Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross, #1)

by James Patterson

Microphones were immediately pushed at me and Sampson. TV camera lenses gawked. Neither instrument fazed us anymore.

In the absence of chaos, the Fed Building was like an elderly person rising from bed in the morning. All the wrinkles and bruises were visible in the early-morning light that streamed from cathedral windows on the east side of the floor.

I watched Gary’s super-lawyer, Anthony Nathan, as he obnoxiously swaggered around the front of the courtroom. He was certainly manic, widely known for infuriating witnesses during cross-examination. Did Gary have the presence of mind to select Nathan?

In one way, though, it seemed a natural pairing—a borderline madman defending another madman. Anthony Nathan had already proclaimed: “This will be an absolute zoo. A zoo, or a Wild West frontier justice show! I promise you. They could sell tickets for a thousand dollars a seat.”

The kids were busy watching Wheel of Fortune in the other room. The game-show cheers and chants made for good domestic background noise.

Regina Hope took me in when I was nine. Nana Mama was called “The Queen of Hope,” back then. She was a schoolteacher here in Washington. She was already in her late forties, and my grandfather was dead.

Her arms were folded across her chest now. Iron will. “Alex, I believe I have some bad feelings about this relationship you’re involved in,” she said. “Can you tell me why?” I asked her. “Yes, I can. First, because Jezzie is a white woman, and I do not trust most white people. I would like to, but I can’t. Most of them have no respect for us. They lie to our faces. That’s their way, at least with people they don’t believe are their equals.”

“You just hurt me,” I said to her. “And you know you did. You know what those two kids mean to me.” There were tears in Nana’s eyes, but she held her ground. She kept her eyes locked tightly onto mine. Our love is a tough, uncompromising love. It’s always been that way. “I don’t want you to apologize to me later on, Alex. It doesn’t matter to me that you’ll feel guilty about what you just said to me. What matters is that you are guilty.

Nana Mama left the kitchen table, and she went upstairs. End of conversation. Just like that. She’d made up her mind. Was I giving up everything to be with Jezzie? Was it a relationship that could never work? I had no way of knowing yet. I had to find that out for myself.

She showed the jury exactly how the new piece related to everything else that had gone before. Once or twice, spectators in the courtroom audience were moved to applaud the soft-spoken prosecutor and her impressive performance. She accomplished all of this while Anthony Nathan was objecting to virtually every point she attempted to make.

Anthony Nathan paced the front of the courtroom with his usual swagger. He wore a fifteen-hundred-dollar tailored suit, but didn’t look at all comfortable in it. The suit was cut well, but Nathan’s posture was impossible—it was like trying to dress a jungle gym.

During the conference, Mary Warner raised her voice for one of the few times during the trial. “Your Honor, I object! I must object to this… stunt. This is a stunt!”

We didn’t stop hurtling through time and space until we came down, until we landed at a run-down Mobil gas station in Lumberton, North Carolina.

Her long legs were wonderfully athletic. Her feet were long, too, nicely shaped, as beautiful as feet get.

“Fishermen all go to the south end of the lake. Trust me, Alex. Let me undress you. Make you a little more comfortable.” “We’ll undress each other.” I surrendered and gave myself over to her, to the slow-down pace of the perfect morning. On the dock of the bay we undressed each other. The morning sun was toasty warm and I was aware of the lake breeze fanning our bare skin.

We held on to the ladder, and on to each other. Somewhere distant on the lake, ducks honked. It was a funny sound. There was little more than a ripple on the water table that stretched out before us. Tiny waves tickled under Jezzie’s chin. “I love you when you’re like this. You get so vulnerable,” she said. “The real you starts to show up.”

We left the private school before noon and had lunch at a Roy Rogers in Georgetown. Roy’s chicken is better than the Colonel’s, and Roy has those swell “hot wings.” Lots of zing in those babies. Sampson and I settled on five orders of wings and two thirty-two-ounce Cokes. We sat at a tiny picnic table by Roy’s kiddie playground. After lunch maybe we’d go on the see-saw.

