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Ali Cross
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Ali Cross has always looked up to his father, former detective and FBI agent Alex Cross. While solving some of the nation's most challenging crimes, his father always kept his head and did the right thing. Can Ali have the same strength and resolve?
When Ali's best friend Gabe is reported missing, Ali is desperate to find him. At the same time, a string of burglaries targets his neighborhood — and even his own house. With his father on trial for a crime he didn't commit, it's up to Ali to search for clues and find his friend. But being a kid sleuth isn't easy — especially when your father warns you not to get involved! — and Ali soon learns that clues aren't always what they seem. Will his detective work lead to a break in Gabe's case or cause even more trouble for the Cross family?
Excerpt
IT HAD BEEN three days since my friend disappeared and I was starting to think the worst might have happened.
The last time Iâd seen him was on Friday, December 21st, just after 3:30 p.m. That was on the sidewalk in front of Washington Latin Middle School where Gabe and I were in the same class. Weâd just gotten out for winter break, and as far as I was concerned, I knew exactly how we were going to kick it off.
âSo Iâll see you tonight at seven,â Iâd said. The plan was to get online with our usual crew and start a marathon session of Outpost, our favorite game.
âJust try and stop me,â Gabe had joked.
That was it. Then heâd turned east on E Street and started walking home. Iâd turned west and done the same. I didnât even think about it. Why would I? Who ever thinks, âmaybe thatâs the last time Iâll ever see my friendâ?
But Gabe never did make it home that day. He wasnât picking up his phone, and he hadnât answered any of the half-million texts Iâd sent him, either. Now it was Christmas Eve. Three days had gone by, and it was like Gabe had just disappeared.
Except, see, thatâs the thing. People donât just disappear. Thereâs always an explanation. Thatâs what my dad says, and he should know. His name is Alex Cross. Heâs a homicide detective with the Washington DC police, and Iâll tell you this much: I hope I can be half the detective he is someday.
In the meantime, I couldnât stop thinking about Gabe. Couldnât stop wondering what had happened to him. Couldnât stop a whole lot of really bad thoughts from passing through my brain, like one scary movie after another.
In fact, if anyone had asked me, I would have told them there was only one thing I wanted for Christmas that year. I wanted Gabe Qualls to be found.
And I mean alive.
âALI? COME ON, little brother. Heads up. Youâre on.â
âSay what?â
I guess I got lost in my own thoughts for a second there. It happens all the time. We were in church for Christmas Eve services. I looked around and realized my older brother, Damon, wasnât the only one giving me the eyeball. St. Anthonyâs Church was packed, and I guess Father Bernadin had already introduced me while I was sitting there spacing out.
âLetâs try that again,â Father Bernadin said in his Haitian accent, and with a kind of impatient smile aimed my way. âThe annual Christmas Eve childrenâs prayer will be led by our own Ali Cross tonight. Ali, would you like to come up?â
The pastor moved aside for me as I stepped up to the old wooden lectern and looked out at the congregation, a whole sea of black faces like mine. Something like four hundred pairs of eyes looked back, waiting for me to get my act together.
Itâs supposed to be a big deal to get chosen for the childrenâs prayer at my church, especially on Christmas Eve. I guess you could say it was an honor. But my mind was like mush that night, and I was wishing theyâd tapped someone else.
âGo ahead, son,â Dad said from the front row. He pointed at the page in my hand where I had the whole prayer written out, since I didnât trust myself to remember it by heart.
When I looked at the words on that paper, it was like they didnât mean much. Not compared to being alone out there on the street, or kidnapped, or whatever else Gabe might have been going through.
I hadnât known him that longâonly since the beginning of middle school. But we got to be friends right away. I saw him in the cafeteria one day, eating by himself and working on a pretty cool drawing. I mentioned something about it, and thatâs when I found out he was a total Outpost fan, like me. Ever since then, weâd been gaming together, heâd come over to watch movies, and that kind of thing. But he never talked about himself much, and I never really asked. Now I was thinking maybe I should have.
Like I also should have just read the prayer anyway and gotten it over with like I was supposed to. But I couldnât.
