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chopper and headed toward me at a fast trot. They were stooped over and looked like monks hurrying to chapel. All four wore blue FBI windbreakers, which meant the Bureau wanted the public to know the FBI was involved with the investigation. The murders so far were gross and chilling for everyone. People needed to be reassured, to have their hands held.
    “You been inside the bank already?” Kyle huffed as he came jogging up to me. He, too, looked as if he hadn’t slept.
    “I just got here myself. Saw the big bad Bell Jet sputtering in. Figured it had to be you, or Darth Vader. Let’s go in together.”
    “This is Senior Agent Betsey Cavalierre,” Kyle said, indicating a smallish woman with lustrous black hair and eyes almost as dark. She wore her oversized FBI windbreaker over a white T-shirt, khaki trousers, running shoes. She was probably in her mid-thirties. Intense looking and also pretty, though certainly not glamorous.
    “This is the rest of the first team. Agents Michael Doud and James Walsh,” Kyle continued with the introductions. “This is Alex Cross. He’s the VICAP liaison with the D.C. police. Alex found the bodies of Errol and Brianne Parker.”
    There were quick, polite hellos and handshakes all around. Senior Agent Betsey Cavalierre seemed to be sizing me up. Maybe it was because her boss and I were friends. Or maybe because I was VICAP, the official liaison between the FBI and the Metro police. Kyle took me by the elbow and steered me away from his agents.
    “If the original two bank robbers are dead, who the hell did this job?” Kyle asked as we walked past ribbons of yellow crime tape snapping loudly in a crisp breeze from the southeast. “This is as bad as it gets. You see why I brought you in?”
    “Because misery likes company,” I said.
    The FBI ADIC, or assistant director in charge, walked with me into the bank lobby. My stomach fell. Two female tellers were lying on the floor. They were dressed in dark blue business suits, now stained with their blood. Both were dead. Their head wounds indicated they had been shot at close range.
    “Executed. Goddamnit.
Goddamnit,
” Agent Cavalierre said as we stopped at the bodies. An FBI crime scene unit immediately began videotaping the scene and taking still photographs. We headed toward the open bank vault.

Chapter 18
    IT GOT WORSE IN A HURRY. Two more victims were inside the vault, a man and a woman. They had been shot several times. The business suits and bodies were riddled with bullets.
Had they been punished, too?
I wondered.
What were their sins? Why the hell was this happening?
    “This makes no goddamn sense to me,” Kyle said, rubbing his face with both hands. It was a familiar tic of his and instantly reminded me of the many cases we had worked together on in the past. We complained about it sometimes, but we’d always been there for each other.
    “Bank robbers don’t usually kill anybody. Not pros,” Agent Cavalierre spoke. “So why do this sick stunt?”
    “Was the family of the manager held hostage as in the Silver Spring robbery?” I asked. I almost didn’t want to hear the answer.
    Kyle looked my way, nodded. “Mother and three kids. We just got word on them. Thank God, they were released. They weren’t harmed. So why were these four butchered and the family released? Where’s a pattern?”
    I didn’t know yet. Kyle was right: The robbery-murders didn’t make any sense. Or rather,
we weren’t thinking like the killers. We didn’t get it, did we?
    “There might have been a screwup here at the branch. If this is connected to the bank in Silver Spring.”
    “We have to assume it is,” said Agent Cavalierre. “The father, the nanny, and child were killed in Silver Spring because the manager was warned that the crew had to be out of the bank at a certain time or the
hostages died.
According to the video monitor at the bank, they missed by seconds.”
    As usual, Kyle had information the rest of us didn’t. He