Wills paused and then directed his attention at me. “The defendant, Alex Cross, is a prime example of a police officer who thinks he is above the law, a cop who believes that he alone can identify evil and that he alone has the ability to stop it, even if it means his killing someone in the process.”
The prosecutor nodded to Athena Carlisle, his co-counsel, and she hit a button on her computer, bringing up two pictures, a man and a woman, on a screen opposite the jury.
Wells said, “Virginia Winslow was a mom, a welder, and a survivor of terrible abuse during her years married to Gary Soneji—”
“Virginia’s a martyr!” someone in the courtroom yelled.
I pivoted in my chair to see a bearded man with wild eyes standing in the aisle and pumping his fist. He shouted, “So’s Lenny Diggs!”
Judge Larch banged her gavel. “Bailiff, have this man removed from my court. I said I would not tolerate any outbursts and I meant it.”
“Both were persecuted!” the man shouted. “Both were killed by the chief persecutor, Alex Cross!”
Two U.S. marshals grabbed the guy, who offered no resistance and said nothing more as he was taken out. I guess he figured he’d made his point.
“The jury will ignore the outburst,” Judge Larch said. “Mr. Wills, make it snappy. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
“Yes, Judge,” the prosecutor said, and he walked to the jury box. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is critical for you to know one thing about Virginia Winslow. She was sick and tired of being targeted by law enforcement simply because she’d unknowingly been married to a vicious criminal.
“Virginia changed her last name after divorcing Gary Soneji. The cops still came for her. She moved. They found her. She tried to hide her teenage son, Dylan, from his father’s legacy. But in this case, the defendant, Cross, acted to cruelly change that, seeking out and telling the boy in lurid detail what his father had done and making the young man feel as if he were also to blame.”
Wills turned to look at me. “Alex Cross made him feel that way because Alex Cross did indeed hold Gary Soneji’s son, his ex-wife, and everyone else who had ever been associated with the deceased killer partially responsible for the man’s crimes. Alex Cross was obsessed with Gary Soneji. He hated all things Soneji with such a passion that he decided he had to go above the law. He decided these Soneji people had to die, be wiped off the face of the earth. He’d kill every one of them.”
Wills paused and looked around. I heard Ali whisper, “He’s lying, isn’t he, Damon? That man is standing there and lying ’bout Dad. How come no one’s saying a thing?”
“Shh,” Damon said. “We’ll get our chance.”
The assistant U.S. attorney went on. “The evidence will show that Detective Cross used intimidation tactics to get an admirer of the late Gary Soneji to take him to meet the leader of a group of people interested in the dead killer. Alex Cross defied well-established police protocol. He went alone, without backup. He marched into what turned out to be a trap, a trap that featured people wearing masks and clothes that made them look like Gary Soneji, all part of a performance designed to evoke a reaction from Detective Cross.
“They got more of a reaction than they expected,” Wills said somberly. “Alex Cross shot three of them down in cold blood. Virginia Winslow died first. Cross shot and killed a cameraman, Leonard Diggs, next. Then he tried to kill Claude Watkins. Watkins lived, but he’s paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair. Now, you will hear the defense assert that all three victims were armed and threatening the detective when he shot them. That is a false statement, and the evidence will prove it.”
The prosecutor put both his hands on the jury-box rail and looked at each of the jurors in turn.
“Dr. Cross and other rogue cops across the country have gone above the law and gotten away with murder over and over again. Isn’t it time that we, as a nation, as a people, say, ‘Stop. That’s enough. No more killings by cop’?”
Wills paused for dramatic effect, and then with anger laced through his voice he said, “I’m asking you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, to look at the evidence. And I’m asking you to say, ‘No more.’ I am asking you to say, ‘That’s enough, Alex Cross. You might be a great detective. You might have solved many cases. But you will not kill with callous disregard for our judicial system ever again. You will be judged on the facts in a court of law. And you will be found guilty and you will be punished for your cold-blooded actions.’”
CHAPTER
44
WHEN WILLS SAT down, Judge Larch rapped her gavel, called for a ten-minute recess, and hurried off the bench.
I glanced at the jury and saw jurors five and eleven looking at me as if I were some lower order of species.
“That went well,” Anita Marley said.
“If that went well, I’d like to see your version of getting crucified,” I said.
“Take a breath, Uncle Alex,” Naomi said. “It’s not that bad.”
“Pretty damning.”
“No, Naomi’s right,” Anita said. “Did you notice there weren’t a whole lot of bombproof facts mentioned? They’ve got a few, but not enough. If they had enough, they’d have said so. That’s why prosecutors try to tie in some national trend to their cases. All spin aside, it means they haven’t got enough to try the case on the merits.”
Before I could reply, I heard, “Alex?”
I looked over and saw Bree at the bar. She waved her cell phone at me. “I’ve got to go.”
I walked over and hugged her. “Thanks for being here.”
“I want to be here every minute,” she said, and she kissed my cheek.
“I know. But go to work. I’ve got good people fighting for me.”
Bree wiped at a tear when we broke apart, nodded, and left with a little wiggle of her fingers at Nana Mama, Damon, and Ali. I winked at my sons and my grandmother. Ali winked back. Damon smiled weakly. Nana nodded without conviction and worried the small string of rosary beads she’d brought along.
“All rise,” the bailiff called.
Judge Larch strode back into the court.
I was too far away to smell it, but I knew she’d have the odor of Marlboro cigarettes about her. Larch was forever trying to quit and never succeeding, which contributed to her general surliness on the bench. At least, that’s what her clerk had told me once.
“Ms. Marley, you may proceed,” Judge Larch said, and she popped a mint in her mouth.
My defense attorney looked at me and smiled. Then she put her hand on my shoulder. She stood up and kept her hand there, gazing at the jury, sweeping her eyes over each one of them.
“Not this man,” Anita said, and she paused for several moments.
“This man is not the creature that Mr. Wills just described. This good man is Alex Cross, and let me tell you a few hard facts about Dr. Cross, facts that cannot be denied or molded like mud into something other than the truth.”
She left my side. “Alex Cross won a scholarship to Johns Hopkins University, where he graduated with high honors. He took a PhD there in criminal psychology as well. He worked seven years as a member of the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, the people who hunt serial killers by profiling them. Cumulatively, he has been a homicide detective with the Washington DC Metropolitan Police Department for more than fifteen years.
“During all that time with the FBI and DC Metro, Dr. Cross has been repeatedly cited for, among other things, bravery in defense of fellow police officers, arresting bombers, rescuing kidnap victims, capturing mass murderers, and defeating a terrorist plot to blow up Union Station. Did I mention that the last citation was signed by the president of the United States? It was.”
CHAPTER
45
JUROR FIVE WAS craning his neck and shoulders to look at me, and juror eleven seemed impressed enough to jot something down on her notepad.