The People vs. Alex Cross Read Online Free PDF Page A

fourteen. He was ordained at twenty-two and worked in some of Chicago’s poorest neighborhoods. He made such an impression there that the church transferred him to Washington, DC, where he split his time between the parish of St. Anthony of Padua and the cardinal’s office, working to fund programs for the poor.
    “My grandmother’s foundation makes grants to similar programs,” I said.
    Fiore’s smile was genuine. “How do you think I got your name?”
    I had to laugh. Leave it to Nana Mama to get me a priest for a client.
    “She’s quite a lady, your grandmother,” Fiore said. “Won’t take no for an answer, and yet extraordinarily generous in spirit.”
    “That describes her to a tee. But let’s get back to why you’re here.”
    The priest’s face fell a bit as he continued his story. He explained that earlier in the year, he’d attended a fund-raiser with the cardinal at a hotel in Georgetown. He’d found a young woman named Penny Maxwell alone and weeping in a back hallway. He stopped to console her.
    Mrs. Maxwell was a widow. It was the second anniversary of her husband’s death in Afghanistan, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep her emotions bottled up.
    “She was suffering, grieving,” Fiore said. “So I did what a priest does. I listened and talked and prayed with her.”
    After the party, he walked with her along the GeorgetownCanal and spent three hours listening to her describe the challenges of her life as the widow of a gifted army surgeon and the mother of two wonderful boys.
    Fiore was amazed and inspired by how courageous Penny was, by how determined she was to raise her sons right, and by how much she wanted to honor her late husband’s memory in their lives. To his surprise, Fiore learned Penny went to St. Anthony’s for services from time to time.
    “Penny started bringing the boys to Mass, and I got to know them,” he said. “We did things together, hikes, a trip to the beach, and it was like I experienced a dimension of life that I’d thought I understood, but didn’t.”
    “And what dimension was that?” I asked.
    “Love,” Fiore said, sitting forward, hanging his head, and rubbing his hands. “I didn’t just fall for her, Dr. Cross. Penny became my best friend, and I became hers. And those boys are just … every time I leave them, Dr. Cross, I feel as if my heart has a new hole in it.”
    “Does Penny know how you feel?” I asked.
    He nodded. “We both feel this way.”
    “Have you slept together?”
    “No,” he said firmly. “We both believe in the sanctity of marriage.”
    “But the church does not believe in married priests,” I said.
    He nodded miserably, said, “So what do I do, Dr. Cross? Leave the only calling I’ve ever had or leave the only woman I’ve ever loved?”

CHAPTER
8
    AN ASHEN-FACED AND distraught woman walked to a bank of microphones.
    “Please,” Eliza Lindel said in a tremulous voice. “I beg you, from a mother’s broken heart, if you know anything about my daughter’s kidnapping, come forward, call the police or the FBI, and give me hope. Gretchen is a sweet, innocent young woman. Please help us find her before it’s too late.”
    The feed cut away to a local station’s news desk and an anchor who began prattling on about the kidnapping.
    In her office downtown, Bree hit the mute button on her remote. She didn’t want to hear the talking heads sum up the case. She knew the situation cold.
    The critical first forty-eight hours of the investigation had elapsed with little progress. Part of that was due to the fact that the FBI had stepped in to take over the case because it was a kidnapping and Gretchen had likely been taken across state lines. Bree and DC Metro had been largely cut out at thatpoint, especially after the FBI reviewed the tape of the snatching and saw the police car. As far as she knew, there’d been no ransom note, no attempts by the kidnappers to contact anyone.
    “Chief?” Sampson said, knocking at