âI know this is usually a prayer for kids everywhere, but if itâs okay, Iâd like to pray for just one kid tonight,â I said. âA lot of you know Gabriel Qualls. Heâs in my grade at Washington Latin. He doesnât really come to church, but the point is, heâs been missing for three days.â
I thought Father Bernadin might cut me off right there, but he didnât. Everyone just waited, so I kept going.
âWhen I was working on this prayer, I thought a lot about the night Jesus was born, and how nobody wanted to make any room for him, and how he had to be born in a stable,â I said. âSo now Iâm wondering if maybe we could learn something from that. Iâm hoping we can all make room for Gabe. Like in our hearts. And in our prayers.â
I didnât know if this was going to help, but I figured it couldnât hurt. How often do you get the chance to send four hundred prayers someoneâs way, all at once? My voice was kind of shaky, but I just kept talking.
âDear God,â I said, and everyone went still. Most of the congregation bowed their heads. âI know you know where Gabriel Qualls is. And I know you probably have a plan for him, just like you do for anyone else. I donât want to ask too much, but if youâre listening, please watch out for Gabe tonight. Please help bring him home again soon. And, um⊠I guess thatâs all. In Jesusâs name, amen.â
âAmen!â the congregation echoed back at me.
Then, just before I stepped down, I realized there was one more thing.
âOh, and happy birthday, Jesus,â I said.
Because hey, it was Christmas, after all.
MAYBE I SHOULD have said a prayer for my dad, too. Because I wasnât the only one dealing with some heavy stuff that night.
In fact, when we came out of church after services, there was a crowd of people with cameras and microphones waiting for us. It was a little like walking into a pack of hungry lionsâand guess who was on the menu?
âDetective Cross! Care to comment on the assault charges against you?â
âAlex, over here! Is there a trial date set?â
âTheyâre saying you need to go to jail, Detective Cross, do you agree?â
It was all just words. I knew that. But at the same time, itâs not true what people say about words. They can hurt you. And all those questions the reporters were throwing at my dad felt like they might as well have been throwing rocks.
Hereâs what it was all about. Six months ago, Dad had gone to interview the father of a murder suspect. The suspectâs name was Tyler Yang, and he was already in jail. But when Dad got to the Yangsâ house that day, Mr. Yang wasnât having it. He said his son was innocent and tried to kick Dad off their front porch. It turned into a scuffle. Then Mr. Yang fell down the steps. His head hit the pavement really hard, and he had to go to the hospital. Ever since then, heâd been in a coma.
Now the Yang family was suing Dad and the police department for assault. Maybe also for murder, depending on whether Mr. Yang survived.
It was crazy. I didnât believe Dad was guilty for a secondâhe said it was an accident. But try telling that to the crowd following us up the street that night. The closer Dadâs trial got, the more they were dogging him with nonstop questions everywhere he went.
âAlex, did you deliberately push Mr. Yang down the stairs?â
âAre you ashamed of yourself, Detective Cross?â
âWhatâs it feel like to put someone in the hospital?â
My stepmom, Bree, grabbed my hand. I took my great-grandma, Nana Mama, by the arm on the other side. I wanted these people out of my face. I wished I had some kind of flashbang on me, the kind they use for police raids. Not to hurt anyone, but just loud and disorienting enough to make these reporters wish theyâd all stayed home on Christmas Eve.
Meanwhile, we still had to get back to the car.
âDetective Cross, do you think you set a good example for your family?â someone asked.
A spotlight hit my eyes then, and another camera popped up, pointing right at me and my sister. Thatâs when I heard Jannie let out a sob. And even though Iâm the youngest, I wasnât going to let them do that to her. Or to anyone in my family.
âHey! Back off!â I shouted. âMy dad didnât do anything! So why are you coming for him like this? In case you hadnât noticed, itâs supposed to be Christmas.â
âShh,â Bree said in my ear. âJust keep walking.â
âAli? Anything else to say?â another reporter asked. âAre you proud of your dad?â
âYou proud of yours?â I asked.
Then I felt Dadâs hand on my shoulder.
