“I'm apprised of the situation in the Condon and Langley projects. I've already made contingencies. It's taken care of,” Pittman said.

“Two black women had their breasts sliced off this morning. Their pubic hair was shaved while they were tied up in bed. Were you apprised of that?” I asked him. “A three-year-old boy was murdered, in his pajamas. ” I was shouting again. I glanced at Sampson and saw him shaking his head.

A group of teachers in the office looked our way.

“Two young black women had their breasts sliced off, I repeated for their benefit. ”Someone's wandering around D.C. this morning with breasts in his pocket."

Chief Pittman gestured toward the headmaster's inner office. He wanted the two of us inside the room. I shook my head. I wanted to have witnesses when I was around him.

“I know what you're thinking, Cross.” He lowered his voice and spoke very close to my face. The odor of stale cigarettes billowed out at me. “You think I'm out to get you, but I'm not. I know you're a good cop. I know your heart's usually in the right place.”

“No, you don't know what I'm thinking. Here's what I'm thinking! Six black people are dead already. A crazed, homicidal killer is out there. He's in heat. He's sharpening his eyeteeth. Now two white kids have been kidnapped, and that's a horrible thing. Horrible! But I'm already on a fucking case!” Pittman suddenly jabbed his index finger at me. His face was very red. “I decide what cases you're on! I decide! You're experienced as a hostage negotiator. You're a psychologist. We have other people to send into Langley and Condon. Besides, Mayor Monroe has specifically asked for you.”

So that was it. Now I understood everything. Our mayor had intervened. It was all about me.

“What about Sampson? At least leave him on the project murders,” I said to the chief of detectives.