“She’s still your little girl,” I said. “But she’s been wounded.”
“Talk to her. Make her see it wasn’t her fault.”
Feeling his desperation, I took a deep breath and said, “I can try. Where’s her bedroom?”
“Top of the stairs, to the right.”
“The gun?”
“Her backup. She surrendered her service pistol.”
“You know what prescriptions she’s taking?”
“What isn’t she taking? The kitchen counter’s covered with them.”
“Then I want to take a look there first.”
He led me inside, past a steep staircase and into a small modern kitchen. The counter held a blooming array of prescription drugs.
I picked up the canisters one by one and studied them. Some names I recognized. I got out my smartphone and typed names of the medicines I didn’t know into Drugs.com. I scanned all the drugs’ therapeutic effects, scribbled a few notes, and then used the site to look for possible interactions.
When I finished, I was upset, and I whispered, “Bernie? Is Tess taking all of these? Or just some?”
“She won’t tell me, and I can’t get her damn doctors on the phone.”
I grabbed the bottles and looked for the prescribers’ names. In all, five physicians had prescribed twelve different meds for Tess Aaliyah in the past six weeks.
Her father said, “What do you think?”
“If she’s taking half these drugs at the same time, it’s a wonder she hasn’t been committed for psychotic behavior already.”
“Jesus H. Christ.” Bernie moaned. “I knew it. I told my girlfriend something was wrong. But, Jesus, I... I just didn’t push it.”
“Tess is a grown woman,” I said, and I patted him on the arm. “You coming? She’ll want you at some point, but please don’t say anything unless I give you the nod. Okay?”
He didn’t like that. “I’ve done my share of talking people off ledges.”
“I bet you have, Bernie. But it’s like a surgeon operating on a close relative or a man acting as his own lawyer in court. Never a good move.”
Tess’s dad gave me a sour expression but said, “I won’t speak unless you give me the green light.”
“Let’s go upstairs, then.”
Chapter 40
The carpeted stairs made no noise as I climbed to a narrow landing. I turned right and went around the banister to Tess Aaliyah’s bedroom door. Before I could knock, I heard her in there talking.
“Rats,” Tess said in a soft voice that sounded bewildered. “I saw rats. Here? Believe it. I saw... I heard... them scratching in the walls... and her screaming. Mom screaming. Mom’s always screaming.” Tess cried quietly. “Always screaming.”
She sounded so close, I squatted down and saw a shadow that suggested she was sitting on the floor with her back to the door.
I got up, took a deep breath, knocked, and said softly, “Tess?”
“Go ’way,” she said in a whisper that I had to strain to hear.
“It’s Alex Cross,” I said, a little louder. “I wanted to see if we could talk.”
“Quiet!” she snarled. “I know my... my rights. I’m not seeing another shrink. No more rats chattering in my closets, no way.”
Before I could reply, Tess said, “Alex, you’re the big rat. One chitchat, and you start all this drama... put nasty thoughts in my dad’s head. ‘Poor Tess. She’s crazy enough now. Stick her in a hole.’”
“I’m not here to stick you in a hole.”
Tess sniggered. “Course you are.”
“I’m not. I just want to talk things over.”
For several seconds, there was no reply. The door creaked as she leaned against it. I heard her shift position on the floor.
I glanced over at her father, who stood at the head of the stairs looking like he was listening to someone drown.
“Tess?” I said. “Can I just talk, then? Would that be okay?”
“Whatever you want,” she said, returning to that bewildered voice. “Just do it nice and quiet. I hear you fine.”
I paused, trying to think ahead, trying to figure out the best way to get her to come out and turn over the—
Saa-chunk.
Chapter 41
The sound froze my thoughts. I’d heard it a thousand times in my life, maybe more, the particular noise a double-action revolver makes when a thumb cocks the hammer into firing position.
“Tess,” I said, stepping quietly to the side of the door and out of the potential line of fire. “Do you have a gun in there?”
In that off voice, she said, “Hate rats in my closets.”
I glanced at her father, motioned for him to be patient, and said, “A lot of people care about you, Tess. They’d like to help you. I’d like to come in and help you. Your dad would too.”
“No need,” Tess said wearily, sounding as if she might be falling asleep. “Ask my dad. Tessie’s an impatient girl, can’t wait for pest control to do its thing.”
“Will you do me a favor? Will you put the gun down beside you, at least?”
“No, Alex,” she whispered. “What would be the point of that?”
I decided to shake her a bit. “I asked you before if you were self-medicating. You said no. But your dad just showed me twelve different meds in your kitchen.”
After a pause, she said, “Legitimate prescriptions from licensed docs.”
“Except I don’t think the other doctors knew everything you’d been prescribed, Tess,” I said. “There are several drugs down there — antidepressants and antipsychotics — that pose a significant risk when combined. You could have a very serious drug interaction, one that could stop your heart, trigger a stroke, potentially damage your brain, wipe out your long-term memory.”
In a slow, modulated whisper, Tess said, “Hasn’t. Worked. Yet.”
The gun barked.
It startled me so badly I jumped back before feeling the horror and disbelief well in me. Tess had shot herself. She was dead, right there on the other side of that door. My knees went to rubber and I grabbed at the banister, feeling like I was going to be sick. Bernie Aaliyah roared in panic and despair, “No!”
He limped fast to her door and pounded on it. “Tess! Answer me! Tess, you answer me right now!”
In the short silence that followed, I said, “Bernie?”
Tess’s father twisted his head to look at me, enraged. “Shut up, you. I never should have called you, Cross. You’ve killed her, that’s what you’ve done!”
Part Three
The Prosecution of Alex Cross
Chapter 42
Four weeks later...
Striking her gavel twice, Judge Priscilla Larch peered out through thick-lensed glasses and in a gravelly voice said, “The People versus Alex Cross. This court will come to order. Sergeant Holm, you may seat the jury.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the bailiff said, and he went out.
“I’m praying we chose right,” my niece Naomi said.
Anita Marley nodded stiffly and looked to her opening arguments, not bothering to watch the five men and seven women who held my fate in their hands now filing into the courtroom and taking their places in the jury box. I understood why. Anita was still upset with me about jury selection.
During voir dire — the questioning of potential jurors by the prosecution and defense prior to jury selection — we’d disagreed over two picks: juror five and juror eleven. Five was a man in his seventies who had something wrong with his spine. His upper back was twisted and hunched. He walked slowly with a cane and had to turn his shoulders and rib cage to look up at you.