Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(4)

“Let him look, John,” I said, and Sampson let Weaver walk a few more feet forward until he could see the body.

Weaver’s shoulders slumped and he stood there glumly for several minutes, looking at her. “That’s Catherine,” he said when he turned around. “And I don’t care what that sign says. She was no traitor.”

“Thank you,” Sampson said. “But again, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Don’t you want to know about her?” Weaver asked.

“I thought you guys never talk about what you do.”

“We don’t, usually. This is different.”





Chapter





5




Toni Alston, one of the district’s medical examiners, arrived along with two crime scene specialists. They began photographing the area as we stood off to the side, listening to the CIA officer describe Catherine Hingham as one of the smartest, most dedicated field operatives he’d ever worked with.

“Field operative?” I said. “She looks like a—”

“Suburban housewife or a schoolteacher,” Weaver said. “That was the point. She used both those covers, among others.”

According to Weaver, Catherine Hingham had been fluent in five languages and worked in a variety of deep undercover settings. All the while, she raised two children, one of whom was born with cerebral palsy.

“Most mothers would have resigned immediately,” Weaver said. “But Catherine’s husband, Frank, is a speech pathologist and infinitely more qualified to be Emily’s primary caregiver. Does he know yet?”

“Not that we’re aware of,” Sampson said. “And we’d appreciate being the ones to break the news to him.”

“Where does he think she is?” I asked.

The CIA officer looked at me appraisingly. “Training in Los Angeles.”

“Where was she really?”

“Until the day before yesterday, she was in Nogales, Mexico.”

“Doing what?”

Weaver put up his hands. “Now, that I cannot discuss.”

I said, “But given Nogales, we can assume what?”

“Assume nothing. She was on an assignment critical to national security and I’ll have to leave it at that or risk prison time.” He fished a card from his wallet. “But if you’ve got other questions, you can call me, day or night, and whatever I can tell you, I will.”

“Was she one of yours?” I asked, taking the card. “Part of your team, like the others over by the Suburbans?”

Weaver cocked his head. “You are sharp, Dr. Cross. Yes, Catherine was one of mine and she entered the CIA with several of those officers. We were a team.”

“Were you or any other members of your team also in Nogales?” Sampson asked.

The agent’s eyes shifted; he blinked. “No. I wish we had been, but Catherine wanted to work this one solo.”

“Was she corruptible? Financially? Ideologically?” I asked.

“No!” Weaver said sharply. “One hundred percent no. Catherine was…one of the good people—”

“Dr. Cross?” Toni Alston interrupted.

“Excuse me,” I said and went over to the medical examiner.

Alston told me her preliminary examination indicated Hingham had died roughly thirty-six hours earlier from a single, small-caliber gunshot to the head. Her left pinkie and left ring finger were broken.

“Torture?” I asked.

“Possibly. Broken fingers must have been painful. But I’m not seeing any other marks on her so far,” Alston said. “I’ll know more once I get her back to my lab. And we found this in an inside pocket of her hoodie.”

She went over and retrieved an evidence bag. Inside was a white letter-size envelope. Printed on it in a large, garish red font was one word: CONFESSION.

The text was so vivid, Weaver could see it from twenty feet away. “Confession?” he said, coming toward us. “I want to see that right now.”

This time I stepped in front of him, my hands way out to my sides as if I were guarding him in a hoops game. “Mr. Weaver, that will not happen without some kind of waiver from the Department of Justice,” I said. “There’s nothing you or I can do without one. Now, please leave the crime scene or I’ll have you forcibly removed.”

The CIA officer wanted to paste me; I could see it in his eyes and the bunching of his muscles. But a cooler head prevailed. He nodded and said, “I’m going to see about that right now.”

Weaver walked away, shooed the rest of his team back into the Suburbans, and left.

I was about to suggest we get hold of the parking lot’s security cameras when my cell phone buzzed in my pocket.

When I saw the text on the screen, I felt instantly exposed. I looked all around and back to where the Suburbans had vanished.

“Alex?” Sampson said.

I held up a finger and then read the text again.

Top of the morning, Dr. C. It’s been months, hasn’t it? I know I’ve been playing catchup these last few days. Bree’s left Metro PD behind her. How exciting! Jannie’s entering her senior year soon. Damon’s killing it at Davidson. Ali’s becoming quite the young detective. And you’re on the new case of the Traitor in the Parking Garage. I swear, if I take my eyes off you for a moment, Alex Cross, your entire life changes.—M