Double Cross

barrel. You see that? Tiny eternal abyss? Watch the hole, watch the hole, watch the abyss, and —”
    Bang!
    He shot his mother right between the eyes. Shot her a couple of times for good measure. Then he left a few clues behind for the investigators who would show up at the house eventually.
    Clue #1: In the kitchen—a half-finished bottle of Arthur Bryant’s barbecue sauce.
    Clue #2: Propped on the bedroom dresser, a Hallmark card with no handwritten message.
    Not easy clues but clues all the same. Something for the hunters to go on.
    If they were any good at their jobs.
    If Alex Cross was one of those hot on his trail, anyway.
    “Catch me if you can, Dr. Detective. Figure out all the puzzles, and the murders will stop. But I doubt that’s what is going to happen. I could be wrong, but I don’t think anybody could catch me twice.”

Chapter 49

    WHEN BREE STONE ARRIVED at work on Monday morning, the phone on her desk was already ringing. She set down an empty Slim-Fast can—she’d downed two on the way to the office—and snatched up the receiver. She’d been thinking about Alex, but now that nice thought was gone.
    “Bree, it’s Brian Kitzmiller. Listen, I have something pretty neat to show you.”
    “Something pretty
neat
, Kitz? What might that be? A new game for your Wii? You are a piece of work, you know that?”
    She shrugged her work bag back onto her shoulder. “I can be there in a few minutes.”
    “Not necessary. Stay right where you are. Do you happen to be near a computer?”
    “Of course I am. Who isn’t nowadays?”
    As soon as she was online, Kitz directed her to a site called SerialTimes.net. Bree rolled her eyes as she brought up the site.
What now
? The home page was a crowded and sloppy-looking collection of thumbnail images, “unofficial” updates, and actual news items. Really sick, gross stuff. Right up there with the worst she’d seen.
    The most prominent item was a red-bordered box with the headline

    Exclusive! Don’t miss this!
    Message from DCAK!
    Click here.

    “And I’m supposed to believe this is for real?” she asked, then added, “
Is it
, Kitz?”
    “Just click it. Then you tell me.”
    The next window had a black background with a short message in the same white typewriter font as the killer’s original blog, which was one of hundreds of leads she had followed that didn’t seem to go anywhere.
    The familiar look of the site wasn’t what definitely answered Bree’s question, though. It was the two images pasted in at the top of the screen: a small Iraqi flag and a bright-green
X-Files X
—symbols from the first two homicides.
    Yeah,
they seemed to say,
it’s me.
    “Those two items aren’t public knowledge yet, are they?” Kitzmiller asked. “Am I right?”
    Bree shook her head as if he could see her, then mumbled, “No, they aren’t, Kitz. We’ve kept them to ourselves.” She was already reading the message below. The latest mindblower.
    “Imitation is the sincerest of flattery.”—Charles Caleb Colton

    I’m setting the record straight for everybody who cares, or ought to care, about these things. That piece of shit work out at the George Washington Memorial Parkway? Someone else did that, not me. I’ll take the flattery, but don’t try to pin that one here, ’cause I don’t want it. I mean, “Nixon” just copycatted what I did at the Riverwalk! Didn’t even have the nerve to show his face. Plus, the work itself was amateurish. Not worthy of me or those I model myself on.
    FedExField—that one was yours truly. Took some balls to get in and out of there. Imagine making a kill in a closed-in public area like that.
    Make no mistake. There is only one DCAK. When it’s me, you’ll know it. You’ll know because I’ll tell you.
    And the work will be done with some imagination and flair. Give me a little respect. I think I’ve earned that much.
    At least now the police have someone they can catch—this imitator! Isn’t that right, Detective Bree Stone? ’Cause you’re not even close to catching me, are you?
    Keep on living, fuckers.
    — DCAK
    For the next few seconds, Bree stood there, shaking her head back and forth. Alex had been right about the parkway murders . . . and probably everything else.

Chapter 50

    PLUS, DCAK HAD USED HER NAME.
    Bree finally sat back in her chair and tried to process that little nugget. She couldn’t believe how brazen and arrogant this prick was, and how completely messed up. And scary.
    “Bree?