Page 22 of Alex Cross Must Die

Poe pulled the bag from his pocket and held it up at Marple’s eye level. “Any clue what this might be?”

“Where did you find that?”

“In a bathroom wastebasket.”

“No wonder,” said Marple. “It’s a vaginal ring.”

“Body piercing?” asked Poe, cringing.

“Contraceptive,” said Marple. “More popular in the UK than here. But quite effective. Addilyn said Zozi spent last summer in London.”

“So Zozi is sexually active?” asked Holmes.

“Apparently so,” said Marple. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Let’s divvy up duties,” said Poe. “I’ll take the husband’s business. Brendan, you dig into the marriage. Margaret, you take the girl.”

“Should we call Helene?” asked Poe.

“What?” said Holmes. “And have her take over the case?”

“Not yet,” said Marple. “In matters like this, sometimes less is more.”

Holmes and Poe headed for the GTO, parked in front of a bodega across the street. Marple hung back, checking her phone.

“You two go on ahead,” she said. “I have some things to do.”

Holmes and Poe both stopped and turned.

“Whatthings?” asked Holmes.

“We need to get started on this case, Margaret,” said Poe.

“I understand,” said Marple. “I’ve got my brief. And I don’t need to be micromanaged by the two of you.”

Poe was taken aback. He realized that he was cracking the whip a bit, but he’d also been looking forward to spending the afternoon together, the three of them assembling pieces of the puzzle. Without Marple, the dynamic wasn’t the same. But he wasn’t her boss. Just her partner.

“No problem, Margaret,” said Poe, backing down. “Do what you need to do. We’ll catch up later.”

Marple started walking up the street toward Greenwich Village. “I might beverylate,” she called over her shoulder. “I have a date!”

Poe looked at Holmes, who seemed as surprised as he was.A date? Margaret?

CHAPTER 22

ONE OF THEwindows in the small, gloomy bar looked out on the Hudson River. The other looked out on a corner guard turret of the Sing Sing Correctional Facility. Marple sipped her sherry as she waited.

The train ride up to Ossining through the river towns from Grand Central had been pleasant and peaceful, and Marple was grateful for the think time. It was rare to have any time alone at all these days. The last year had been a blur. New business. New living situation. And now, one case after another—bang, bang, bang.No looking back now,thought Marple.Only forward.

As she watched the sun ease down over the west side of the river, shouts erupted from her fellow patrons around the bar. All men. All watching the Yankees game on the TV over the bar.

A wiry man slid onto the stool to Marple’s left. He wore a mechanic’s overalls, and his fingers and nails were stained black with grease. “Nice of you to come up to my neighborhood,” he said.

“I enjoyed the trip,” said Marple. “Shall we take a booth?”

The man signaled the bartender, who nodded back and pulled a bottle of Miller High Life from the cooler under the bar.

“How’s it goin’, Finn?” said the bartender as he popped the top and set the bottle down.

---