Pittman’s look was somber. “Unfortunately, I did.”

“Why did you suspend the detectives?”

“The detectives were investigating cases outside the auspices of the department.”

“Is it fair to say they were making up their own rules, acting like vigilantes?”

Catherine Fitzgibbon rose to her feet and objected, but Judge Fescoe allowed the question.

Pittman answered, “I don’t know about that. Vigilantes is a strong word. But they were working without proper supervision. The case is still under investigation.”

“Was Detective Cross part of the group that was making up its own rules to solve homicides?”

“I’m not certain. But he was spoken to about the matter. I didn’t believe he could handle a suspension at that time. I warned him and let it slide. I shouldn’t have,” said Pittman.

“No further questions.”

None needed, I thought.

Chapter 85

THAT NIGHT, after he left the courthouse, Shafer was flying high. He thought that he was winning the game. He was manic as hell, and it felt both good and bad. He was parked in the dark garage under Boo Cassady’s building. Most manics aren’t really aware of it when they’re exhibiting signs of a manic episode, but Shafer knew. His “spirals” didn’t come out of nowhere; they built and built.

The irony and the danger of being back in her building weren’t lost on him. Scene of the crime, and all that rot. He wanted to go to Southeast tonight, but that was too risky. He couldn’t hunt — not now. He had something else in mind: the next few moves in his game.

It was unusual, though not unheard-of, for the defendant in a first-degree homicide trial to be out roaming the streets, but that had been one of the prerequisites of his dropping his immunity. What choice did the prosecution have? None at all. If the D.A. hadn’t agreed, he had a free pass to keep him out of jail.

Shafer followed a tenant he’d seen several times into the lift from the garage and took it to Boo’s apartment. He rang the doorbell. Waited. Heard her padding across the parquet floor. Yes, Act One of tonight’s performance was about to begin.

He knew she was watching him through the door’s peephole, just as he had watched Alex Cross through it on the night Patsy Hampton got her just deserts. He had seen Boo a few times after his release, but then he’d cut her off.

When he’d stopped seeing her, she lost it. Boo had called him at work, then at home, and constantly on his car phone, until he changed the bloody number. At her worst, she reminded him of the nutcase Glenn Close had played in the movie Fatal Attraction.