Criss Cross (Alex Cross) - James Patterson Page 0,54

the pictures of Pseudo-Craig.

I said, “See the second picture? The one where he has his hand on the counter in front of Deputy Maines? That was the only time we saw him touch anything inside the facility. Maines called in a tech to try to pull his prints, although it’s a long shot because God knows how many people put their hands there in the course of a day.”

“There have to be cameras in the streets outside that facility,” Sampson said.

Mahoney said, “In multiple positions.”

“Then we can follow him on tape as he leaves the jail.”

“Maybe to his car,” I said. “Black BMW.”

Ned’s phone dinged. He looked at the screen, thumbed it, and held the phone to his ear.

“You want something to eat?” Sampson asked me.

I checked my watch: two p.m. “I’ll eat at home. I promised Nana I’d take her to her doctor at three.”

Mahoney hung up, looking bewildered. “That was the lab with the results on the blood they took off your windshield last night, Alex.”

“Human?” Sampson said.

“Definitely,” he said. “But not just one. There was blood from eight different people in that balloon.”

CHAPTER 59

EIGHT DISTINCT BLOOD SOURCES. All human.

Those facts gnawed at me on the way home. I put them aside when I found Jannie up and about and in better spirits.

“I’m feeling so good,” she said, looking brighter than she had in weeks. “I could probably go for a jog.”

“Not a chance,” I said. “I read the instructions the doctor gave us. Part of what got you in this state was burning the candle at both ends. That has to stop.”

“Dad—”

“I’m not kidding. Something’s got to give so you can get the rest you need to compete.”

To my surprise, Jannie didn’t argue. “I definitely need to sleep more and eat better if I’m going to do everything I can to get Coach Wilson to offer me a scholarship.”

I smiled. “I thought you might rise to her challenge.”

“I’m going to at least try two field events at those meets this summer. I’ll work at it, give it my best, and if it turns out I’m not a multi-discipline athlete, I’m okay with that. I’ll just run at Oregon or wherever. Either way, I’ll be fine.”

I gave her a hug. “I think that’s a good way to think about it.”

“Nana says I can go to school Monday.”

“No fever?”

“Not in five days.”

“Let’s see how you feel Sunday.”

My grandmother came into the room.

“You don’t look a day over eighty, Nana,” Jannie said.

Nana Mama laughed. “I look every bit of my age, but thank you.”

We left and drove over to her doctor’s office, which was in the Cleveland Park neighborhood of the District of Columbia. We spent an hour with Dr. Patricia Long, a gerontologist who’d been treating my grandmother for more than ten years.

“Mrs. Hope, you continue to be a wonder,” Dr. Long said, reviewing the lab work done the week before. “Your bad cholesterol is very low. Your good cholesterol is sky-high. You look like a healthy seventy-year-old!”

“So you’re saying I’ll be around for a while?”

“Barring some kind of accident, I’d put money on it.”

That was comforting to know, and as I drove my grandmother home, I thanked God once again for putting her in my life and keeping her there for so long. She was both my anchor and my wind.

We had a nice, low-key evening. Bree called to say she’d be late. Ali had a good training ride with the Wild Wheels crew.

“There’s a race in Pennsylvania in three weeks,” Ali said. “Ten kilometers through the woods, like a time trial. Can I go?”

“How would you be getting there?”

“They have a van and chaperones. The coach said they’ll have a handout about it on Thursday.”

“Let’s take a look at it Thursday.”

“Captain Abrahamsen thinks it’s a good idea,” Ali said. “You know, for a first race.”

Jannie shook her head. “What happened to your books?”

Ali frowned. “Nothing. Why?”

“You were supposed to be the family nerd.”

“You’re saying you can’t be both smart and physical?” Ali said, annoyed.

“No, I … forget I even brought it up. Go mountain bike. Make the X Games.”

Her brother grinned. “That would be awesome!”

After dinner, with Ali and Jannie studying and my grandmother watching a recording of Antiques Roadshow, I went up to my attic office, closed the door, locked it, and looked at the boxes containing the Kyle Craig files.

Part of me wanted to keep clear of the Craig files because they invariably made me upset. Craig had operated as an active serial killer right