Cross Country

both.
    Sampson was in the bedroom behind her now. Neither of them drew a weapon; not that they trusted the boy for a second.
    Bree had a hand on her piece.
    “Tell me what you know about this,” she said.
    She and Sampson approached the window from opposite angles. Bree moved in first. She had to duck her head to get inside the dormer alcove.
    From here, she could see that the boy had his feet on a lip of decorative brickwork outside.
    Beneath that was the roof of the back porch, and a small, November-dead garden maybe ten feet below.
    “No further,” the boy warned, “or I run away. I can run very fast. You never catch me.”
    “Okay. Let me get this out of the way, though.”
    The old rope-and-pulley window sash took some coaxing, but finally Bree forced it up about six inches.
    “What are you doing out there?” she asked.
    “I know how it happened. They kill the girl and boy in dis very room. The others down de hall.”
    His accent was African. Nigerian was Bree’s guess.
    “How do you know so much?” she asked. “Why should I believe you?”
    “I am the lookout, but soon they will make me go with them to kill others.” He looked past Bree and Sampson to the scene inside. “I do not want to do dis. Please — I am Cat’lie.”
    “It’s all right,” Bree told him. “You don’t have to hurt anyone. I’m Catholic too. Why don’t you come down from there, and we can —”
    “
No!
” He took a hand off again, threatening to jump and run. “Don’t try nah tricks on me!”
    “Okay, okay.” Bree held up her hands, palms out. Then she knelt down a little closer. “Just talk to me. Tell me more. What’s your name?”
    “Benjamin.”
    “Benjamin, do you know anything about a man they call the Tiger? Was he here?” Alex had told her about the Tiger during their phone call. Supposedly the killer was in Africa now, but maybe Alex’s information was wrong.
    The boy nodded slowly. “I know, yes.” Then he said, “More than one, though. Not just one Tiger.”
    That
certainly stunned Bree — and she assumed it would surprise the hell out of Alex too.
    “Many men are called the Tiger?” she asked. “You’re sure about that?”
    Another nod from the boy.
    “Here in Washington?”
    “Yes. Maybe two or three.”
    “And in Nigeria?”
    “Yes.”
    “How many Tigers, Benjamin? Do you know?”
    “They do not tell me, but dere are many. Bosses of gangs are all Tigers.”
    Bree looked over her shoulder at Sampson, then back again at the boy. “Benjamin, do you want to hear a secret?”
    The question seemed to confuse him. His eyes went from side to side; he looked down again, checking his escape route.
    And when he did that, Bree moved. Fast! Much faster than Benjamin thought she could.

Chapter 65
    SHE REACHED IN through the bars and got her hand around the lookout’s skinny wrist.
    “Sampson, go!”
    “Let go of me!” the boy yelled at her.
    He tried to step away, and his weight wrenched her arm against the bar. There was no leverage from this angle. She could only try to ignore the pain, and hold on until Sampson got to the boy from below.
Hurry, John, I’m losing him!
    “Benjamin, we can keep you safe. You need to come with us.”
    He screamed at her. “No, fuckin’ bitch! You lied to me!”
    His transformation was startling. The scared eyes had gone fierce. He clawed at her hand and drew blood. Had he lied to her? Was he one of the killers?
    Finally, Bree could hear Sampson’s feet pounding somewhere outside.
Faster, John!
    Just when she thought her arm might break — the kid twisted free. He dropped to the porch roof and all but bounced another eight feet to the ground.
    Two quick strides and then he was scrambling up a small ash tree, barely big enough to support his weight, much less an adult’s.
    Just as Sampson came running around the back, the boy flipped sideways over the top of a high cedar fence into a service alley beyond.
    Seconds later, Bree came out the front door.
    There was no gate to the alley. They had to sprint back through the house, out another door, and around the block, just to find out what they already knew: The boy named Benjamin was long gone.
    The so-called lookout for the murders had gotten away from them.
    Five minutes later, they had an APB out, but Bree wasn’t holding her breath. Her thoughts had already turned to Alex, and how to reach out to him.
    “He needs to know about this. Like, last week. Only I don’t know how to reach him. I