âNot another word,â he said.
But I couldnât help it. Sometimes my mouth starts going and I canât find the off switch.
âYeah, Iâm proud of my dad!â I yelled back. âWhy donât you put that in your story? Or better yet, why donât you write something about Gabriel Qualls, and do some good for a change?â
I shouldnât have said that last part about doing good. Dadâs always reminding me, we have freedom of speech here, and freedom of the press, too. Just because a few reporters donât know how to be professional, it doesnât mean theyâre all bad. Theyâre mostly good at their jobs. Just like cops.
âWhoâs Gabriel Qualls, Ali?â one of the reporters shouted.
âIs he a friend of yours?â
âWhatâs the story there?â
But I didnât get to answer. Dad was already stepping in to take over. Which was just as well, because I was ready to go off on these people.
And trust me, nobody needed that.
DETECTIVE ALEX CROSS looked at his son Ali and tried not to smile. There was nothing funny about what was going on, but it was hard not to admire a fire that big, burning that brightly, in a guy as little as Ali. He had as much spirit as the person he was nicknamed forâthe greatest boxer of all time, Muhammad Ali.
Meanwhile, these reporters werenât going to leave them alone until they got some kind of comment. There was even a chance one or more would follow the family back home if Alex stayed silent.
So he stepped forward and raised his voice above the fray.
âAs you all know perfectly well, I canât discuss my case here,â Alex said. âIf you want to hear any more about it, I suggest you come to my trial and take careful notes.â
âDetective Cross, can you say a little more aboutââ Russ Miller from Channel Four started in, but Alex spoke right over him.
âHowever,â he said, âlet me make one thing very clear. None of this has anything to do with my family. My children will have nothing more to say about the matter, tonight or ever. Understood?â
Alex glanced down at Ali, just to make sure he was listening, too. The reporters started in with another firestorm of questions, but Alex was done.
âThatâs all I have to say,â he told the crowd. âThank you, good night, and Merry Christmas to you all.â
Then with a papa bearâs sweep of his arm, he pointed the way for Bree, Nana Mama, Damon, Jannie, and Ali to follow him back to the car.
Enough was enough. It was time to go home.
I GOT A real talking to in the car on the way home. Not from Dad or Bree. From Nana Mama.
âYou need to check yourself, young man,â Nana told me. âWhat exactly was that supposed to be back there?â
âDid you hear what those reporters were saying?â I asked. âThey made Jannie cry.â
âI can take care of myself,â Jannie said.
âThatâs not the point,â Nana said. âWhy do you think they speak that way?â
âTo get us to answer their questions,â I said.
âMore than that, they want your father to get mad,â Nana Mama said. âThey want him to behave exactly like the angry and violent man heâs accused of being. And you know Alex would do anything to defend you, including putting himself in harmâs way. So why donât you think twice next time you feel like taking things into your own hands?â
Nana Mama is ninety-something years old, but she can still get fired up. And believe me, when she does, you feel the heat.
âIâm sorry, Dad,â I said. I really was. I felt like a dummy for falling into that trap.
âI know this isnât easy on you guys,â Dad said. âBut Nanaâs right.â
âWhen they go lowâŠâ Bree said.
âWe go high,â I said, along with Damon and Jannie. It was one of Breeâs favorite quotes, but to be honest, it was getting kind of old. I mean, all those grown-ups were out there being a bunch of jerks and I was the one who had to do the right thing?
âIn any case,â Bree said, âthat was a beautiful thing you did in church, Ali.â
âYes,â Nana Mama agreed. âSending all those prayers up for Gabriel can only do him good.â
I was glad to get back on Nana Mamaâs good side, anyway. And now that Gabe had come up again, I had some questions.
âHey, Dad?â I asked from the back. âHave you heard anything new about his case?â
âNothing since you asked me this afternoon,â Dad said. âI know youâre anxious, son, but I wonât be able to check in with Detective Sutter until after tomorrow.â
Detective Wendy Sutter was the police officer assigned to Gabeâs case. That much, I knew. But there hadnât been any word on how it was going, or if it was going at all.
