I didn't have to go, but I entered the house behind the primary. I had on a Kevlar vest and so did Agent Cavalierre. I kind of liked that she went in with us.

It was weirder than weird inside. The living room of the house looked like the attic of a library: Musty, coverless books, tattered magazines, and old newspapers were piled as high as seven feet and took up most of the room. There were cats everywhere, dozens of them. They meowed loudly, pathetically. The cats looked as if they were being starved to death.

Joseph Petrillo was there too. He lay in a pile of old copies of Newsweek, Time, Life, and People magazines. He must have toppled them when he fell backwards. His mouth was open in what looked like a smile half a smile anyway.

He had blown himself away with a shotgun. It was on the floor near his bloodied head. Most of the right side of his face was gone. Blood was splattered on the wall, an armchair, some of the books. One of the cats was fastidiously licking his hand.

I looked down at the overturned books and papers near the body. I noticed a brochure for Citibank. Also several of Petrillo's bank statements. The statements showed a balance of $7,711 three years before, but it was now down to $61.

Betsey Cavalierre was crouched near the wasted body. I sensed that she was trying hard not to be sick. A couple of the mangy cats were

Q8

rubbing against her leg, but she seemed oblivious to them.

"This couldn't be the Mastermind," she said.

I looked into her eyes and saw fear, but mostly sadness there. "No, I'm sure it isn't, Betsey. Not poor Petrillo and his starving cats."

Chapter Forty

I finally got to go home to my own bed for a night. Jannie took pity on me for the sore back I was developing sleeping in the chair in her room. I was fast asleep at home when the phone rang. I picked up after a couple of loud rings.

It was Christine.

"Alex, there's someone in the house. I think it's Shafer. He's come here to get me. Please help me!"

"Call the police. I'm on my way," I said into the phone. "You and Alex get out of there nowY

It usually takes me close to half an hour to get out to Mitchellville. I got there in less than fifteen minutes that night. Lights were blazing all over the street. Two police cruisers were parked in front of Christine's townhouse. It was raining hard.

I jumped out of the Porsche and ran to the porch. A burly patrolman in a dark blue rain-slicker raised his hand to stop me.

"I'm Detective Alex Cross, Metro DC. I'm a good friend of Christine Johnson."

He nodded and didn't make me show my badge. "She's inside with the other officers. She's fine, Detective. So is the little boy."

I could already hear little Alex crying in there. As I entered the living room I saw two patrolmen with Christine. She was crying, but also talking loudly to the policemen.