Criss Cross

Chapter 94

Abrahamsen hit his brakes so hard, he skidded; he hit gravel, the bike went out from under him, and he crashed into the grass. On the ground, he grabbed his shoulder and yelled out in pain.

“Oh God! That broke ribs, and there goes the shoulder again. Oh God.”

“Keep praying, and keep your hands where I can see them,” I said, grabbing him by the back of his bike shirt and wrenching his upper body my way. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Abrahamsen screamed. “Don’t move me! What the hell are you doing?”

“Placing you under arrest,” Mahoney said, running up with his FBI badge out.

“What?” he said, panting. “What are you talking about?”

“Murder and kidnapping,” I said. “Where’s my son?”

“Arthur Abrahamsen, you have the right to remain silent,” Mahoney began.

“Ali?” he cried. “I have no idea where he is. I haven’t seen him since before I—”

“We know you have him,” I said, pushing hard on his right shoulder, ramming his busted left side into the ground.

The captain screamed again. “My God, Dr. Cross. Believe me!”

“We have the texts,” I said. “Now where is he?”

“Texts?” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I texted him once, the day before yesterday, to tell him I was back.”

“Before you drowned your phone and texted him repeatedly with a burner,” I said. “Invited him for a bike ride. Where is he, M?”

Abrahamsen groaned. “Who’s M? I did no such thing. You’ve got the wrong man.”

“I don’t think so,” I said as Mahoney unclipped Abrahamsen’s shoes from the bike pedals. “We’re searching your house.”

“Good,” he said. “You won’t find him there. You won’t find much of anything in there. You’ve got it all wrong.”

Ned’s radio crackled with the voice of the HRT commander. “SAC Mahoney.”

Mahoney raised the handheld to his lips. “Come back.”

“No one here. Place is virtually empty. Looks like they just applied some kind of textured plaster to the walls and the heat’s jacked up like a sauna.”

“To dry the plaster,” Abrahamsen said, grimacing as he looked at me. “Dr. Cross, I adore your son. I think he’s one of the more remarkable boys I’ve ever met. I will swear on a stack of Bibles, I don’t have Ali. I haven’t seen him in more than ten days.”

My cell phone dinged in my pocket, and I reached for it with my gut sinking again. I looked at the Wickr message, then back at Abrahamsen, wanting to sit down and cry.

“I believe you, Captain,” I said. “I apologize. I should have suspected M would try to use you to get to me.”