“You in a hurry?” I asked her. “Yep.” Jezzie had filled the tub to the brim. A few independent-minded soap bubbles floated up and popped against the ceiling. Wisps of steam rose steadily. The room smelled like a country garden. She stirred the bathwater with her fingertips.

Suddenly, Jezzie took me inside her as we stood beside the steamy tub. Just two or three quick strokes—then she moved away from me again. Her face, neck, and chest were flushed. For a moment, I thought something was wrong. I was caught by surprise—shock—pleasure—entering her, then parting so quickly. She was wired. Almost violent. “What was that all about?” I asked. “I’m going to have a heart attack,” Jezzie whispered. “Better figure out a story for the police. Whew, Alex.”

The water was warm, just right. So was everything else. We started to laugh. I still had my underwear on but Pete was poking and peeking around. I pulled off the shorts. We maneuvered in the tub until we were facing each other. Jezzie got on top of me somehow. We were unwilling to give up any contact. Jezzie leaned way back. She braced her hands behind her head. She watched my face with curious fascination.

Her long legs suddenly lifted straight out of the water and hooked around my head. Jezzie jerked forward a couple of times, then both of us exploded. Her body went stiff. We thrashed and moaned a lot. Waves of water splashed from the tub. Somehow Jezzie got her arms arou...

Jezzie rescued me. She pulled me up, and took my face in both her hands. Release. Blessed release. We stayed there holding each other. Spent, as they used to say in gentler times.

Nana took up a little crust of toast. She dipped it in marmalade. If birds could eat like humans, they would eat like Nana Mama. She is quite a piece of work.

I also noticed that you didn’t always fit in with the crowd. Not the way some kids do. You played sports, and you shoplifted with your friend Sampson, and you were always tough. But you read books, and you were moderately sensitive. You follow me?

“If you love her for sure, Alex,” my grandmother said to me, “then I love her. I love you, Alex. You just paint on a very large canvas.

didn’t see Jezzie outside the courthouse, but Anthony Nathan was climbing out of a silver Mercedes stretch. This was his big moment. Reporters climbed all over Nathan. They were like city birds on stale bread crumbs.

the shrill voice. It belonged to a local TV news anchorwoman. We had to stop. They were behind us, and up ahead. Sampson hummed a little Martha and the Vandellas, “Nowhere to Run.”

Something finally snapped inside me. “We’re just happy to be in the Super Bowl,” I said straight-faced into the glare of several minicam lenses. “Alex Cross is going to concentrate on his game. The rest will take care of itself. Alex Cross just thanks Almighty God for the opportunity to play at this level.” I leaned in toward the reporter who’d asked the question. “You understand what I’m saying? You’re clear now?” Sampson smiled and said, “As for me, I’m still open for lucrative endorsements in the sneaker and the soft-drink categories.”

“One of them is as innocent as you are. You cannot convict Gary Murphy of kidnapping or murder. Gary Murphy is a good man. Gary Murphy is a husband and a father. Gary Murphy is innocent!” It was a difficult problem and dilemma for the jurors. Was Gary Soneji/Murphy a brilliant and evil sociopath? Was he aware, and in control, of his actions?

mother and father were still looking for her. Why would they be? It was so long ago that she’d been kidnapped. Maggie understood that. Mr. Soneji had taken her from the Day School. But then she never saw him again. There was only the warning. Sometimes, she felt as if she were only a story character she’d made up.

Maggie Rose knew what all the shapes were. They were children. All in just one room of the house. From which there was no escape.

I drove to Jezzie’s apartment the day she came back. On the way over there, I listened to Derek McGinty on WAMU again. My talk-show brother. His voice calmed my nervous stomach. One time, I’d actually called in to his night show. Disguised my voice. Talked about Maria, the kids, being on the edge for too long.

She had on denim shorts and an old T-shirt that said IF YOU CAN’T DAZZLE THEM WITH BRILLIANCE, BAFFLE THEM WITH BULLSHIT. She was dazzling in all ways. She smiled gently. “I’m a lot better, Alex. I think I’m almost healed.” She came out on the porch and into my arms, and I felt a little healed myself.

