Cat & Mouse - James Patterson [68]
Kyle crossed Fifth Street in a quick jog. He came up to me and we shook hands. I was glad to see him. Kyle is smart and very organized, and also supportive of those he works with. He’s famous for getting things done.
“They just moved Alex,” he said. “He’s hanging on.”
“What’s the prognosis? Tell me, Kyle.” I needed to know everything. I was there to collect facts. This was the start of it.
Kyle averted his eyes. “Not good. They say he won’t live. They’re sure he won’t live.”
CHAPTER 73
THE PRESS CORPS intercepted Kyle and me as we headed toward the Cross house. There were already a couple dozen reporters and cameramen at the scene. The vultures effectively blocked our way, wouldn’t let us pass. They knew who Kyle was and possibly they knew about me, too.
“Why is the FBI already involved?” one of them shouted above the street noise and general commotion. Two news helicopters fluttered overhead. They loved this sort of disaster. “We hear this is connected to the Soneji case. Is that true?”
“Let me talk to them,” Kyle whispered close to my ear.
I shook my head. “They’ll want to talk to me about it anyway. They’ll find out who I am. Let’s get the silly shit over with.”
Kyle frowned, but then he nodded slowly. I tried to control my impatience as I walked toward the horde of reporters.
I waved my hands over my head and that quieted some of them. The media is extremely visual, I’ve learned the hard way, even the print journalists, the so-called wordsmiths. They all watch far too many movies. Visual signals work best with them.
“I’ll answer your questions,” I volunteered and served up a thin smile, “as best I can anyway.”
“First question, who are you?” a man with a scraggly red beard and Salvation Army store taste in clothes hollered from the front of the pack. He looked like the reclusive novelist Thomas Harris, and maybe he was.
“That’s an easy one,” I answered, “I’m Thomas Pierce. I’m with BSU.”
That quieted the reporters for a moment. Those who didn’t recognize my face knew the name. The fact that I’d been brought in on the Cross case was news in itself. Camera flashes exploded in front of me, but I was used to them by now.
“Is Alex Cross still alive?” someone called out. I had expected that to be the first question, but there’s no way to predict with the press corps.
“Dr. Cross is alive. As you can see, I just got here, so I don’t know much. So far, we have no suspects, no theories, no leads, nothing particularly interesting to talk about,” I said.
“What about the Mr. Smith case,” a woman reporter shouted at me. She was a dark-haired anchorperson type, perky as a chipmunk. “Are you putting Mr. Smith on hold now? How can you work two big cases? What’s up, Doc?” the reporter said and smiled. She was obviously smarter and wittier than she looked.
I winced, rolled my eyes, and smiled back at her. “No suspects, no theories, no leads, nothing interesting to talk about,” I repeated. “I have to go inside. The interview’s over. Thanks for your concern. I know it’s genuine in this god-awful case. I admire Alex Cross, too.”
“Did you say admire or admired?” another reporter shouted at me from the back
“Why did they bring you in on this, Mr. Pierce? Is Mr. Smith involved?”
I couldn’t help arching my eyebrows at the question. I felt an unpleasant itch in my brain. “I’m here because I get lucky sometimes, all right? Maybe I’ll get lucky again. I have to go into the trenches now. I promise that I’ll tell you if and when we have anything. I sincerely doubt that Mr. Smith attacked Alex Cross last night. And I said admire, present tense.”
I pulled Kyle Craig out of there with me, holding on to his arm for support as much as anything. He grinned as soon as we had our backs to the horde.
“That was pretty goddamn good,” he said. “I think you managed to confuse the hell out of them, even beyond the usual blank stares.”
“Mad dogs of the Fourth Estate,” I shrugged. “Smears of blood on their lips and cheeks. They