Free Pop Goes the Weasel by James Patterson Page B

the
     killer wanted us to find this one in a hurry. Bodies around here usually get dumped in Fort Dupont Park. He’s getting stranger
     and stranger. And you’re right, he’s very angry with the world.”
    My mind was rapidly filling with crime-scene notes, plus the usual stream of homicide-detective questions. Why leave the body
     in a street gutter? Why not in an abandoned building? Why in Benning Heights? Was the killer black? That still made the most
     sense to me, but a very low percentage of pattern killers are black.
    The sergeant from the Crime Scene Unit came strolling up to Sampson and me. “What do you want from us, Detective?”
    I looked back at the naked white body. “Videotape it, photograph it, sketch it,” I told him.
    “And take some of the trash in the gutter and sidewalk?”
    “Take everything. Even if it’s soaking wet.”
    The sergeant frowned. “Everything? All this wet trash? Why?”
    Alabama Avenue is hilly, and I could see the Capitol Building brightly illuminated in the distance. It looked like a faraway
     celestial body, maybe heaven. It got me thinking about the
haves
in Washington, and the
have-nots
.
    “Just take everything. It’s how I work,” I said.

Chapter 23
    DETECTIVE PATSY HAMPTON arrived at the chilling homicide scene around 2:15. The Jefe’s assistant had called her apartment
     about an unusual murder in Benning Heights that might relate to the Jane Does. This one was different in some ways, but there
     were too many similarities for her to ignore.
    She watched Alex Cross work the crime scene. She was impressed that he’d come out at this early hour. She was curious about
     him, had been for a long time. Hampton knew Cross by reputation and had followed a couple of his cases. She had even worked
     a few weeks on the tragic kidnapping of Maggie Rose Dunne and Michael Goldberg.
    So far, she had mixed feelings about Cross. He was personable enough, and more than good-looking. Cross was a tall, strongly
     put-together man. She felt that he received undeserved special treatment because he was a forensic psychologist. She’d done
     her homework on Cross.
    Hampton understood that she had been assigned to show Cross up, to win, to knock him down a peg. She knew it would be a tough
     competition, but she also knew that she was the one to do it; she never failed at anything.
    She’d already done her own examination of the crime scene. She had stayed on at the scene only because Cross and Sampson had
     unexpectedly shown up.
    She continued to study Cross, watched him walk the homicide scene several times. He was physically imposing, and so was his
     partner, who had to be at least six-nine. Cross was six-three and weighed maybe two hundred. He appeared younger than his
     age, which was forty-one. He seemed to be respected by the assisting patrolmen, even by the EMS personnel. He shook a few
     hands, patted shoulders, occasionally shared a smile with someone working the crime scene.
    Hampton figured that was part of his act, though. Everybody had one these days, especially in Washington. Cross’s was obviously
     his charisma and charm.
    Hell, she had an act herself. Hers was to appear nonthreatening and “feminine,” then perform contrary to the expectations
     of the males on the force. She usually caught them off guard. As she’d risen in the department, the men had learned that she
     could be tough. Surprise, surprise. She worked longer hours than anyone else; she was a hell of a lot tougher than the men;
     and she never socialized with other cops.
    But she made one big mistake. She broke into a homicide suspect’s car without a warrant, and was caught by another detective,
     a jealous older male. That was how Pittman got his hooks into her, and now he wouldn’t let go.
    At around a quarter to three, she walked to her forest-green Explorer, noting that it needed a wash. She already had a few
     ideas about the dead man in the street. There was no doubt in her mind that she