âDonât worry too much, sweetie,â Bree told me. âMPD closes ninety-nine percent of its missing persons cases.â
âI know,â I said. But I was still going to worry. I mean, someone had to be part of the other 1 percent. What if that was Gabe? What if he was never found?
I couldnât stop turning it all over in my mind. Thatâs just the way my brain works, like a generator in a blackout, never stopping, always running, always going.
Meanwhile, I kept my mouth shut and rode the rest of the way home in silence, trying not to think about it too much, but thinking about it anyway.
Merry Christmas, Gabe. Wherever you are.
IT SEEMED LIKE weâd had our share of bad news for one Christmas Eve, but when we got home there was more.
A lot more.
Bree parked the car in the garage, and we all headed across the backyard to get inside. Damon was walking ahead of everyone else, but then he stopped short.
âDad?â he asked.
I looked where Damon was pointing, and saw that one of the little windowpanes in our back porch door was broken. Then I noticed the door was open, too.
For a second, nobody said anything. I stood perfectly still, like I was frozen on the outside while everything sped up on the inside. Someone had definitely busted into our house.
âWait here,â Dad said.
âWhatâs going on?â I asked.
âJust wait,â he said.
Bree put a hand around my shoulder and pulled me closer while I kept my eyes glued to the back door. I didnât even know sheâd called 911 until I heard her talking to the dispatcher.
âHello, this is MPD Chief of Detectives, Brianna Stone,â she said. Breeâs my stepmom, which is why I call her Bree, but sheâs also a cop like my dad. âIâm off duty and unarmed, requesting a uniformed patrol at my house right away on a possible break-in. Weâll need two units, one in front and one in the back alley.â
While Dad moved toward the porch, I started scanning the ground around me. It was too dark to see footprints, if there were any. My guess was that someone had come in from the alley and over the garage roof.
I could just see it in my mindâa dark shadow of a bad guy, scaling his way up, over, and onto our property. Then across the yard, hugging the fence where the light from the alley wouldnât give him away. A quick punch through the back door glass with a gloved hand was all it would take. Then a careful reach inside, past the sharp edges. A turn of the knobâ
And into the house.
Our house.
The question wasâcould he still be in there? And what was Dad walking into? As much as I want to be a real investigator someday, I donât know if Iâd ever have the guts to do what he was doing just then. My heartbeat had already kicked into high gear, but it doubled down again as I watched Dad slowly push open the back door and disappear inside.
All we could do now was wait.
ALEX CROSS STEPPED through the back door and onto the sunporch of his house. A bulb from the stovetop in the kitchen offered just enough light to see by. The porch was littered with winter boots and coats, as well as the old upright piano he sometimes played. Other than the broken back door glass, everything looked the same as it had when theyâd left for church that night.
He stopped and listened for a creak, a footstep, or any indication that someone was still inside. Everyone always thought cops knew how not to be afraid in these situations, but it wasnât like that. He was scared, all right. He just couldnât let the fear stop him.
âPolice!â he yelled.
His heart thumped out a ragged rhythm as he listened again, but the old house only answered with more silence.
Pushing on, Alex passed slowly through the kitchen and into the hall. When he reached the living room, he saw the floor around the Christmas tree was littered with crumpled paper, ribbon, and opened packages. Someone had torn through everything and almost certainly stolen the more valuable items. So much for Aliâs brand-new laptop, along with whatever else had been taken.
Scumbags.
When Alexâs phone vibrated, he looked down to see Breeâs name on the screen.
âWhatâs up?â he answered.
âDispatch is sending two units,â she said. âWhatâs going on in there?â
âSome kind of robbery,â he told her. âI think theyâre gone, butââ
He stopped short at the sound of an old window frame creaking open. Whoever had broken into the house was somewhere upstairs, trying to make a quick escape from the sound of it.
âHang on!â he told her.
He launched up the steps, three at a time. When he got to the upstairs hallway, there was nothing more to hear, but an unmistakable cold breeze was blowing down the hall from the direction of his own bedroom.
