a stop at the old Lafayette Cemetery, the so-called City of the Dead. Inside the gates were lavish aboveground vaults, multi-burial graves.
The Mastermind stopped as well. He savored this, second by second.
A New Orleans Police Department sign was posted on the gates: PATROLLED.
The Mastermind doubted that was true, though. And it didn’t really matter, did it? He could eat the NOPD for lunch.
Cross looked around, but he didn’t see the Mastermind in the shadows. Should he jump him now? Would they fight hand to hand? It didn’t matter—he knew he would win. He watched Alex Cross breathe. His last breaths on earth? What a thought.
Cross turned away from the cemetery and started down another side street. He was heading back to the surveillance car, to Inspector Hughes.