CHAPTER 18
THE OFFICE OF THE investigative unit of the Chapel Hill Police Department looks like a hundred other stations Alex Cross has been in over the years: The same shoulder-high cubicles, bulletin boards, filing cabinets, and whiteboards with scribbled notes. The same smell of stale coffee.
Detective Hugh Malone, a sturdy-looking guy in a crisp white shirt and a blue necktie with dark brown hair cut high and short, seems a little surprised when Alex and Bree show up unannounced, badges out. But he’s not entirely unprepared, having gotten a heads-up from Chief Amberson about Damon.
“I didn’t know when you’d be coming,” Malone says, glancing down at some notes. “Are you sure you can’t think of any legitimate reason for Damon to be away? Field trip? Research? Graduate students do a lot of projects off campus and in the community.”
“He would have told someone,” says Alex. “We haven’t heard from him for a week, and his last texts and calls to his girlfriend were more than three days ago.”
“And there was nothing in those earlier messages that worried you?”
“Nothing,” says Bree. “All normal.”
Malone checks his notes again. “And what about the girlfriend? Melissa Lange?”
“She says she hasn’t heard from him either,” says Alex. “No communication at all.”
Malone reaches for his office phone. “I’ll send a patrol over to his apartment.”
Alex stops him. “We’ve already been there. It’s clean.”
“You searched his apartment?” says Malone. “By yourselves?”
“It’s kind of what we do,” says Bree.
Malone sits back in his chair with a deep frown on his face.
He looks back and forth from Alex to Bree and taps his pen on his desk.
“I have to say that if anybody else had told me that, I would be pretty pissed off right now. Normally, we like to conduct our own searches. But considering your reputations, I’ll let it slide. ”
“You’re welcome to go search for yourself,” says Bree.
“Be our guest,” Alex adds. “But you won’t find anything we didn’t.”
Malone leans forward again. “First, let’s address the elephant in the room.”
Alex cocks his head. “What elephant?”
Malone lowers his voice: “You, Dr. Cross.”
Alex knows exactly what Malone is talking about.
He’s been thinking the same thing.
He flashes back to all the serial killers and psychopaths he’s helped capture and put behind bars over the years.
He thinks again about Maestro, still out there somewhere, still haunting the Cross family.
He knows that acolytes and admirers of those twisted criminals are all possible suspects in Damon’s disappearance.
Alex nods. “Yes. A revenge kidnapping. Or a copycat. Or somebody with a grudge against me. Of course it’s been on my mind.”
“Our family’s been targeted before,” says Bree. “We’ve made a lot of enemies.”
“So you admit it’s a possibility,” says Malone.
“Of course,” says Alex. “But so far, we haven’t been contacted.
No one’s taken credit for Damon’s disappearance or sent us a ransom message.
” Even as he speaks, Alex knows there’s a chance that Damon has been kidnapped and the perp is getting off on torturing them with silence.
They might get a ransom demand, but they might never hear anything.
“Does Damon have a pattern of wandering away from home? Or of being uncommunicative?”
“No,” says Bree. “But according to his girlfriend, Melissa, when he’s deep into a project, he can become a bit obsessive, grabbing on to it and not letting go, no matter where it takes him. She told us that sometimes Damon will go off by himself for a day or two.”
Alex nods. “But he’s never been out of touch completely, and never for three days.”
Malone opens a folder on his desk. “Let’s do this: We’ll alert all shifts and give them Damon’s description.
We’ll check campus surveillance feeds. We’ll interview his classmates and professors.
I’ve got a campus ID photo for Damon, but can you give me something more to work with?
A tight head-and-shoulders shot is best.”
Bree takes out her phone, retrieves a photo she took of Damon and Alex after a run in their neighborhood a couple of months ago. She expands the photo and crops it, then holds the screen out to Malone. “How’s this?”
“Perfect,” says Malone. “I’ll give you my email—”
“Already have it,” says Bree. She taps her phone screen and sends him the photo. “Here’s his class schedule, and I’ll send you a list of names he’s mentioned in emails.”
“Good,” says Malone. “I’ll try to get a court order to get at Damon’s phone records. And we’ll check any recent ATM withdrawals.”
“What about going public?” asks Alex. “Making some kind of announcement?”
“Look, guys,” says Malone. “I understand your concern. I truly do. But you’re thinking like parents, not detectives.
At the moment, we have no proof that Damon is in danger.
We typically don’t go public as a department unless we have solid information that somebody is at risk.
We had a case two years ago where a woman reported that her sister had gone missing.
No indication of foul play. A few days later, we learned the sister had left on a hiking trip. It was all a big misunderstanding.”
Alex is well aware that his son doesn’t fit the typical missing person profile in the National Crime Information Center—Damon is a physically and mentally healthy adult over the age of twenty-one, and despite Alex’s fear that someone might be out for revenge, there’s no evidence pointing to accident, illness, or foul play.
As Alex knows, nothing prevents adults from leaving their homes of their own accord without telling anyone or leaving a note behind to explain where they’re going.
But he also knows his son, and Damon wouldn’t go silent like this for so long.
“With all due respect,” says Alex, “I understand my son.”