Page 95 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Or maybe he felt guilty,” said Marple. “Or just wanted to say good-bye.”

“He probably ditched the truck after he realized you’d spotted him,” said Grey. “We’re checking the chop shops and scrap yards. At this point, it could be anywhere.”

Marple looked through the windshield just as a young man passed in front of the car, heading across the street toward the hotel entrance. New baseball cap. Same faded denim outfit. Same long-legged lope. Earlier, the guy at the front desk had given Grey a positive ID on Carson Parker. But under a different name. The cowboy would probably be back, the kid had said. He’d paid for his room a few days in advance. All cash.

“That’s him,” said Marple, slipping low in the seat. “That’s our cowboy.”

CHAPTER 110

GREY PICKED UPher walkie-talkie and called for backup. She waited for the cowboy to walk through the entrance before she opened her car door. Marple exited from the passenger side.

“I should really lock you in the car,” said Grey.

“You know I’d escape,” said Marple.

“Stay behind me, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time they crossed the street, the backup car had pulled up. Grey leaned into the front window. The two uniformed cops were babies, both of them. Grey tapped the driver on the shoulder. “You take the back exits,” she said. She pointed at his partner. “You cover the fire escapes on the north side. Suspect is male, five ten or eleven. Slender build. Denim outfit. Mets cap. Could be armed. Watch your backs.”

The cop behind the wheel nodded. “Copy.”

As the young cops exited the car to take their positions, Marple followed Grey through the doors and into the hotel lobby. The whole place reeked of mold. The tile floor was littered with fast-food wrappers and cigarette butts.

Marple looked to the right. A cardboardOUT OF ORDERsign was attached to the elevator door with masking tape. A huge man was slumped on a battered office chair with his massive bald head hanging down between his knees. Drunk, stoned, deranged, or maybe all of the above, thought Marple.

Grey slipped past him toward the stairwell. Marple followed. When they pushed through the heavy metal fire door onto the first-floor landing, the odor of stale urine hit Marple like a slap. She saw a broken syringe in one corner, a used condom in another.

“I’d hate to see the breakfast bar,” she said.

Grey pulled her pistol out and leaned forward to look up through the gap in the staircase. “Clear,” she whispered. She led the way up, pausing on each landing to gauge the next flight. Marple stayed close behind.

When they reached the fifth floor, Grey leaned against the landing door and looked through the small center pane. She waved Marple into the corner as she tugged hard on the corroded door handle. The door wouldn’t budge.

Marple heard footsteps on the landing below. Grey put a finger to her lips, raised her pistol, and took a step back down just as a man rounded the corner on his way up. His bulk almost filled the landing.

He was pointing a .45.

Marple recognized him in a flash. The sleeping guy from the lobby.

Wide awake now.

CHAPTER 111

“HOLD YOUR PIECEby the barrel and hand it over,” he said.

“Police officer,” said Grey. She opened her jacket to flash her badge.

“Ex-Army,” said the guy, pointing the gun at Marple’s head. “I win.”

“Okay,” said Grey. “Stay calm.” She clicked on her safety and stretched her arm out. The vet grabbed the gun and stuffed it into the waistband of his pants. He moved up the steps until he was just one step below where Marple was standing.

“This is a very bad neighborhood for ladies,” he said. With his free hand, he reached up and touched Marple’s arm.

“Hey,” said Grey, “you don’t want to do that.”

The man smiled with yellow teeth. “Oh, but I do. In this place, I do whatever I want.”

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