"Martin," I finally asked, "is it possible that Kyle murdered your younger brother Blake?"
"Blake died in a hunting accident — supposedly," Martin Craig said. "Detective Cross, my brother Blake was an incredibly responsible and careful man, almost as careful as Kyle. He didn't accidentally shoot himself. I believe with all my heart that Kyle had something to do with it. That's why he and I haven't spoken in ten years. My brother is Cain. I believe he's a murderer, and I want to see him caught. I want to see my brother go to the electric chair. That's what Kyle deserves."
Chapter 108
Nothing ever starts where we think it does. I kept remembering that Kyle had done nearly all of the TV and print interviews after the capture of Peter Westin in the foothills outside Santa Cruz. He'd wanted the praise. He wanted to be the star, the only one. In a way, that's what he was now: the brightest star of all.
I had one decent idea about what to do next, something proactive that might bother Kyle. I contacted the FBI and discussed it with Director Burns. He liked it too.
At four o'clock that afternoon, a press conference was called in the lobby of the FBI building. Director Burns was there to speak briefly and then to introduce me. Burns stated in no uncertain terms that I would be involved in the manhunt until Kyle Craig was brought to justice, and that Kyle would definitely be caught.
I was wearing a black leather car coat and I buttoned it up as I stepped to the mikes. I was playing this for all it was worth. I wanted to look self-important. I wanted to look like the star. Not Kyle. This was my manhunt. Not his. He was the prey.
There was the usual mechanical buzz and hum of cameras, the incessant flashes, and all those inquiring minds of the press, those mostly cynical eyes staring up at me, waiting for answers that I couldn't give them now. It set my nerves on edge.
My voice was as grave and important sounding as I could make it. "My name is Alex Cross. I'm a homicide detective in D.C. I've worked closely with Special Agent in Charge Kyle Craig over the past five years. I know him extremely well." I went into some detail on our past together. I tried to sound like a pompous know-it-all. The doctor-detective.
"Kyle has been helpful in solving a few murders. He was a competent number two, excellent support for me. He was an overachiever type but a tireless worker.
"We will capture him soon, but Kyle, if you can hear me, wherever you are, I urge you to listen closely. Give yourself up. I can help you. I've always been able to help. Give yourself up to me. It's the only chance you have."
I paused and stared into the TV cameras, then I slowly stepped back from the microphones. The camera flashes were everywhere. They were treating me like the star now. Just as I had hoped they would.
Director Burns said a few more words about his concern for public safety and the extent of the FBI manhunt. He thanked me profusely for being there.
As I stood there beside Director Burns, I continued to stare out into the TV cameras. I knew that Kyle would be looking right at me. I was sure that he'd see this segment and that it would infuriate him.
I was sending Kyle a clear message, and a challenge.
Come and get me, if you can. You're not the Mastermind anymore— I am.
Chapter 109
Now I waited.
I went to visit Nana and the kids early the next morning.
My aunt Tia had a small clapboard house that was painted yellow with white aluminum shutters. It was located on a quiet street in Chapel Gate, which she called "the country." As I drove up to the small house, I saw no evidence of the FBI, which was a good sign, I thought. They were doing their job well.
The special agent in charge was a man named Peter Schweitzer. He had an excellent reputation. Schweitzer met me at the front door and introduced me to the six other agents inside Tia's house.
When I was fully satisfied about security, I went to see Nana and the kids. "Hello, Daddy."
"Hello, Dad."
"Hello, Alex." Everybody seemed especially glad to see me, even Nana. They were having a big breakfast in the kitchen, and Tia was busy making pancakes and hot sausages. She put out her arms for a hug, and then everybody grabbed hold of me and wouldn't let go. I must admit, I liked the attention; I needed the hugs.
"They can't get enough of you, Alex." Tia laughed and clapped her hands, just the way she'd been doing for years.
"That's 'cause we don't see enough of him," Damon taunted.
"The job's almost done," I said, hoping that was true, not completely believing it. "At least you're all getting three squares a day." I laughed and gave Tia an extra hug.
I ate some breakfast and stayed at Tia's for a little more than an hour. We never stopped talking the whole time, but only once did anyone bring up the current difficult and scary situation. "When can we go back home?" Damon asked.
They all stared at me, waiting for a good answer. Even little Alex held me in his gaze. "I won't lie to you," I finally said. "We have to find Kyle Craig first. Then we can go home."
"And it can be just like before?" Jannie asked.
I recognized a trick question. "Even better than that," I told her. "I'm going to make some big changes soon. I promise you."
Chapter 110
I left for Charlotte, North Carolina, on a ten o'clock flight out of D.C. I was heading south to visit Craig family members. Maybe Kyle was there as Well. It wouldn't surprise me.
His father, William Craig, chose not to be home when I arrived at the estate where Kyle and his brothers had been raised. It was a gentleman's farm, with a rambling stone-and-wood house set on over forty acres in horse country. Someone on the staff told me it cost over fifteen dollars a yard just to paint all the white fences running around the pastures.
I spoke with Miriam Craig on a rear porch that overlooked wildflower gardens and a rock-filled brook. She seemed very much in control of her emotions, which surprised me, but maybe shouldn't have. Mrs. Craig told me a great deal about her family.
"Kyle's father and I had no idea, no clue about his darker side, if indeed the terrible allegations are true," she said. "Kyle was always distant, reserved, introspective, I suppose you could say, but there was nothing to suggest that he might be this troubled. He did well in school, and in athletics. Kyle even plays the piano with a beautiful touch."
"I never knew he played," I said, and yet Kyle had often commented on my playing. "Did you and his father tell him how well he was doing — in school, for example? In athletics? I suspect that boys need to hear that more than we know."
Mrs. Craig took offense. "He didn't want to hear it. He'd say, 'I know,' and then walk away from us. Almost as if we had disappointed him by stating the obvious to him."
"His brothers did better than Kyle in school?"
"In terms of grades, yes, but the boys were all high-honor students. Most teachers saw Kyle as being deeper. I believe that he had the highest IQ, one forty-nine, if I remember correctly. He chose not to apply himself to every subject. He had a strong will, even as a young boy."
"But there were no obvious signs that he was severely troubled?"
"No, Detective Cross. Believe me, I've thought about it a lot."
"Kyle's father would agree?"
"We talked about it just last night. He agrees. He's just too upset to be here. Kyle's father is a proud man, and a good one. William Craig is a very good man."