“Tell me everything that’s been happening. What’s it like to fall off the earth?” I asked. Her hair smelled so fresh and clean. Everything about her seemed new and refreshed. “It’s pretty good, actually, falling off the earth. I haven’t not worked since I was sixteen years old. It was scary the first few days. Then it was fine,” she said with her head still buried in my chest. “There was only one thing I missed,” she whispered. “I wanted you there with me. If that sounds corny, too bad.”

even found out who Jezzie Flanagan really is.” I raised her chin up, and looked into her eyes. “Tell me what you found out. Tell me who Jezzie is.” Arm in arm, we went inside the house.

“You’re just dazzling me with your brilliance,” I told her. “Uh huh. How long can we keep this up? Talking and looking, not touching. Will you unbutton the rest of your shirt buttons? Please.”

“You were going to tell me something about who you are, what you learned on your retreat,” I reminded her. Confessor and lover. A sexy concept in itself. “You can kiss me now. If you want to, Alex. Can you kiss me without anything but our lips touching?” “Uhm, I’m not sure about that.

One miserable, cold, rainy night I trudged out by myself to see Nina Cerisier again.

Why was I in the Langley Terrace projects, at night, in a cold, drizzling rain? Because I had become a nut case who couldn’t get enough information about an eighteen-month-old kidnapping. Because I was a perfectionist who had been that way for at least thirty years of my life. Because I needed to know what had really happened to Maggie Rose Dunne.

“I know you don’t,” I agreed with the tall, late fortyish woman eyeballing me. Almond-shaped eyes. Pretty eyes on a not-very-pretty face. “These are murder cases, though, Mrs. Cerisier, terrible murders.”

“Nina, ever since she been little, she love the window seat on our stairway,” Glory began the story again. “That’s Nina’s window on the world, always has been. She curl up there and read a book or just pet one of her cats. Sometimes, she just stare out at nothing. She was at the window seat when she saw that white man, Gary Soneji.

“Really?” He seemed resigned and his affect was indifferent and passive. I didn’t like the way he looked. It struck me that his personality could be on the verge of complete disintegration.

He seemed real comfortable calling me Alex by now. Nice to know you can make friends, anywhere.

It was a tasteful, well-appointed apartment for a now-single man. Devine was tan and looked rested. He was one of the better advertisements I’d seen for getting out of police work while you can.

“But you love The Job too much to leave it?” Mike Devine grinned and squinted into late afternoon sunlight coming off the water. Gray seabirds with white chests flew right by the terrace. Nice. Everything about the layout was nice.

It was a big loose end. Too important to ignore if you were any kind of detective. I had to talk to Jezzie about Mike Devine and Charlie Chakely, and the logs they had kept. Something wasn’t checking out about the two of them. They were definitely holding back.

“I didn’t want to be a failure like my father or my mother. That’s the way they saw themselves, Alex. That’s how they talked all the time. Not low esteem—no esteem. I couldn’t let myself be like that.” “How do you see them?” “As failures, I guess.” A tiny smile came with the admission. A painfully honest smile.

“Some villages you go to in Ireland—the people are so articulate, but they live in such poverty. You see these ‘white ghettos.’ Every third storefront seems to be a pub.

“It was the Secret Service agent. It was Devine. He and his pal Chakely must have seen me watching the Goldberg and Dunne houses. They were the ones who followed me. They took precious Maggie Rose! They got the ransom in Florida. You should have been looking for cops all this time. Two cops murdered the little girl.”

Weithas glanced at Agent Scorse, then he looked back at me. “Jezzie Flanagan is the complication,” Weithas said. I was stunned. I felt as if I’d been punched hard in the stomach. For the last few minutes, I knew something else was coming from them. I just sat there, feeling cold and empty inside, well on my way to feeling nothing. “We believe she’s deeply involved in this with the two men. Has been from the start. Jezzie Flanagan and Mike Devine have been lovers for years.”