Chapter 49
CHAPTER
We followed valentine rodolpho anyway. He did go to physical therapy, spent an hour there, then returned to his row house. We called off the surveillance at midnight and went home.
We were back in the morning in time to see Rodolpho go to his favorite café, where he stayed for an hour. We watched a visibly angry Nancy Donovan leave the café first, followed fifteen minutes later by an even angrier Rodolpho, who gave us the finger as he hailed a taxi.
This went on for two mind-numbing days. Rodolpho continued his daily trips to the café, though we did not see Officer Donovan again. By Saturday, figuring Rodolpho and Prince had gotten our message, we called off the stakeout.
It was time to enlist the public’s help.
That evening, Maria, Damon, and I had a nice dinner at an Italian place on Capitol Hill. The next morning, we met Sampson and Nana Mama before Mass.
According to Nana Mama, ten o’clock Mass on Sunday at St. Anthony’s was always the best attended service of the week.
While Maria, Damon, and Nana found seats, Sampson and I went to see Father Nathan Barry back in the vestibule.
We admitted to Father Barry that we were making little headway on the investigation into Tony’s murder and I asked if I could appeal directly to the congregation for aid.
Father Barry agreed, and before the parish announcements at the end of Mass, he called me up and introduced me: “Alex Cross, a longtime parishioner and now a detective with Metro PD.”
“Thank you, Father,” I said as I stood behind the lectern. “As Father Barry said, I grew up attending this church, as did my partner, John Sampson.”
I paused and saw many heads nodding. I pressed on with my plea.
“Because we’re from here and because we still live here, we have taken the investigation into the murders of Tony Miller and Shay Mansion as a deeply personal mission.
We have been working hard to solve these murders, but to be honest, we have not made the kind of progress we would like. We need your help.
“As devastating as these killings were to the families of Tony and Shay, we have all been damaged by their murders. Two of our own young men were taken by what we believe was gang violence. For the mothers of these boys to get some kind of peace, their sons’ killers must be brought to justice.
I believe this community needs that too.
“If you know anything, please call me or John Sampson through the Metro main number. If you wish to remain anonymous, you can leave your information on the department’s tip line. Thank you.”
I nodded to the parishioners and to Father Barry, then went back to my seat. Maria took my hand. Nana Mama whispered, “Well said.”
Damon had fallen asleep in my grandmother’s arms. I winked at her and squeezed my wife’s hand, hoping my words had been enough to shake something loose. When the service was over, we left the church.
I carried a still sleepy Damon down the church steps as many parishioners we’d known for years promised to help us in any way they could. Maria strolled over to my right to talk with Father Barry. Nana Mama was on my left, chatting with several old friends.
“Think it was enough?” I said to Sampson as I shifted Damon in my arms.
“Yeah,” he said, his head slowly craning around. “If someone in there knew something, I think we’ll hear about—”
He stared past me, his eyes widening. “Gun!” he whispered. “Eleven o’clock on the street and coming at us, Alex!”
I snapped my head around, saw a black Suburban heading our way. The rear passenger-side window was down, and a rifle barrel was sticking out.
“Gun!” Sampson roared. “Everybody, down!”
The gunman in the Suburban opened up, firing in bursts. Damon began to scream. A woman next to Sampson was hit, and panic took over.
Ignoring my son’s screams, the shooting, and the people running, I took two steps, tackled Nana Mama to the ground, and used my body to shield her and Damon as bullets pinged off the concrete all around us.
Then I heard shots coming from much closer, and I looked up to see Sampson squared off in a horse stance and pouring lead at the open rear window of the Suburban before it screeched off up the street.
“You okay, Nana?” I gasped over Damon’s screeches.
“If you get off me, I will be!”
Maria!
I jumped up with Damon still in my arms and looked around frantically. Sampson was gone, and several people who’d been standing close to us now lay bleeding on the sidewalk in front of the church.
“Alex!”
My terrified wife rushed toward me, blood spattered on her face and down the front of her maternity dress. She ran into my arms, sobbing. “They shot Father Barry! Right next to me. He’s dead!”
The three of us stood there shaking, arms wrapped around each other.
“I go home, Mama?” Damon cried. “I go home, Daddy?”
“Soon, buddy,” I said to my son, feeling more vulnerable than I ever had. To my wife, I said, “We need to help the wounded. We can cry afterward. Okay?”
Maria shuddered, then nodded and pulled away. I handed her Damon, whose crying had eased.
Sirens wailed toward us as the first of the ambulances arrived.
Sampson returned.
“What the hell was that about?” I asked.
“I think Prince got our message and decided to reply,” Sampson said.
“You think we were the targets?”
“Yeah, Alex, I do.”