Alex Cross 19: Merry Christmas, Alex Cross by James Patterson

Author:James Patterson [Patterson, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Google: PFsPFEyS95IC
Amazon: B007BGQBFY
Barnesnoble: B007BGQBFY
Goodreads: 13521416
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2012-11-21T14:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

55

BOBBY SPARKS AND MAHONEY COMMANDEERED OTHER IPADS WITHIN MINUTES of seeing what I was up to. With the tablets we could be two, three, or four places at once. The rail station itself had become our movable crisis center. We could manipulate time as well—backward, anyway.

I had all the feeds from the three cameras in and around the northeast end of the station, the ones closest to the McDonald’s, run back to the approximate time of Phillip LaMonte’s collapse. I heard the shouts and saw Hala Al Dossari slipping out in the commotion and disappearing in the direction of the ladies’ room to the left of the restaurant. None of the cameras faced the restroom directly, but it was clear that that’s where she was going.

“Block it off,” Bobby Sparks barked at Johnson, the Amtrak police commander. Then the FBI hostage rescue leader led the way in, badge up, gun out, with Mahoney and me bringing up the rear.

We found three women inside. One was in her eighties, an older lady who put me in mind of Nana, and a younger, prettier woman who nonetheless didn’t hold a candle to Bree. The third was a girl in her late teens, plump where Hala Al Dossari was thin.

When they’d left, we searched the restroom from top to bottom. The toilet stalls had not been serviced since before the storm. Wearing latex gloves, I got down on my hands and knees and peered into each one. I spotted an off-white blotch on the floor of the third.

I got out a pencil and poked at it with the eraser, saw it smear.

“What do you have, Alex?” Mahoney asked.

“Looks like makeup,” I said.

“In a ladies’ room,” Bobby Sparks said. “Imagine that.”

I got back to my feet and noticed the grate above the toilet. I didn’t see how anyone could’ve gotten into such a small space, but then again, I’m six two and more than two hundred pounds.

I slid a fingernail into one of the screws and was interested to find it loose. “Got a flashlight?” I asked.

Mahoney produced a mini Maglite. I flipped it on, shone it through the slats, and saw about six feet away the crumpled Macy’s bag Hala Al Dossari had been carrying.

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