Page 36 of Alex Cross Must Die

“No shit. A real one?”

“Actually, no. He made it up.”

Crown held her hands under an industrial air dryer and shouted over the roar. “So who’s the perp, Mr. Poe? Who’s the murderer in the Rue Morgue?”

Poe waited for the dryer racket to stop. He cleared his throat. “An orangutan did it.”

Crown shot him a look. “You messing with me?”

Poe shrugged. “I didn’t write it.”

“You mean one of those big hairy orange monkeys?”

“Technically, an ape.”

Crown pulled on a blue paper gown and a pair of purple surgical gloves. “Sotechnically,Mr. Poe … what are you doing in my place of business?”

“He was at the burial site,” said Grey. “He’s helping out with the case.”

“Okay, then,” said Crown. “That’s fine.” She raised her eyebrows at Grey. “You need all the damn help you can get.”

“Have you figured out how old they are?” asked Poe. “The bones, I mean. How long ago were the victims killed?”

“Well now, Mr. Poe, that’s a very perceptive question,” said Crown, walking to one of the tables. “Because we’ve got ourselves a real chronological variety here.” She picked up one of the skulls. “This woman met her end, I’d say, about sixty years ago.”

She turned to another table and picked up a second skull. “This fellow, he’s only been gone a few months.” She held out the skulls as if she were getting ready to juggle. “You know what that means?”

“We’re not talking about a single killer,” said Poe. “We’re talking generations.”

Crown glanced at Grey. “Sharp assistant you’ve got here.” She nudged the detective in the shoulder. “Not a bad looker either.”

Grey ignored the hint. “Let me know if you get any DNA matches,” she said.

“Will do, Detective,” said Crown with a mischievous smile.

Poe felt Grey starting to push him toward the door as Crown’s voice echoed against the tile walls. “What’s the story, Helene? You guys a couple? ’Cause you coulddefinitelyuse some help inthatdepartment!”

As Grey hustled him down the corridor, Poe could hear the ME calling from the doorway.

“Come back anytime, Mr. Poe! Read me a bedtime story!”

CHAPTER 35

AT NOON, HOLMESand his partners were nearing the top floor of the Bain Building in Hudson Yards, one of a cluster of spectacular structures on Manhattan’s West Side. The glass-fronted elevator faced the Jersey side, with a stunning view across the Hudson River.

From this height, thought Holmes, even Hoboken looked picturesque. He knew there were urgent tasks waiting on the subway murders and the Charles abduction, but this was a command performance, and Huntley Bain had demanded the entire team.

Holmes had filled Poe and Marple in on his late-night meeting with the FBI art maven, and now they were on their way to give Bain an update on the case.

Thanks to Blythe, they had a new person of interest in the art theft. The mysterious Luka Franke. But Holmes had no intention of revealing that fact to Bain. He enjoyed watching him twist. Besides, Holmes suspected the businessman had set this morning’s meeting at his office as just another way to impress them with his money and style.

“Good Lord,” Marple said softly as they stepped out of the elevator into the executive-level lobby. Holmes could see her eyes widen atthe sight of the lush flora that decorated the space. Fresh lilies and orchids in elegant glass pitchers. Huge vases of colorful mums. And, more to the point, a row of potted money trees.

“Bubinga!” Poe said in a low voice.

Holmes and Marple turned.

“The paneling,” said Poe. “Bubinga wood. From Western Africa. Obscenely expensive. Endangered and highly restricted.”

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