Page 57 of The House of Cross

Toomey got his 8x42 Leica binoculars from his go bag and looked across the parking lot to make sure the Cherokee was still there.

His contact returned. “You didn’t say Stone was married to Alex Cross.”

“Didn’t know and don’t know him.”

“FBI and police consultant. Very dangerous. He used to be Sampson’s partner.”

“You still want my services?”

“Affirmative. Just maintain contact for now but remain ready to sweep up. And we will fly the Utah cleaning team to Twin Falls ASAP in case you need backup.”

“Smart.”

“That’s what they pay me for,” she said, and hung up.

The janitor scrubbed his laptop’s history and cache, retrieved a Slim Jim from his go bag, turned up the heat, and settled in with his binoculars to wait.

CHAPTER 41

DR. WAYNE BEVAN, THEElko County medical examiner, was finishing a report when Bree and Sampson were led into his office by his secretary. The two explained that they were looking into the death of Ryan Malcomb.

“You reporters?” said Bevan, a tall, lean man in jeans and cowboy boots. “The last bunch left a week ago.”

“We’re just going over the details,” Bree said.

“Insurance company?”

“Something like that,” Sampson said. “We were told you had a match on Malcomb’s dental records.”

Bevan nodded, scooted his chair over to a cabinet, and pulled out a thick file. “DNA was a match, but it never hurts to get corroboration.” He opened the file, turned over several documents,and came up with a photograph of a corpse. Its skull was fractured in multiple places and splintered in others.

The medical examiner said, “Because of the height he fell from, the airbag did nothing. He took the steering wheel just above the maxilla. Snapped his neck. He died instantly.”

“His teeth are almost all gone,” Sampson said. “How did you make the match?”

Bevan got out a photo that showed the teeth he’d found in the mouth during the autopsy.

Bree pointed to a tooth with metal sticking out where the root should have been. “Are those implants?”

“Two of them,” he said. “Lateral incisors. Malcomb’s dental records show he didn’t have adult lateral incisors. He had the implants in his twenties.”

“Do you have copies of those records?” Sampson asked.

“I’ll get copies made for you,” he said.

Bree said, “Could we get copies of your autopsy report as well? And the tox screens?”

“All in the public record,” the medical examiner said. “Tox screen too. He had a load of booze and a little fentanyl in him, I can tell you that. You want the DNA report also?”

“Yes, sir,” Bree said. “Just so we’ve dotted our i’s and crossed our t’s.”

Twenty minutes later, they returned to the Cherokee.

“What now?” Sampson asked.

“We go to Salmon, start tracking Sean Malcomb Wallace there.”

“But you heard the man—the dental records support the DNA report,” Sampson said. “I mean, what are the chances that Sean Malcomb Wallace had the same missing teeth and implants as his brother?”

---