She winked and nodded her tiny head. “I'm just fine. How 'bout yourself? You okay? You look tired. Hard work taking care of this house, isn't it?” she said, then cackled, and liked the sound of it so much that she cackled again.

I went across the kitchen and picked her up in my arms. She was so light under a hundred pounds. “Put me down!” she said. “Gently, Alex. I might break.”

“So tell me about yesterday. You going to make an appointment at Dr. Rodman's? Of course you are.”

“I must have needed a little extra sleep, that's all it was. It happens to the best of us. I listened to my body. Do you?”

“Yes I do,” I said. “I'm listening to it now and it's voicing some serious concerns about you. Will you make an appointment with John Rodman, or do I have to make it for you?”

“Put me down, Alex. I'm already seeing the doctor later this week. Regular visit, no big thing. Now. How do you want your eggs this morning?”

As if to show me how fine she was, Nana said that I should go back to Fort Bragg with Sampson and finish up my business there. She insisted. I did need to go to Bragg at least once more, but not before I got Aunt Tia to come and stay with Nana and the kids. Only after I was sure that everything was under control did I set out for North Carolina.

On the ride I told Sampson what had happened with Nana, and also gave a blow by blow of my day with the kids.

“She's eighty-two, Alex,” he said, but then added, “She'll probably only be with us for another twenty years or so.” We both laughed, but I could tell John was worried about Nana, too. By his own admission, she's been like a mother to him.

Finally we arrived at Fayetteville, North Carolina, around five in the afternoon. We had to see a woman about an alibi that could maybe save Sergeant Cooper.

Alex Cross 8 - Four Blind Mice

Chapter Twenty-Four

We drove to the Bragg Boulevard Estates, less than half a mile from Fort Bragg. The jets were still flying non-stop overhead and the artillery kept pounding away.

Just about everyone at Boulevard Estates worked on the base and lived in what is known as Basic Allowance Housing. BAH is based on rank and pay grade, the size and quality of the residence improving dramatically with rank. Most of the places we saw were small ranch houses. Several of them looked like they needed serious maintenance work. I had read somewhere that over sixty percent of the current Army was married and had children. It looked like that statistic was about right.

Sampson and I walked up to one of the brick ranch houses, and I knocked on the battered and bent aluminum front door. A woman in a black silk kimono appeared. She was heavy-set, attractive. I already knew that her name was Tori Sanders. Behind her, I could see four small children checking out who was at the door.