Three fast strides brought him into the room. Two more and he was at the open window, pushing past the blowing curtains to scan the scene outside.
The gutter on the front porch roof had been torn off. Other than that, there was no sign of anyone. The street looked deserted, and whoever had just been here was gone now.
âAlex?â Breeâs voice came over the phone. âAlex! Whatâs going on?â
âIâm here,â he said. âWe just missed them.â
âThem?â
âHim, her, them, I donât know,â he said, flipping on a light. âWhoever it was, they went through all the gifts under the tree andâŠâ
Again, Alex stopped short. His bedroom was a disaster. Dresser drawers hung open. Clothes were everywhere. The mattress was overturned, and a lamp lay in pieces on the floor.
But none of that was the worst news.
âBree, weâve got a bigger problem here,â he said.
âWhat is it?â she asked.
âIâm up in our room right now. They went through everything. Including the nightstands,â he told her.
âOh⊠no,â she said.
âYeah. Both lockboxes are gone, and both of our police weapons along with them.â
The whole thing had just jumped up a level. Anyone with the right tools would be able to pop those lockboxes in no time. The boxes were meant as a home safety measure, nothing more than that.
This was no longer a simple robbery. Now there were two firearms out there on the street. Two police weapons in the wrong hands.
âDonât mention the guns to the kids,â he added.
âI wonât,â she said.
Ali, Jannie, and Damon knew exactly what was in those lockboxes, but it wouldnât help anything to talk about it now. Their Christmas Eve was already a disaster. No sense making it worse.
If that was even possible.
ONCE THE POLICE got to our house, we had to wait in the kitchen for a long time. Uniformed officers came through first, then a team of crime scene techs and Detective Olayinka, who went over the whole place with Dad and Bree. This was all 100 percent serious, but it was also just like something out of an episode of Law & Order. Iâll watch old repeats of that show any chance I get. So yeah, my radar was definitely on high that night, sucking up every detail.
The good news was, everyone was okay. The bad news was, all our presents had been stolen, including the laptop I wasnât supposed to know I was getting for Christmas. That was a real bummer, but I didnât have to be a detective to know that now wasnât the time to go whining to Dad about it.
Because something else was going on. Detective Olayinka spent an extra-long time with Dad and Bree upstairs while the crime scene techs worked in the living room. I didnât know what they were talking about up there, but you could just tell there was some kind of secret in the air.
Or, at least, I could tell. I wasnât sure if Jannie and Damon had picked up on it.
âWeirdest Christmas ever,â Jannie said. It was way past midnight by now and her chin was practically on the table. They hadnât brought up their missing presents, either. We all knew this was serious. We just couldnât do anything about it.
âDo you think it was one of those people whoâve been trashing Dad so bad lately?â Damon asked.
âCould be,â Jannie said. âI mean, itâs not like a secret where we live. And Dadâs got more than his share of people coming down on him lately.â
âWe all do,â Damon said.
âWhat do you mean?â I asked.
âItâs like for some people, âCrossâ is a dirty word now,â Damon said. âYou know. For anyone who thinks Dadâs guilty.â
âGuilty of what, though?â I asked. âHe didnât do anything. I mean, I feel bad that Mr. Yang fell down those stairs, but it was an accident.â
âYou donât have to tell me that,â Damon said. âTell it to all those people who think Dad pushed him. Or assaulted him. Or both.â
None of this was making me feel any better. But Damon was right. Those reporters outside the church werenât the only ones giving Dad grief about his trial. Regular people were saying all kinds of messed-up stuff about him, too. I know there are a lot of valid reasons people are talking about police brutality these days. Dad knows it, too. There have been way too many problems with it in the past few years, and it brings down the whole community when a police officer abuses their power. For Dad, itâs made this case more complicated. Iâd seen a ton of people accusing my dad of terrible stuff online and it was hard to take, even though I knew my Dad would never do those things.
Iâd seen it all online, even though I wasnât supposed to be reading it.
Genre:
- On Sale
- Dec 1, 2020
- Page Count
- 336 pages
- Publisher
- jimmy patterson
- ISBN-13
- 9780316705684
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