Cross by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Psychological, Police Procedural, Fiction, Suspense, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780755349401
Publisher: Headline Book Publishing
Published: 2010-07-15T06:57:44.894000+00:00

Chapter 70

THE NEXT DAY WOULD GET FILED under What the Hell Was I Thinking? I showed up at the Sixth District station house, where Jason Stemple was based, and I started asking around about him. I wasn’t sure what I would do if I found him, but I was nervous enough for Kim Stafford that I had to try something, or thought I did.

I didn’t carry creds or a badge anymore, but lots of DC cops knew who I was, who I am. Apparently not the desk sergeant, though.

He kept me waiting on the civilian side of the glass longer than I would have liked. That was okay, I guess, no big deal. I stood around, glancing over the Annual Crime Reduction Awards on the wall until he finally informed me that he had checked me out with his captain; then he buzzed me through.

Another uniformed officer was there waiting for me.

“Pulaski, take Mister”—the sergeant glanced down at the sign-in sheet—“Cross back to the locker room please. He’s looking for Stemple. I thought he’d be out by now.”

I followed him down a busy hallway, picking up strands of cop talk along the way. Pulaski pushed open a heavy swinging door into the locker room. The smell was familiar, sweat and various antiseptics.

“Stemple! You got a visitor.”

A young guy, late twenties, about my height but heavier, looked over. He was alone at a row of beat-up army-green lockers, and he was just pulling on a Washington Nationals road jersey. Another half-dozen or so off-duty cops were standing around, grousing and laughing about the state of the court system, which definitely was a joke these days.

I walked over to where Stemple was putting his watch on and still basically ignoring me.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” I asked. I was trying to be polite, but it took an effort with this guy who liked to beat up on his girlfriend.

“About?” Stemple barely looked my way.

I lowered my voice. “I want to talk to you . . . about Kim Stafford.”

All at once, the less-than-friendly welcome downgraded to pure animosity. Stemple rocked back on his heels and looked me up and down like I was a street person who’d just broken into his house.

“What are you doing in here anyway? You a cop?”

“I used to be a cop, but now I’m a therapist. I work with Kim.”

Stemple’s eyes beaded and burned. He was getting the picture now, and he didn’t like what he saw. Neither did I, because I was looking at a powerfully built male who beat up on women and sometimes burned them with lit objects.

“Yeah, well, I just pulled a double, and I’m out of here. You stay away from Kim, if you know what’s good for you. You hear me?”

Now that we’d met, I had a professional opinion of Stemple: He was a piece of shit. As he walked away, I said, “You’re beating her up, Stemple. You burned her with a cigar.”

The locker room got still, but I noticed that no one hurried to get in my face on Stemple’s behalf.

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