Double Cross

Chapter 16

AT FIRST, IT WAS A BLUR-someone standing in front of the camera. When he stepped back, we saw that it was the same man, only now dressed in plain green coveralls and a black baseball cap that said MO.

The scene was obviously Tess Olsen’s living room. Today. Mrs. Olsen was in the background on all fours, naked and visibly trembling. Her mouth was taped shut. And around her neck was the red dog leash.

He had filmed everything, playing to an audience the whole time he was here.

The feeling in the den went from bad to a lot worse. The killer-or the terrorist, as I’d already begun to think of him-approached Tess Olsen. He pulled hard on the leash, and she struggled to her feet. The woman was sobbing uncontrollably. Possibly she knew what was going to happen now. Did that mean she knew the killer? How would she know him? Because of a book she was writing? What was her latest project?

Seconds later, the man had pulled her out on the terrace. He first peeled, then ripped the tape off her mouth. We couldn’t hear much from this distance-not until he grabbed Mrs. Olsen and hung her over the edge. Then her piercing screams reached the camera’s microphone, which was set up maybe twenty feet away.

All the while, the killer kept checking over his shoulder, looking toward the camera every few seconds.

“See that? How he moved back into the frame?” Bree said. “He wasn’t just putting on a show for the crowd on the street. This was meant for us as well-for whoever found the tape, anyway. Look at the bastard’s face.” Now he was smiling. Even from this distance, his eerie grin was clear and unmistakable.

The next few seconds seemed to stretch on forever, as I’m sure they did for Tess Olsen. He pulled her back inside and then set her down on the floor. Did she think there would be a reprieve? That she was to be spared? Her shoulders heaved once, then she began to cry again. A minute or so later, he brought her out on the terrace again.

“Here it comes,” Bree said gravely. “I don’t want to watch this.” But she did. We all did.

The killer was a powerful man, probably over six feet tall and well built. He shocked me by lifting Tess Olsen like a barbell, straight up over his head. He looked back at the camera one more time-Yes, you bastard, we’re watching-then winked and threw her off the balcony.

“My God,” Bree whispered. “Did he just wink at us?”

He didn’t leave the terrace, though. Or the picture frame. I could see by the angle of his head that he wasn’t looking straight down to where she fell. He was looking out at his audience, at the people down on the street. He was taking chances that he didn’t need to take.

In the scheme of things, that was good for us. Maybe that’s how we’d find him, catch this bastard. Because he was reckless-and liked to preen in front of an audience.

Then I analyzed my own thought: We, not they, were going to get this sonofabitch.

And then, the killer spoke to the camera, and this was the eeriest part of all. “You can try to capture me,” he said, “but you will fail… Dr. Cross.”

Sampson, Bree, and I turned to one another. John and I were speechless, and all Bree could manage was “Holy shit, Alex.”

Ready or not, I was back in the game.