Double Cross

“Over here, Detective.”
    “What am I looking at?” Bree asked.
    “Maybe nothing . . . but there’s a tape in the player. No other videos on display in the room. Do you want me to play it, eject it, or what?” Obviously the CSI techie didn’t know whether to wind her watch or shit.
    “Latent prints all done in here?” Bree asked in a kindly manner.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Were the cabinet doors open or closed to begin with?” I asked.
    “They were definitely found open, just like you see them now. You’re Dr. Cross, aren’t you?”
    The young cop’s tone was a shade defensive, but Bree seemed not to notice. She flicked on the television and then the tape machine.
    At first there was just static. Then came a flash of blue screen.
Here we go
, I thought.
    Finally an image came up. Disturbing one too, right out of the box.
    It was a medium shot of a dark-blue wall with a flag hanging on it. A plain wooden chair was the only other item in the picture.
    “Anyone recognize that flag?” Bree asked. It had bars of red, white, and black, with three green stars across the middle.
    “Iraq,” I said.
    The word dropped like a heavy weight in the room.
    Bree did the smart thing, then. She paused the tape. “Everyone out,” she said. “Now.”
    A handful of other cops had gathered at the door to see what was up in the den. “Detective,” one of them said, “I’m D-2 on this case.”
    “That’s right, Gabe, so you know how sensitive this tape might be. I want you to talk to everyone who was just in here. Make sure this stays tight.”
    She shut the door to the den without waiting for a response from the D-2.
    “Do you want me to go?” I asked her.
    “No. I want you to stay. John too.”
    Then Bree flipped the tape back on.

Chapter 15

    A MAN WALKED OUT of the shadows and directly into the frame.
The killer? Who else would it be? He’d left us this tape, hadn’t he? He wanted us to see it
. He wore a plain oatmeal-colored robe and a black-and-white kaffiyeh, and appeared to be incredibly pissed off at the world. He carried an AK-47, which he draped across his lap as he sat to address the camera.
    Now
this
was stranger than strange. It took my breath away, actually. The style of video was immediately familiar. We’d all seen tapes like this before, from Al Qaeda, Hezbollah, Hamas.
    My gut tightened another notch. We were about to find out something about our killer, and I was willing to bet it wouldn’t be good news.
    “It is time for the people of the United States to listen for a change,” the man said in heavily accented English. The skin on his cheeks, forehead, and prominent nose was heavily pockmarked. The skin color, mustache, and apparent height matched the eyewitness accounts from that afternoon at the Riverwalk.
    This was our guy, wasn’t it? The one who’d thrown the author Tess Olsen twelve stories to her death? And before that, seen fit to humiliate her with a dog leash?
    “Each one of you watching this film is guilty of murder. Each one of you is as guilty as your cowardly president. As guilty as your congress and your lying secretary of defense. Certainly as guilty as the pathetic American and British soldiers who defile my streets and kill my people, because you believe that you own the world.
    “And now, you will pay with your lives. The blood of Americans will be spilled in America this time. Blood that I will spill myself. Make no mistake, there is much that one man can do. Just as none of you are innocent,
now none of you are safe
.”
    The man got up and approached the camera, staring out at us as if he could see right into the den. Then he beamed with the most horrific smile. A second later, the screen went back to static.
    “Christ,” Sampson said into the ensuing silence. “What the hell was that crazy piece of shit? Who was that maniac?”
    Just as Bree was reaching for the “stop” button, another image came up on the screen.
    “A double feature,” said Sampson. “Man believes in giving us our money’s worth, anyway.”

Chapter 16

    AT FIRST, IT WAS A BLUR—someone standing in front of the camera. When he stepped back, we saw that it was the same man, only now dressed in plain green coveralls and a black baseball cap that said MO .
    The scene was obviously Tess Olsen’s living room.
Today
. Mrs. Olsen was in the background on all fours, naked and visibly trembling. Her mouth was taped shut. And around her neck was the red dog leash.
    He had filmed