Page 11 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Her bare,smallhands,” said Poe. “Just like the mayor’s.”

“From what Kristin told Samantha,” said Holmes, “Rollins has been pawing her in the office from the day she started.”

Poe shifted in his chair. “Which is why she set him up to take the fall.”

Holmes nodded. “Kristin put a tracker in the mayor’s private car. Used the car to drive Sloane’s body to the country. Then planted the emails to Sloane from the mayor’s account. She had everything she needed to point the finger at her grabby boss. All that was missing was somebody to find the body. So when NYPD dropped the ball, she left us an anonymous tip.”

“Thinking we’d stop at the obvious suspect,” said Poe.

“Which we almost did,” said Holmes.

“That still doesn’t excuse your keeping secrets from us,” said Marple. “We’re partners, not rogue operators.”

Holmes could tell she was angry, embarrassed, and hurt. “For the record,” he said, “the firm solved the crime. Holmes, Marple, and Poe Investigations. We did it. And we’ll all reap the rewards.” Holmes reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key. “In the meantime, I’m afraid there’s something else I’ve been keeping from you.”

He reached over and unlocked a cabinet next to the table. He pulled out a bottle of wine. A 1992 Screaming Eagle Cabernet. He’d paid twenty-five hundred dollars for it on the black market, and he’d been saving it for a special occasion. Right now, he hoped it might help him get back in his partners’ good graces.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Poe, eyes wide.

“Looks are not always deceiving, Auguste,” said Holmes. He set the bottle on the table and reached for three large wine goblets. He pulled the cork and poured.

Marple swirled the wine and sniffed. “You know I prefer sherry,” she said. Then her expression softened. “But this bouquet is heaven.”

“I propose a toast,” said Holmes. “To Holmes, Marple, and Poe.”

“To teamwork,” said Poe.

“To no more secrets,” said Marple.

Holmes smiled as they all clinked glasses. “I’ll do my best.”

CHAPTER 12

THE NEXT MORNING,Auguste Poe was peeking out from behind a thick curtain in the lobby of One Police Plaza. His heart was pounding. Holmes and Marple hovered right behind him. He could feel that they were just as excited as he was. The scene out front was wild and almost out of control. It was everything they could have hoped for.

Commissioner Boolin had called the press conference for 9 a.m. The place had been packed since 7. News of Kristin Rove’s arrest had leaked the previous afternoon, and reporters from every outlet were crowded in front of the podium. This story had everything—politics, sex, murder. Everybody wanted answers.

The DA and his assistants were on hand, but Boolin had insisted on making the formal announcement himself.

Poe and his partners inched out from behind the curtain as Boolin stepped up to the podium, his badge gleaming under the lights. The reporters crowded toward him, thrusting iPhones and mini recorders in his direction. Grey looked over and gave the investigators a polite nod. But they received no acknowledgment from Boolin. Apparently, he was pretending that they didn’t exist.

The commissioner did the ritual tapping of the microphone, sending loud thuds and feedback echoing through the lobby. He cleared his throat. The murmurs settled. A hundred camera buttons clicked. He shuffled his note cards.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, and all New Yorkers. I am here to announce that we are confident that the case of Miss Sloane Stone’s disappearance has been brought to a conclusion.” He looked up and paused. Cleared his throat. “While we had all hoped for a positive outcome, we are gratified that the alleged killer is in custody. Kristin Marie Rove, age twenty-eight, until yesterday an executive assistant in the office of Felix Rollins, the mayor of New York, will be arraigned this afternoon on a charge of second-degree murder. Based on our investigation …” Boolin fumbled with his note cards.

“Hold on!Yourinvestigation?” A voice from the middle of the press mob. Poe looked over. The voice belonged to Shelbi Scott, Channel 4 News, a sharp young journalist with a reputation as a pot stirrer. “We have reports that the case was actually solved by a team of private investigators,” Scott shouted. “Can you comment on that, Commissioner?”

Boolin leaned his beefy torso across the podium. “Sorry. We cannot comment on procedural or investigative matters.”

“Is thatthem?”

Poe noticed a Fox News reporter pointing in their direction.

“Over there!”

“Fuck me!” muttered Boolin. The microphones picked it up. He gripped the podium and tried to maintain his power position. “Like many private citizens and professionals who stepped forward with leads and tips, certain private investigators contributed to our—”

The reporters shouted him down. “Give ’em a mic. Let ’em talk!” They pushed toward the trio in a wave. Poe looked at his partners,then squared his shoulders. This was it. The moment they’d been waiting for.

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