THE KIDNAPPER UNDERSTOOD EVERYTHING THERE WAS TO UNDERSTAND about the case, and definitely more than the Washington police, the plodding Secret Service, and the painstakingly ineffective FBI. He watched them as they continued to search for any hint of a clue or evidence misplaced on the campus of the Branaff School. They weren’t going to find anything, though. He was certain of that.
Record.
“I have been thinking, obsessing over these desperate measures for over two years, and actually planning it for fourteen months. I believe that I’ve covered my tracks, and the more I go over the details, the more confident I am that this will go down as one of the great unsolved cases in history.”
A school bell rang just then—lunch!
He slid the tape recorder into a trouser pocket and decided to stroll out onto the school campus, to parade among the still-nervous students and teachers, but also the cops who were there performing their tireless yet pointless interviews. Talk to me, just me, he couldn’t help thinking.
As he strolled along, he noticed a tall MPD detective, a striking figure, an obviously confident man. He knew this one, had read about his becoming part of the investigation. This detective had a success record that was some cause for concern.
The kidnapper didn’t turn the tape recorder back on now, though his finger played over its shape. Still, he was recording inside his head.
Record.
“One of the MPD detectives on the case solved a major kidnapping years ago. If I am as thorough as I believe I am, I have to admit that he’s a danger to everything I’ve done, to all that I have accomplished, to the entire plan and its rewards. I feel this everywhere in my body. He’s different from the others, just as I am different from my fellow man and woman. I think I know what I should do now, but can I do it? Can I kill Alex Cross? It’s the right thing to do.”