CHAPTER 10 Cross
Cross
ALEX CROSS STANDS IN front of his son Damon’s apartment building on Maxwell Road. It’s a one-story extended-ranch brick building that’s less than a mile from the center of campus. The lawn is green but thin with a few tall pine trees on one side providing shade.
She also pulls out two pairs of blue medical gloves and two sets of paper booties.
“Bree …”
Her voice is tight: “You know we have to go in like this. If it’s a crime scene, we can’t contaminate it.”
She’s right, and Alex knows it. He just does not like the implications. For God’s sake, how many times have I entered homes or rooms like this and ended up finding the bloody remains of a homicide victim?
He takes a pair of the gloves, snaps them on, then slips the booties over his shoes. Bree leans on him as she slides her own booties on. They’ve both had lots of practice.
Alex steps forward, holding his wife’s hand tight. “I love you, Bree.”
She squeezes his hand, her eyes wet. “I love you too, Alex.”
He slides the key into the lock, turns it gently, then leads the way into the darkness.