Free The People vs. Alex Cross by James Patterson Page A

is a tip. I give the tip to you. You let me go.”
    Fox was about to open her mouth, but Sampson pushed back from the table, stood up, and said, “I guess we’re done, then. You’ll be taken back to central holding. Detective Fox?”
    Fox didn’t move for a beat but then stood up stiffly.
    “Wait, what?” the hooker said. “Shit, okay, then. I’ll talk, but Sweet Sal’s got to get some good out of this.”
    Still ignoring Fox, Sampson sat back down and said, “So talk.”
    Sweet told him to check with the Kansas State Police for a missing-persons report on a seventeen-year-old blonde, Emily McCabe of Wichita, who’d run away and came east after her uncle allegedly abused her.
    McCabe lived on the streets until she met a man named Neal Parks; he introduced her to coke, meth, and heroin and turned her into a call girl. Sally Sweet also worked for Parks, who set up meets with his girls and johns via smartphone, like a cyberpimp.
    “Emily was good people,” Sweet said. “I liked her, even when she became Neal’s favorite for a while.”
    Parks evidently lavished attention on the new girls so they’d do anything he asked. Sweet had once been favored like that. In fact, she still had a key to the pimp’s apartment.
    “Neal was holding cash back on me, and I knew where he kept it,” Sweet said. “Lemme back up a second. Right around then? I hadn’t been seeing Emily regular like I used to, and Neal said she’d gone up to New York to work for a friend of his for a few weeks. I waited until Neal went out to eat one night with another of the girls, and I got into his place.”
    Sweet said she retrieved a lockbox hidden in the ductwork above Parks’s computer desk, got the key for it from his dresser, opened it, and took out fifteen hundred in cash.
    “Just what he owed me,” she said. “I put the rest back.”
    “What does this have to do with Emily?” Fox said impatiently.
    Smug, the hooker said, “When I climbed up there to put the box back, I accidentally kicked Neal’s computer mouse. The screen lit up on his desktop. There was a picture of Emily on the monitor.”
    Sweet realized the image was part of a video, so she played the clip.
    “It looked like Neal shot it with his GoPro,” she said. “From his—what do you call it—point of view?”
    Sampson remembered the GoPro videos on the Killingblondechicks4fun website, and he nodded, thinking that Sweet’s story might have legs after all.
    “What did you see?” Fox said.
    “Neal in full dominance mode,” Sweet said, sounding shaken. “He was hitting Emily, saying and doing nasty things to her. And she’s all submissive. And then, like, he’s got a rope in his hand, and he flips it around Emily’s neck.”
    She stopped, her lip quivering at the memory.
    “Neal started to strangle her,” Sweet said at last. “He put the camera in her face. You could see how terrified she was before the screen went black.”

CHAPTER
23
    AT HOME AROUND ten thirty that evening, Bree said she was exhausted and going to bed.
    “You coming?”
    I said, “I’m going to type up some notes downstairs, catch the eleven o’clock news, and then I’ll be up.”
    “Don’t fall asleep in front of the TV again,” she said, and she kissed me.
    “I’ll try not to,” I said, and I kissed her back.
    “You promised Jannie and Ali you’d go for an early run with them.”
    “I remember. Love you.”
    “Love you too,” she said and waved her hand wearily as she left the room.
    I waited until Bree had climbed the stairs and shut our bedroom door before going to my basement office and putting on a dark jacket and baseball cap. Then I hit Send on a text I’d written an hour before.
    I opened the outside door as quietly as I could, slipped out into the night, and went along the side of my house, creeping under our bedroom window. The light went out up there, and I trotted down the sidewalk to a waiting car.
    I climbed into the passenger seat. John Sampson was at the